I was in the middle of my salty French onion soup when Veronica looked at me with the kind of cheery, perky, HAPY smile that would irritate me when I watched one of the local newscasts on TV. She crushed an unopened bag of crackers before pouring the remains into her thick bowl of mushroom soup while Uncle Alex busied himself with over-buttering a pair of Ry-Krisps.
The waitress refilled our coffee, unable to keep from looking over her arm at my face.
"I was thinking." This is good, I thought. She thinks. "After all of this is over," you know, like a long, boring movie is eventually over, "maybe we should all go down to Miami, or San Diego, someplace warm." Why, in God's name? "The three of us. They would have wanted us to." ‘They’? They aren't even in the ground yet, you scavenger. "What do you think, baby?"
Where was Mom's scarf?
*
It was the day after Christmas. We should have been returning all the gifts we really didn't like, and snapping up the half-price discounts on the good leftovers.
Three-thirty, and the low, grey sky outside the funeral home was already turning dark. Flurries of snow had been blowing since lunch. Someone mentioned there was a blizzard on the way for the entire Midwest. Every time somebody came in the front entrance, cold, fat gusts of wind followed them through. I was hit by one of these drafts as I exited the men's bathroom, where I had just washed my hands and face again. The florist's delivery man, an older black gentleman with kind eyes and a grey moustache, struggled with his goods as Roger nervously escorted him into "The Resting Room" without lifting a finger to help the man carry anything.
I caught the young-and-old pair of ladies in the funeral home office looking at me like I was a Bengal tiger or something, locked in a small cage they didn't want to get too close to. I slammed the glass door against its supporting glass wall to give the hags something to talk about as I withdrew to watch the gloomy December sunset.
I stood restlessly in between Uncle Alex's rent-a-car and the funeral home's early model Cadillac station wagon. The florist's van was parked in the middle of the parking lot with its side door open. The delivery man glanced sadly at me as I ignored the dropping temperature and let the falling snow build up on my hair and grey tweed suit jacket.
"You should go back inside, child." He reached into the van and handed me a short-stemmed rose before he continued bringing in the various floral arrangements. I looked at the incongruous flower for a long time, watching the edge of the petals roll backward as snowflakes landed upon them. I broke off the bottom of the stem and inserted the remainder into the button hole of my lapel. I wasn't sure if wearing the thing would be considered untoward.
I could still make out a hint of the rose's fragrance as I stalked back into the chilly and silent Resting Room, now festooned with flowers, empty chairs, and Mom and Dad's matching coffins, which were decorated with an odd assortment of framed pictures showing them in rather a better state than they were today.
*
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"God bless you."
"What a terrible, terrible thing."
"If there's anything you need..."
"We were such good friends."
"You look charming in that suit."
"He was my favorite cousin."
"They've gone to a better place."
"We're here for you."
"You look tired."
"The flowers are beautiful, just beautiful."
"Our prayers are for you."
"How could this happen?"
"Why? Oh, why?"
"She was a wonderful woman."
"God be with you, little friend."
"What happened to your face?"
"I can't find the words."
"You've grown so much."
"Be strong."
"Can we do anything for you?"
"Horrible."
"I know they'll always be with you."
"Everything looks so nice."
"Call if you need anything."
"At least there was no suffering."
"We'll all miss them."
"Aren't any of your friends here?"
"Try not to take it very hard."
"If there's something I can do..."
"How are you holding up?"
"I didn't know you could buy so many roses in December."
"My God, on Christmas Eve!"
"You poor dear."
"We have to keep in touch."
"I miss them already."
"God will keep them for you."
"If there's anything I can do..."
*
I sat alone in the Reflection Room. It was decorated with dark paneling, uncomforting religious prints, and burgundy leather furniture that hadn't been broken in. One wall featured rows of leather-bound volumes, much like an attorney would own. I wasn't surprised to note the almost complete absence of any worthwhile literary works, aside from Balzac's Pere Goriot and Graham Greene's The End of the Affair. Tiny snowmen and Santa Claus lights were hung around the borders of the stained glass windows. There were two black wrought-iron lamps in the suffocating box. I kept the one furthest from my seat on. The only piece of furniture in the room I really liked was a large cherry wood radio console.
Nobody came into the room after I had retreated into it. Nicolasha and Roger talked quietly amongst themselves outside the door, discouraging anyone from doing so.
I spent the first part of the evening playing greeter while Uncle Alex tried to sober up, and then took to walking back and forth between the snowy parking lot, the wash basin in the men's bathroom, and the Resting Room, where the family had grabbed half of the seats to hold court, a chatty swarm of locusts whose company served only to reassure me that my cage really was too small that night.
I almost prayed for Felix to walk in the door.
