//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: Learning to Soar // by Pinky Music //------------------------------// The funeral was a fitting affair, mom’s favorite flowers - red roses and calla lilies - lined the aisle of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It was an old ornate church and it took quite a lot of flowers and candles to decorate it. Fortunately for us, Mom had been friends with several florists and they were willing to sell us what we needed at a discounted rate. At the head of her casket a white rose sat amidst a sea of lilies. I gazed at mom in her ivory colored casket, and for the first time in years she looked at peace.  The pain of living and dying could no longer touch her and in spite of the mist that clung to my eyes I was happy for her, and sad that I’d lost my mom and best friend. I moved to the nearest pew and sat among the many shrouded faces of strangers.  Most of them had been friends of mom or associates of Rick’s.  I reached forward and cracked open one of the bibles to Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8 and read it quietly to myself: There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens. A time to give birth, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them; a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces. A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away. A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to be silent, and a time to speak. A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. As I read, Mom’s coffin was closed, her face never to see the light of day again. The priest gave the usual spiel that he’d delivered at every funeral he’d ever officiated since the beginning of time.  Then Rick took the stage to give the eulogy, something I couldn’t do.  Every time I tried to write the words out my hand would shake and Rick would roll his eyes until finally he said, “I’ll do it. You don’t have the nuts for this sort of thing anyway.” As Rick spoke he conveyed his sorrow. He occasionally would sniff and twice he dabbed his right eye. He said the right things about mom. He told the audience she was kind and loving. He said that she was resilient and that when he thought of her it gave him the strength to succeed when anyone else would fail. At that moment he glanced my way then continued, “… as I sat next to her, holding her hand, she told me how proud she was of me. That I had accomplished so much and that because I was here she was no longer alone.” My mouth hung low as I balled up a fist in anger. This man who counted himself as my brother hadn’t seen mom in years. He hadn’t called her and when he had bothered to send any sort of card for a birthday or Christmas it was late. Yet, here he was telling a church full of people that if it weren’t for him she would have had nobody. Rick gazed in my direction as he continued, “She passed peacefully from this world into God’s loving embrace and she did so knowing that I, her son was there to see her off.   She knew she was loved even if some weren’t able to make the time to see her off. We love you mom. Rest well.” From the moment I took my place as one of her pall bearers until her casket was lowered into the ground I kept my mouth shut and looked straight ahead. Even when Rick asked for directions to the restaurant we’d chosen to hold the funeral reception at I ignored him and put my earbuds in, then cranked up the Smile song as loud as I could and walked off. By the time we arrived at the Red Lounge, mom’s favorite restaurant, my ears were sore and Rick had moved on. The Red Lounge was a quaint, but well-appointed hall, filled with beautiful cherry wood accents and old world charm. It was mom’s favorite restaurant. The staff knew her and were sympathetic to our mourning. Whatever appetizers we ordered were free, but Rick and some of his friends were insistent on running up a liquor tab. When he was on his sixth high ball I was still nursing my glass of wine. My shoulder ached. The coffin had been heavier than I’d anticipated. If it weren’t for that ache, the numbness that filled my heart would have ensured that whatever dark place I felt like crawling into would suffice as I played the past few days through my head. At the forefront of that darkness was Rick. I could still hear the contempt, though subtle, in his voice, as he described her final moments. I could have gone my entire life and not heard his version of what happened. For about fifteen minutes I watched the bastard make his way across the restaurant glad handing the other mourners and occasionally cracking an inaudible joke. When he finally looked in my direction he motioned to me with his glass a sneer plastered across his inebriated face. “One… two… three,” I counted and closed my eyes in an attempt to calm the blackness that bubbled within. There was no denying it, I hated him and wanted him gone. Mom would have been disappointed that I wished my own brother would just go away. Unfortunately, blood does not necessarily a family make. “Hey scrote,” slurred Rick as he pulled out a chair and flopped into it across from me. “Rick.” “So, why didn’t you stay? I mean, you’d made it all the way through the rest of it. You should have stayed.” “You really have the nerve to ask me that, after your eulogy? Why don’t you stick a knife in my heart while you’re at it?” I growled. “Well, I ordered fish and heart doesn’t go with it,” he said with a chuckle and a shrug, “And anyway I really want to know.” “Well, if you must know, mom asked me not to come back. She wanted me to remember her the way she was and not like that.” “Oh bullshit,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, “We all know what happened--you pussed out. You couldn’t even write the damn eulogy. You’re a child Bob. Always have been, always will be.” I gulped the last of my wine, “That’s a load of crap Rick and you know it.” “Hey I’m not the one who watches cartoon shows for little girls,” barked Rick, “Oh, didn’t think I knew?  I’ve seen your Facebook and the crap you post on it! Your friggin’ earbuds have one of their symbols on ‘em! What is it Pinky Winky or something? “Pinkie Pie.” “Dork.” “Well how do you know what it is Mr. Big Shot,” I spat back. “I have two daughters. They like that crap. What’s your excuse?” I glared at him from across the table. It wasn’t just the past few days, but a lifetime of bitterness and unbridled hatred washed over me. The restaurant grew deathly quiet as the chair slowly slid out from under me and my legs straightened up. My body was acting on its own and for the first time that I could remember I watched as the confidence in Rick’s face drained, “Keep talking. I’m begging you,” I muttered. “Woah, Bob,” said Rick slowly, “Put the blade down okay? W-we don’t need to do this.” I blinked and looked down at the hand that clenched the steak knife tightly. Quietly, I set it on the table, “Rick, I watch it because it makes me happy. I enjoy being happy. There are so few things in this world that make me feel good. Frankly you’re not one of those things. You know, until you showed up I was content to go the rest of my life without ever hearing your voice or seeing your stupid face ever again.  Once this party is over, I hope you go back to Phoenix, get old and leave me the fuck alone forever. “ The thunder boomed overhead as my cab pulled up in front of my building. As I paid the guy the sky opened up and a torrential downpour flooded the streets. After a few minutes of slipping and sloshing I made my way into the building and was well on my way to my apartment. I was exhausted and sore not just from my bum shoulder but from all of it. Upon entering my apartment I tossed my keys onto the counter and quickly stripped every stitch of clothing I had on before taking the longest hottest shower I could stand. The water pelted away and I closed my eyes for what felt like a year but was probably five minutes as I let the shower do its work and wash the day away. Still, it wasn’t enough. After the shower I wrapped a towel around my waist and popped a couple of Vicodin left over from a car accident a few years back. It was determined to not be my fault but I knew I could’ve been able to do something, and my shoulder was never the same after that. As I walked through my apartment toward the small living room I decided to do something that would make me happy. I turned on my favorite show, My Little Pony. For the first time in days the occasional chuckle echoed through my small apartment. The soreness in my heart and body had subsided and a druggy weariness worked its way into me. “There’s a time for everything,” I murmured, “Yeah, right,” I said snarkily as I took a brief look at a photo of Sarah, my late fiancée and myself. The world slowly darkened as I leaned back further into my chair than I ever had before. It felt like I was falling and as the night washed over me I welcomed it.