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Description
The Funeral

My eyes snapped open and my body jolted upright painfully. Wha? Had I really fallen asleep? How long had I been out for? Frantically, I straightened my position on the uncomfortable chair I had been sitting in for the past two (waking) hours and looked around. Amongst the rows of padded chairs and the black-clad mourners whose asses were firmly planted into them, I saw one solitary woman giving me the evil eye.

"Damned men," she hissed. I could tell that her words were meant for me to hear. "This is a funeral, for God's sake. No heart at all, the bloody brute."

I almost retorted with a colorful word directed toward the ridiculous feathered hat she was wearing, when I felt Jack's massive hand hit my cheek.

"Eddie, what the hell are you doing?" Jack's bearded face contorted with rage as he spat the words in my face.

I gaped at him stupidly. The only reply I could think of went along the tines of "Well, she started it!" but I knew it'd be stupid for a twenty five year old to say. Jack groaned and turned his attention back to the front of the chapel. I spun around in my chair, and, brief loss of maturity, I flipped the bird to the lady who insulted me.

I hadn't wanted to go this funeral at all. I hate funerals. I like to keep all thoughts of impending doom far from my mind. But I was here because of a dutiful sense of friendship for Jack. He never got along well with his family. Apparently, they thought that dropping out of college to pursue a dream of being a street artist and a part-time garbage man wasn't an acceptable career choice. Well, I'll admit, the dumpster diving part isn't, but that's beside the point. So when Jack received the news of his Uncle Walter's death and his obligation to attend the funeral, he had begged me to go with him to ease the tension. It didn't help though, that neither of us had personally known the man, or that his family knew me as "Jack's psycho buddy from work." How the hell could my presence make this any less awkward?

The chapel was big and draped all over in maroon; maroon carpeting, maroon wallpaper, maroon seat cushions. (Was maroon supposed to be a comforting color or something? It didn't seem that way to me but hell, I'm no funeral director.) Masses of flowers ringed the room and poisoned the air with their thick scents and colors that were far too vibrant for such a depressing occasion. The many members of Jack's family sat rigidly on all sides of me, whispering to one another or unsuccessfully muffling their sounds of grief into handkerchiefs. Not particularly interested in human dramatics, I looked to the head of the chapel.

The black wooden casket gleamed in the florescent lights that lit the place. A balding priest stood at a worn yet polished podium nearby. He was babbling something about believers having eternal life and how the life after this one was much better and all the typical bullshit you'd expect to hear at a funeral. I rolled my eyes over to where Grandma Kate sat at the front row, swaying in the seat, clutching the knob of her cane and… wait. What the hell was she laughing about!? Aw, Christ, what the hell was wrong with this family?

The scent of all those damned flowers was getting to me. I unsuccessfully tried to bite back a sneeze, resulting in a noise that sounded something like a beagle suffering a heart attack. I heard obnoxious giggling and swiveled my head to the source. Apparently, some little girl thought my sneeze was the funniest thing she ever heard. In another brief loss of maturity, I stuck my tongue out at her. She stopped crying immediately. Crocodile tears streamed down her face as she began to wail.

"And now, let us all personally bid Walter our final farewells."

I almost didn't hear it through the little girl's crying. For a moment, I thought I didn't. And then the priest opened the casket, and people started getting out of their seats. Personal farewells? I'm no coward, but the thought of looking dearly departed Uncle Walter in the face and saying "ta ta!" made me want to run for the nearest toilet. The only dead thing I had ever seen was a frog I almost dissected in seventh grade. I say "almost" because I had puked my guts out all over the lab table and was excused from the assignment. After that, I could never look at that singing amphibian from Looney Tunes ever again without seeing those froggy intestines spilled all over the place.

Jack stood and began to head for the line forming next to the casket. For a second, I thought he had forgotten I was there. I was about to sigh in relief when I felt myself being yanked onto my feet and forcibly lead to the procession. Jack's fist had me by the collar. I heard him grumbling "Eddie, you're not embarrassing me this time. We're both going to pay our respects so we can get the hell outta here."

