by Ada Winder
The boy made eye contact with her then. Rightfully, he did not greet her with a smile, and she also faced him with a somber face. Their eyes spoke their greetings, his dark eyes looking into hers without flinching.
She was the one to break the eye contact, but not before she noticed that the boy’s mother never turned her face to look at her—staring straight ahead or downward at all times. Alice was glad.
Alice turned her head to focus on Reverend Brown at the podium—his wrinkled face, his sparse white hair, his owl-like glasses. She found that she could not quite concentrate on what he was saying, too distracted by thoughts of what was to come next. She was worried about what would take place later, her immediate worry Elaine’s eulogy. It would be given any minute, and while Alice was looking forward to it, at the same time, she could not help dreading it. Would Elaine call her out on her mothering in front of all these people by sheer comparison?
***
Elaine took a deep breath to calm her nerves.
Short and sweet—that’s what they wanted the funeral to be. Elaine would have it no other way; she was all about efficiency. Thankfully, her mother had been on the same page. No long, drawn-out church service with a choir singing every ten minutes over a two-hour period, no multiple prayers, no one touching a pipe organ. And Elaine certainly had not planned out a long speech. The Reverend would speak, Elaine would speak, the grandchildren would say their pieces, and the Reverend would close them out. Elaine would ask everyone to say something, a final goodbye—out loud or silently. Then everyone would head over to Alice’s home for the luncheon where they would follow-up all the sadness with some humor, laughter, good memories. In and out. Go from heaviness to light; it was a celebration of her father’s life after all. She only hoped that they had enough food for later—more people had shown up than they had expected.
Elaine looked around.
She identified a few of the attendees as Alice’s neighbors since some had stopped by with condolences and cakes and nosiness. They were about her parents’ ages, as well as several distinguished-looking gentlemen and women Elaine guessed were her father’s old friends from school or work. There was also an older distressed-looking lady—another friend Elaine assumed, probably that Abigail girl he had mentioned. But there was an older black lady and a younger black man that Elaine assumed was the lady’s son who looked very much out of place beyond the obvious reasons. The lady’s sober face was partially hidden by a large black hat and her son’s eyes were downcast but Elaine could not help but notice his beautiful skin—smooth and golden, like honey. Elaine puzzled over them for a few moments until she mentally slapped herself on the forehead. She realized they must have been beneficiaries of a Thomas Gibson project. The young man was most likely a recipient of a scholarship, his thankful mother in attendance with him for support.
He was a handsome man, and Elaine did not realize she was staring until his soft, brown eyes met hers. She looked away. There was something about him that made her want to look back at him, but she remembered David at her side.
***
Drew stopped scrutinizing the stained glass windows and looked around the church, studying the faces of the people filling the seats around him. Elaine, David, Amber, Jade. Himself and Jack. His mother, his aunt Miriam and her boyfriend Dennis. Dennis, he thought. How’d an Indian guy get a name like Dennis anyway? Then there were some old fogies—a couple of guys, a woman, some of his mother’s neighbors. Some more old people. And then there was that black couple, although the woman looked much older than the guy. By the way they were holding each other Drew guessed they were related even though he looked quite different from her.
Drew found himself drawn to the young man and he could not put his finger on why; he just found that his eyes kept returning to him. And he knew he wasn’t gay although the guy was admittedly handsome. Drew decided it was sheer human curiosity because he could not even guess what their connection to his dad could be. He thought about it a little, running possibilities over in his mind until he came up with the most obvious and overlooked likelihood: the Thomas Gibson fund. Drew was surprised there weren’t more of them there who were involved in the thing, more who benefited from it wanting to pay their last respects. But in planning, he and his mother and sister had overlooked it, and the only way recipients would know his father had died was if they read the local paper, and by then it would probably be too late. Although the organization had been alerted, Drew doubted the word got out to the recipients in time and those who’d received the message had only two, three days the most to receive the message then plan a trip. He was glad someone managed to though.
Drew looked forward to meeting the man, hearing more about his father’s good deeds and how they affected people’s lives.
Then Drew noticed his sister looking at the man too.
Was Elaine checking him out?
Drew was about to laugh but quickly stifled it when he realized how inappropriate it would seem.
Elaine looked at him then, then looked ahead. Yeah the guy was good-looking, but he never figured his sister to have a wandering eye. Drew couldn’t stop the smile forming at the thought. But in the end, he figured it was the same thing—curiosity or whatever it was—that kept him glancing over at the guy. He was magnetic.
It seemed to Drew that time was flying, for soon, it was time for Elaine’s eulogy.
Drew figured she would be used to this kind of thing since she had always participated in debates and public speaking events, but Elaine actually looked a little nervous.
He supposed she was allowed to be nervous this one time; after all, she wasn’t arguing for animal rights or against abortion or anything; this was her father, their father. Knowing her, she not only wanted to do it right, she wanted to do it perfectly.
He hoped she hadn’t stressed herself out too much about it; something like this was hard to do perfectly.
