A short prose from 1997 about the a father’s death.
Mellow winter and dark cascading dreams. Lonely moments and shocked breath, locked memories that pain the heart that once cherished something open and soft. I cry, I cry…
The funeral was short, people all dress in straight stiff black standing around a muddy hole as the rain poured down. I suppose you call it a solemn affair, the priest speaking words that held no meaning only that the rain was soaking through my hair. The coffin a wooden shiny thing lowered by white ropes… “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” I’ve forgotten her face…
Michael, a friend of the family, drove me to the funeral, after he offered me a lift again. Everyone was silent as we all left the muddy grave, and I nodded to him that yes I would go back with him. He smiled awarkardly at me, with quick downward glances. Afraid of me? My tears were still dry, I cried the night it happened, locked in my room, sobbed and then curled myself under my bed sheets gentle rocking… Nothing can prepare you they say, nothing. I noticed the bags under Michael’s’ eyes, looked like he had shed more tears today then I. I wonder will ever stop raining.
We were driving through the rainy weather- silence in the car, he didn’t know what to say to me, quite strange for Michael, he had been more of a father to me then anyone through the years, he had I suppose tried to fill the void of our family, mother and I, after father left. God I can’t remember him even. Why are you so silent Michael? Don’t you see I’m not crying? He wasn’t able to read my mind it appeared, just drove through the rain. For a little while longer we drove in silence then he spoke- “We have to talk James. About you and me and ..” he paused as if he couldn’t bring him self to speak about her, ” your mother.”
“Do we have to do it now?” I was not in the mood for this one on one talk- it was the second attempt from a relative to get me to “open up”.
“This isn’t as simple as that. There’s a little cafe nearby- it’ll be empty now.”
“Fine.” I didn’t care.
Quaint cafe, wooden surroundings as a pleasant coffee smell. It was empty except for some students in the corner talking and laughing. Michael told me to sit down and grab a table. He went for tea and coffee. It felt strange to be in a place like this, not at home, moping around like a depressed headless chicken for the viewing pleasure of my “extended” family. I wonder will it be a clear sky tonight? I would like to just stare at the stars and the moon for a while. Michael appeared with a tray with a mug of tea and a cup of coffee.
“James, ” he paused again, then just stopped, then started again but his tone had changed, he was changing the topic already before we had begun, “emm. How are you feeling?”
“Fine as to be expected.” He looked at me with this gaze of genuine sympathy, a look saying- that’s not true and you know I know. Michael had always been a ‘nice man’, with his gray hair that he had since he must have been my age, not strongly built but willing to give it anything ago. But he was a weak man I think, afraid of strangers, sometimes so shy it annoyed me, but in another way I was the same, shy. I hadn’t ever really had any good friends, just people I knew. Michael was flustered, he started again though with “your mother really cared for me.” This topic DID hurt.
“I know.”
“I..,” he stopped again and looked down at his cup of coffee, his eyes focused on it, but his mind was elsewhere.
Silence. Death of sound. Awarkness, uncomfortable.
“James, I think I should tell you something, something about your father.”
“My father?”
“He left when you were a toddler.”
“So? What has this got to do with anything now?”
“Because he wasn’t your real father, I am.”
It doesn’t rain but it pours…