"Can't we skip ahead to the 'just get the hell outta here' part?"

I got my answer; another sharp jerk of his arms and finding myself in the queue of sniveling mourners. I was about as excited as a lab rat waiting to be inducted into the wonderful world of animal testing. And I was even more excited when the little girl suddenly materialized behind me and began to viciously kick my heels. Time seemed to move slowly. I pawed at the Zippo lighter in my pocket and tried to think of the glorious cigarette I would have once I got out of here. It was all I could do to fight the nausea churning in my belly and the urge to pick up that child and seal her in the coffin to spend eternity with Uncle Walter.

Finally, it was our turn. Sweat began to trickle down my back as Jack and I approached the casket and looked down into it. I had to force myself to keep my eyes on Uncle Walter. I won't lie; I had a horrible feeling that he was going to suddenly sit up and yell "just kidding!", thus making me shit myself publicly. But as I looked at him, my fear began to quell a little. He didn't look so bad. In fact, he looked downright peaceful. Way more peaceful than this little party of his.

Jack said his prayers hurriedly and stepped aside. I was about to follow him when guilt suddenly washed over me for being so nervous and so immature at this man's funeral. The least I could do was send him off with a kind word, regardless if he heard it or not.

"What should I say?" I asked out loud, to no one in particular.

"Bye bye, Mr. Dead Guy!" the little girl shrieked from beside me. I felt my hand clench with the urge to ring her little neck, but luckily for her, Grandma Kate hobbled over to my aid. The crazy old woman buffeted the little girl with her cane, and sent her screaming to her mother. She cackled amusedly and lay a gnarled hand on my shoulder.

"Just say anything, deary," she told me. "He ain't gonna be getting mail no more. I'm sure he'll 'preciate whatever you come up with."

I nodded solemnly, genuinely thankful for her kind gesture. I took a deep breath and was about to tell Uncle Walter that I was sorry that he died, when-

BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP

I screamed. I screamed and found myself stumbling back from the coffin so quickly that I tripped and fell flat on my ass. Above me I saw many of the congregation frantically checking their cell phones and beepers while their spouses looked around for the source of a blaring alarm. I already had a horrible, pant-wetting suspicion of where it was coming from.

"Mr. Dead Guy is ringing!" The little brat's shrill laughter filled the room, confirming my morbid guess. Oh God, this was not happening.

Jack emerged from the crowd and, not bothering to help me to my feet, he queried "Why the fuck is Walter ringing?!"

The crowd began to add their own set of noises to the symphony; angry questions, astonished gasps, hysterical sobbing. Only Grandma Kate offered the calm words of "Oh dear" and an all-too-knowing shake of her head.

"What do you mean, 'Oh dear'?" Jack asked furiously.

"Oh deary, dear," she repeated. "I'm sorry but, you know how Uncle Walter was, hun. Always carryin' that danged little phone of his. I thought that, well, he'd want to have it with him."

"You mean you're burying him with a working cell phone?!" I couldn't help but yell from where I was on the floor. All my previous admiration of Grandma Kate had just joined Uncle Water in oblivion.

The old woman shrugged with an innocent smile. "Didn't know it was still on. How silly of me, eh?"

The crowd got louder. So did the ringing somewhere in the folds of Uncle Walter's death clothes. Despite all the chaos, no one dared to make a move. I looked at Jack desperately, but he just twitched his mouth and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Grandma Kate stamped her cane down dangerously between my knees. "You'd better answer it, hun. I can't reach my ol' arms in there."

I gaped at her, completely in awe of just how serious she had sounded. She tapped her cane impatiently for a moment before yelling "Well, someone's gotta answer it!" and taking her seat again.

No one moved. Not knowing what else to do (and not giving a damn that I was in a friggin' chapel), I whipped out my ciggs and lit one.

And the phone just kept on ringing.