He wanted to catch her eye so he could give her a thumbs-up and a smile to show his support but she seemed not to see anything beyond the podium. After approaching the podium, she pulled out a piece of paper on which she had printed her final product. If it was him he probably would have left it handwritten—might have even been in crayon if it was the only thing around, but not Elaine.
She gave a nervous smile.
“Hello, everyone.”
Grumbled hellos rose into the air.
“I must say, I tried to come up with something cute, something witty, but I found myself following the paths of many before me. Gathering quotes and stories, sprinkling them throughout the speech. It seems that’s what people like, so that’s what I’ll deliver.”
Drew breathed a sigh of relief on her behalf; it seemed she took it easy after all.
“First I’ll tell you the story of George Andrew Owens, beginning with George the man, who he was literally. My father was the only son of Fred & Rose Owens, the baby of Fred’s children, the other of whom is Miriam from a previous relationship—wave, Aunt Miriam.”
Drew saw that Miriam did not wave, only stared ahead as if elsewhere.
“And according to whom, he acted like a baby too,” Elaine continued.
People chuckled.
“But my father became a man when he took on a family of his own, had his own babies. I was the first, and I remained daddy’s little girl. My brother came soon after, and my father then worked several jobs throughout the years supporting us, finally ending up in a company where he eventually moved up to financial analyst, a job he loved. But in the end, it was not his jobs that mattered—he just needed to make money for his family because his family, well, that’s what mattered most to him.
“George, the father, was a kind, loving man. He provided us with what we needed emotionally, and there for us to show he cared. He supported us, knew our interests, and helped us get involved with them. He took me to volleyball practice and faithfully picked me up. Same with violin practice. He was at our every game or play, or whatever it was that we had g
oing on, his encouraging smile on at all times. We never doubted his pride in us; he loved anything we did, loved being a part of our lives. He loved being a dad.
“Then there’s George, the philanthropist. Many might not know this, but my father was heavily involved in a charity. Later on in life, my father decided to take up a project, one that involved helping people. He worked with a non-profit organization, providing scholarships for underprivileged segments of the population. My father found this immensely fulfilling, and I can honestly say that I see no place for regret in his life and I hope he saw it that way too. And daddy, I just want to say that you did it—you made us good people, you made us happy.”
She paused for a moment. Then, almost like an afterthought, she said: “And I would also like to say thank you for dressing Drew up like a deranged bunny that one time for Halloween when he was six; I still laugh at that today.”
Some people chuckled.
Drew shook his head slightly, while looking downward for a few moments as people inevitably looked his way. Thanks Elaine, he thought, but he couldn’t help smiling. When he looked up, their eyes met for a split second, and he could still see the laughter in hers.
Then she drew a deep breath.
“Daddy, thank you, and I love you. You have succeeded in life and I want to be just like you. Finally, I will close out by saying this: it has been said that the graveyard is the richest place on earth because therein lies the hopes and aspirations of leaders that never were, dreams never realized, words never said. Perhaps it’s appropriate that my father will not be going to a graveyard, for he would not be contributing to its legacy. He made his dreams become a reality while he was here. As a celebration of my father’s life, this...”—she gestured with both arms at the room—”...is a reminder to those of us still around. Examining my father’s life made me realize there are a few areas I would like to explore on my own. I guess what I’m saying is this—don’t be afraid to pursue smaller goals, to reach out to people on smaller scales. And definitely don’t be afraid to pursue larger ones. I will end with the words of W. M. Lewis: ‘The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.’ Now please welcome my daughters and my nephew—my father’s grandchildren—who have poems they wrote to share.”
Amber stepped up to the podium first but Elaine positioned her beside it and brought down the microphone. Amber launched into her piece with a self-important air:
“My grandpa had very wrinkly eyes
My grandpa thought he was very very wise
He used to tell us lots of stories
But he couldn’t climb with us in the trees
He said his legs and arms were old
But grandpa had a heart of gold.”
People clapped again then waited for the next one.
The mic was put to Jade’s mouth.
Her slower, higher voice rolled into the air, as she enunciated each word carefully, slowly:
“I loved my grandpa very much
He used to give us lots of hugs
He sneaked us candy so mom wouldn’t know
He never used to tell us no.”
People laughed and clapped again.
Jade smiled wide, proud of her poem and its reception, her little baby teeth shining, along with her cobalt eyes.
Then Jack stepped up. Drew could feel a smile form across his own face. Jack caught his eye for a moment then launched into his own poem:
“He tried to play baseball with me
He helped me when I got stung from a bee
He was a good cook and grandma was glad
But now everyone is sad
He’s the only grandpa I ever had
I love him and I’ll miss him, my fun granddad.”
Drew felt his eyes water a little. Everyone clapped in support one final time as Jack left the stage looking sad, unlike his cousins who instead looked like they had read their part in a play and had done it well, proudly returning to their seats with satisfied grins.
Drew put his arm around Jack when he reached the pew and sat down next to him.
He squeezed his shoulders. “You did great, sport.”
“Aunt Elaine says it’s ‘well’; ‘you did well’.”
Drew smiled at his son.
“You’re right, kiddo,” he whispered.
Elaine returned to the podium, readjusting the microphone.
