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A few minutes later, and with the help of two other men in attendance, we manage to get Irene off the casket and back to her feet.
Aunt Shirley wails as she grabs her daughter and holds her tightly in her arms. It doesn’t take long for them to follow the majority of the small crowd, hurriedly leaving the burial site and heading to their car.
And all I can do is just stand there for a good five minutes, staring at my father’s still-descending casket, utterly confused by the whole damn day.
When I finally look up, I find that other than me, the only people left include the reverend and the funeral director.
“Well,” the reverend mutters and runs a hand through his pepper-gray hair. “This was a first.”
A laugh almost bubbles up out of my throat, but I manage to swallow it back. I’m pretty sure the good priest has endured enough trauma for the day.
But, mentally, I can’t stop the silent laughter that rolls through my mind.
The emotion and stress of today combined with Irene’s near-death experience on top of my father’s casket and the way almost everyone in attendance ran off like it was a five-alarm fire has officially taken their toll.
Ironically, Hall Hughes’s reputation was that of a tornado. He could make employees run out of his boardroom crying with a blink of one fucking eye.
Apparently, his funeral is no different.
With one last nod toward the gravesite, I say a final, silent thanks for everything my father gave to me and step away without looking back.
I don’t linger in the empty tent to explore my feelings.
Instead, I step out of the shelter and into the sprinkling rain to wander the streets of New York with unknown purpose.
I haven’t picked a destination, but I don’t have to—I know I’ll know it when I see it.
I walk slowly in the rain, wandering past cafés and bookstores with little interest. A toddler makes faces at me through the window of a diner when I have to stop at the corner to cross the street. It’s always weird, how life keeps going on around you, no matter what. An impact on my day has little to no impact on theirs, and it’s obvious—more so than anywhere else, here in New York City—as cabs rush past, splashing water up from the street in their wake and punctuating it with the blare of their horn.
When the signal changes, I make my way across the street and right into the path of a vendor with a booth full of umbrellas.
He smiles, seeing me as a prime mark and dives into his speech. “No water, no wind, no-thing is damaging this umbrella, buddy. Twenty bucks to change your life. Out of the rain and into the sun. Come on, fella,” he continues as I walk right by him.
It’s almost unfair, I guess, sending his pitch up against me. I’m an unshakable opponent because unlike everyone else out here today—unlike myself on any other day—I’m actually looking to get wet.
To let the water bleed through my clothes and into my skin—to wash away the day so I can start anew tomorrow without the veil of pseudo-grief hanging over my head. So I can go back to my life with the knowledge that I don’t have to hold on to what my father might have been.
Tomorrow, with a fresh layer of dirt over his casket in the grave he paid half a million dollars to have in New York City, there will only be what he was.
Tomorrow for me, however, can be anything I want it to be.
But today, I shall find the nearest fucking bar and drown out these goddamn emotions.
Raquel
Eggs Benedict are the work of the devil himself. I’m convinced of it. Full-on satanic pods of protein sent on an express elevator from hell to make me hate every-damn-thing.
I’m talking Jim Carrey in The Grinch-level loathing of all things in existence.
Light? Hate. Porcelain? Despise.
The human digestive system? Loathe.
“Ugh,” I groan, sinking down even farther on my knees to rest my head on the surface of my toilet seat. The really funny part is I don’t even have the energy to be disgusted.
My only thought about it, truly, is ironically hopeful. Will E. coli buy me a couple days in bed? I mean, Christmas is only four days away… Maybe I could simply spend it in my bed, watching movies and doing absolutely nothing? Good God, that sounds nice…
When my stomach jolts with unease, I shut my eyes tight, and a pitiful moan escapes my throat as I try hard not to puke again.
Let me be clear. I haven’t always been so anti-egg. In fact, I never would have even entertained the thought that eggs were put on this earth as anything other than a good source of nutrition a year ago.