Description
The Funeral

My eyes snapped open and my body jolted upright painfully. Wha? Had I really fallen asleep? How long had I been out for? Frantically, I straightened my position on the uncomfortable chair I had been sitting in for the past two (waking) hours and looked around. Amongst the rows of padded chairs and the black-clad mourners whose asses were firmly planted into them, I saw one solitary woman giving me the evil eye.

"Damned men," she hissed. I could tell that her words were meant for me to hear. "This is a funeral, for God's sake. No heart at all, the bloody brute."

I almost retorted with a colorful word directed toward the ridiculous feathered hat she was wearing, when I felt Jack's massive hand hit my cheek.

"Eddie, what the hell are you doing?" Jack's bearded face contorted with rage as he spat the words in my face.

I gaped at him stupidly. The only reply I could think of went along the tines of "Well, she started it!" but I knew it'd be stupid for a twenty five year old to say. Jack groaned and turned his attention back to the front of the chapel. I spun around in my chair, and, brief loss of maturity, I flipped the bird to the lady who insulted me.

I hadn't wanted to go this funeral at all. I hate funerals. I like to keep all thoughts of impending doom far from my mind. But I was here because of a dutiful sense of friendship for Jack. He never got along well with his family. Apparently, they thought that dropping out of college to pursue a dream of being a street artist and a part-time garbage man wasn't an acceptable career choice. Well, I'll admit, the dumpster diving part isn't, but that's beside the point. So when Jack received the news of his Uncle Walter's death and his obligation to attend the funeral, he had begged me to go with him to ease the tension. It didn't help though, that neither of us had personally known the man, or that his family knew me as "Jack's psycho buddy from work." How the hell could my presence make this any less awkward?

The chapel was big and draped all over in maroon; maroon carpeting, maroon wallpaper, maroon seat cushions. (Was maroon supposed to be a comforting color or something? It didn't seem that way to me but hell, I'm no funeral director.) Masses of flowers ringed the room and poisoned the air with their thick scents and colors that were far too vibrant for such a depressing occasion. The many members of Jack's family sat rigidly on all sides of me, whispering to one another or unsuccessfully muffling their sounds of grief into handkerchiefs. Not particularly interested in human dramatics, I looked to the head of the chapel.

The black wooden casket gleamed in the florescent lights that lit the place. A balding priest stood at a worn yet polished podium nearby. He was babbling something about believers having eternal life and how the life after this one was much better and all the typical bullshit you'd expect to hear at a funeral. I rolled my eyes over to where Grandma Kate sat at the front row, swaying in the seat, clutching the knob of her cane and… wait. What the hell was she laughing about!? Aw, Christ, what the hell was wrong with this family?

The scent of all those damned flowers was getting to me. I unsuccessfully tried to bite back a sneeze, resulting in a noise that sounded something like a beagle suffering a heart attack. I heard obnoxious giggling and swiveled my head to the source. Apparently, some little girl thought my sneeze was the funniest thing she ever heard. In another brief loss of maturity, I stuck my tongue out at her. She stopped crying immediately. Crocodile tears streamed down her face as she began to wail.

"And now, let us all personally bid Walter our final farewells."

I almost didn't hear it through the little girl's crying. For a moment, I thought I didn't. And then the priest opened the casket, and people started getting out of their seats. Personal farewells? I'm no coward, but the thought of looking dearly departed Uncle Walter in the face and saying "ta ta!" made me want to run for the nearest toilet. The only dead thing I had ever seen was a frog I almost dissected in seventh grade. I say "almost" because I had puked my guts out all over the lab table and was excused from the assignment. After that, I could never look at that singing amphibian from Looney Tunes ever again without seeing those froggy intestines spilled all over the place.

Jack stood and began to head for the line forming next to the casket. For a second, I thought he had forgotten I was there. I was about to sigh in relief when I felt myself being yanked onto my feet and forcibly lead to the procession. Jack's fist had me by the collar. I heard him grumbling "Eddie, you're not embarrassing me this time. We're both going to pay our respects so we can get the hell outta here."