“As indicated on the program, my brother will say his piece and my mother will close us out. We know some of you have something to say, so although you’re not officially on the program, you can come up when you’re ready once Drew’s done. Please keep it brief and please make sure it’s something relevant—we don’t want to hear about Bingo night coming up or anything.”
A few people laughed.
“Also, if you are unable to come to the luncheon please see me before you leave,” Elaine was saying. Drew guessed she just wanted to make sure she was able to give everyone a departing acknowledgment card. Drew looked over at his mother. She was watching Elaine, a slight smile on her face. Drew interpreted her look as pride, love. But he could never mention such a thing to Elaine. He knew Elaine would undoubtedly say something like: Looking at me with pride? Love? Please Drew, that woman probably just farted and felt relieved.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alice admired Elaine’s attention to details, her sense of responsibility. She seemed quite meticulous and a little obsessive compulsive—Drew had to balance her out in the planning of the funeral—but Alice supposed they were all things that helped make her a good lawyer. Alice actually had no idea whether she was good or not, but she figured she had to be. She knew enough about her daughter to know she was not one to settle for anything sub-par.
Alice allowed Drew to go up to the podium first, taking Elaine’s place.
Drew smiled at the crowd and took a deep breath. Then he looked at his son who was sitting near her, and winked, before turning his attention back to the crowd.
“Like my son mentioned briefly earlier, my dad was a pretty sporty, athletic guy. He always took the time to have fun with us, whether it was just watching a show with us and making corny jokes, or taking us to the park, or sledding, or playing baseball. He made sure we had a memorable childhood, one that was filled with good memories of growing up with him, one filled with love. We knew he loved us, and it helped us feel secure, which is very important to a child—to feel like someone’s always there for you, ready to help you out whenever you need it, or just spend time with you. Make you feel important. My sister mentioned an unfortunate Halloween incident with a homemade costume, but I would like to tell you this—as soon as he saw I wasn’t happy with it, particularly at the way Elaine was splitting her sides laughing at it, he changed it, improvising something else. He made me feel better, more comfortable. He was sensitive to our needs…unlike some people.” He looked at Elaine with playfully accusing eyes.
“I had a great dad, and it made me want to be the same with my own kid. I know how important it is to have that kind of relationship, how much it makes life a little bit easier when you know you’re not alone. Even now, I know I’m not alone, and I’m not just talking about having my son or my other family members. He’s still with me—he made sure of it—in all those wonderful memories we created together.”
Drew looked over in the direction of the crematorium, then around the air on top of him.
“I too would like to thank you, dad. For everything.”
When Drew left, old Mrs. Richards from a few houses down from Alice went up.
“George was a good guy, a kind guy. Why, he once helped me with a flat tire; I thought that was very nice of him. He was going to work and noticed me looking at the darned thing. Got all dirty, had to change and everything. Was late for work. He also helped me paint the garage once, although he did all the work.” She adjusted her thick glasses, smiling in a way that made her look demented. Along with her mother-of-pearl hair with hints of blue in stiff curls,
she looked rather frightening in general. She turned toward Alice. “Alice, you sure raised you a good boy.”
Alice groaned inwardly. Although she appreciated Mrs. Richard’s kind words, she was fully aware her memory was quite off. Clearly she was mistaking George for Drew; in fact, Alice would not be surprised if the incidents she mentioned actually happened with someone else and neither George nor Drew was involved. Perhaps it was Mrs. Richards’ own son that had helped her. Nevertheless, Alice nodded and smiled in appreciation. Mrs. Richards slowly made her way back to her seat.
George’s old coworkers soon followed, each going up and saying a few words. They talked about his integrity, his dedication and hard work. His work ethic. They also painted the picture of him as a friendly, social, funny guy. One who took care to acknowledge all those around him, one who never hesitated to befriend anyone. It all sounded familiar to Alice.
When they were done, Alice saw Mark get up and head toward the designated speaking spot. She perked up—eager to hear from him again.
Before the ceremony had begun, she’d had a brief encounter with him. She had just finished talking to Reverend Brown and was about to go to her seat to wait out the arrival of the majority of the rest of the expected guests when she was intercepted by a velvety voice.
“Hi, Alice.”
She turned to see the kind, smiling face of an older gentleman. She figured he was a friend of George’s from one of his jobs.
“I’m not sure if you remember me from college,” he had said, “but I used to hang out with George.” He held out his hand to her. “Mark Smith.”
Mark Smith. Yes, she remembered him although he looked like a whole different person now, but that was the magic of thirty years she supposed. Mark was the black-haired, blue-eyed, smoother, yet more callous guy of the group if she remembered correctly. He bedded many girls for kicks. Made them cry for kicks. Humiliated them whenever and however he could for kicks.
Perhaps it was not just the aging process that made him look different, his dark hair now salt and pepper, his once lean body fuller, a grey mustache, wrinkles around his beautiful eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t just that his body was softer; he seemed softer as well, his eyes kinder, more now like the ocean than a sapphire. He seemed more mellow overall. She did not feel an urge to slap him when she looked at him; instead, she wanted to hug him. And so she did.