"Can't we skip ahead to the 'just get the hell outta here' part?"

I got my answer; another sharp jerk of his arms and finding myself in the queue of sniveling mourners. I was about as excited as a lab rat waiting to be inducted into the wonderful world of animal testing. And I was even more excited when the little girl suddenly materialized behind me and began to viciously kick my heels. Time seemed to move slowly. I pawed at the Zippo lighter in my pocket and tried to think of the glorious cigarette I would have once I got out of here. It was all I could do to fight the nausea churning in my belly and the urge to pick up that child and seal her in the coffin to spend eternity with Uncle Walter.

Finally, it was our turn. Sweat began to trickle down my back as Jack and I approached the casket and looked down into it. I had to force myself to keep my eyes on Uncle Walter. I won't lie; I had a horrible feeling that he was going to suddenly sit up and yell "just kidding!", thus making me shit myself publicly. But as I looked at him, my fear began to quell a little. He didn't look so bad. In fact, he looked downright peaceful. Way more peaceful than this little party of his.

Jack said his prayers hurriedly and stepped aside. I was about to follow him when guilt suddenly washed over me for being so nervous and so immature at this man's funeral. The least I could do was send him off with a kind word, regardless if he heard it or not.

"What should I say?" I asked out loud, to no one in particular.

"Bye bye, Mr. Dead Guy!" the little girl shrieked from beside me. I felt my hand clench with the urge to ring her little neck, but luckily for her, Grandma Kate hobbled over to my aid. The crazy old woman buffeted the little girl with her cane, and sent her screaming to her mother. She cackled amusedly and lay a gnarled hand on my shoulder.

"Just say anything, deary," she told me. "He ain't gonna be getting mail no more. I'm sure he'll 'preciate whatever you come up with."

I nodded solemnly, genuinely thankful for her kind gesture. I took a deep breath and was about to tell Uncle Walter that I was sorry that he died, when-

BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP

I screamed. I screamed and found myself stumbling back from the coffin so quickly that I tripped and fell flat on my ass. Above me I saw many of the congregation frantically checking their cell phones and beepers while their spouses looked around for the source of a blaring alarm. I already had a horrible, pant-wetting suspicion of where it was coming from.

"Mr. Dead Guy is ringing!" The little brat's shrill laughter filled the room, confirming my morbid guess. Oh God, this was not happening.

Jack emerged from the crowd and, not bothering to help me to my feet, he queried "Why the fuck is Walter ringing?!"

The crowd began to add their own set of noises to the symphony; angry questions, astonished gasps, hysterical sobbing. Only Grandma Kate offered the calm words of "Oh dear" and an all-too-knowing shake of her head.

"What do you mean, 'Oh dear'?" Jack asked furiously.

"Oh deary, dear," she repeated. "I'm sorry but, you know how Uncle Walter was, hun. Always carryin' that danged little phone of his. I thought that, well, he'd want to have it with him."

"You mean you're burying him with a working cell phone?!" I couldn't help but yell from where I was on the floor. All my previous admiration of Grandma Kate had just joined Uncle Water in oblivion.

The old woman shrugged with an innocent smile. "Didn't know it was still on. How silly of me, eh?"

The crowd got louder. So did the ringing somewhere in the folds of Uncle Walter's death clothes. Despite all the chaos, no one dared to make a move. I looked at Jack desperately, but he just twitched his mouth and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Grandma Kate stamped her cane down dangerously between my knees. "You'd better answer it, hun. I can't reach my ol' arms in there."

I gaped at her, completely in awe of just how serious she had sounded. She tapped her cane impatiently for a moment before yelling "Well, someone's gotta answer it!" and taking her seat again.

No one moved. Not knowing what else to do (and not giving a damn that I was in a friggin' chapel), I whipped out my ciggs and lit one.

And the phone just kept on ringing.