After sitting in silence for I don't know how long, I plugged in the radio and switched it on to the Mom and Pop classical station, just in time to hear one of their three announcers intone his best wishes for everyone's happy holidays, and introduce a live recording of the Orchestra del Teatro ala Scala di Milano playing a few overtures of Rossini. I'm glad I was alone in the room. No one saw me smile. My wandering mind alternated between images of Elmer Fudd having his hair done by Bugs Bunny, and lines of robed guests wandering about the Roman health spa in glorious Felliniesque monochrome. Il barbiere di Siviglia...bravissimo, indeed!
I decided I would one day visit Milano to see the opera.
"Little friend, your uncle would like you to come out." Why? "It is time for the closing prayer." Nicolasha and Roger beckoned me with a pair of melancholy smiles. I stood up and made them wait until the last few bars of Semiramide finished.
That's it, I thought. I'm going to Italy over Easter Vacation. To hell with reality.
Nicolasha brushed his hand over my hair as Roger shifted back and forth on his heels. The funeral home heir said, "If there's anything we can do..." I walked past him, laughing under my breath.
I always knew God had a sense of humor.
*
The snow continued to fall through the endless night of the wake. Urged on by a bitter east wind, the snowstorm was still going strong by the time we met at Holy Rosary the next day. The ride to and from our old church was slow and treacherous.
Earlier that morning, the Polish priest had called me at home, to ask if I would say a few words during the church service.
"About what?"
"Your parents, of course. Whatever you might be feeling about them, or their passing. Maybe something you remember from your childhood. It is up to you."
Fine.
"No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts w
ould be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone."
I read Shakespeare's seventy first sonnet in a cold, even voice that unsettled the drafty, echoing church into a tense silence that continued through the mercifully brief service at the suburban cemetery's ultra-modern glass chapel.
*
The mourners filed out to their cars while I sat down on the carpeted cement floor, staring at my Mom and Dad with the book of sonnets pressed between my chest and my crossed arms. The Huns would be off to the local country club for the post-burial lunch arranged for by Dad's partners, I noted idly.
"Are you coming, baby?" I glared at Veronica and Uncle Alex until they turned around and left.
The cemetery people came in to take the coffins away. I stood up and let Nicolasha wrap his arm around my shoulders and walk me out to his snow-covered Volvo. I heard the chapel door close behind me.
Many Christmases ago, me and Mom and Dad spent the holiday at Uncle Alex's new Minnesota redoubt, which he called Der Schloss. It was the last really happy Christmas we had together. I don't think it got above zero the entire time we were there. The front of Unc's Schloss was built on top of a big hill that rolled down to a good-sized lake that the town was built around. The lake was frozen solid, of course, and so was Unc's hill, after Dad snuck out and hosed it down one night. We spent the next day with Unc's hick neighbors, trying to kill ourselves sledding, rolling, sliding, and falling down the hill of glass.
It was some of the best fun I've ever had.
Nicolasha cleared the snow off of the car with a tiny broom. As I sat and looked out of windows, the whole world seemed white. The sky. The grass and the trees. The air. Everything.
* * *
X I I I
'Tis bitter cold
And I am sick at heart.
Hamlet
My teacher dropped me off at home. He kissed me once on the cheek and waved at me as he drove away, leaving me to face my empty house alone. As I unlocked the front door, I saw a yellow envelope sticking out of the mailbox. I left it there to answer the phone. It was Felix. The snowstorm had stopped almost every flight in and out of the Midwest. He didn't know when he would be able to come, but promised he would, even if he had to sleep another night at the airport to get a seat. I believed him, and was happy to hear his voice, even though I'm sure he couldn't tell that, because I didn't say much. He said he loved me before he rang off. I trudged upstairs to take another long, hot shower. Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld kept me company.
*
I threw my suit into the corner of my closet and put on a brand new pair of long underwear and jeans, a fresh t-shirt, wool hiking socks, and a thick, itchy, and black V-neck sweater given to me by Veronica. It crinkled with static over my uncombed hair as I slipped it down my arms.
I walked into the family room to lace up my hiking boots. I had planned to take a walk in the park before ordering a pizza and going to bed early. Instead, I stared out into the backyard and watched the sky get darker and darker. It still hadn't stopped snowing. The phone rang. I switched on a light before answering it on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Hey! This is Brennan. Merry two days after Christmas!"
"Hi." I plopped onto the couch with relief. It wasn't a family member, thank God.
"How are you?" My voice was a mixture of happiness and exhaustion.
"I'd be happy to get back home." Speak for yourself, bud. "We're stuck at my Grandpa's place in Terre Haute." Talk about being in mourning. "The local Interstate is all screwed up."
I remembered the limousine almost being broadsided by a Chicago Transit Authority bus as we slid across a red light at Halsted Street on the way to the cemetery. Wow, I thought, almost got the entire family in two days. "I tried calling you on Christmas."
"Really? I tried calling you, too, but all I got was a busy signal. The same thing last night."
I had taken the phone off the hook before going to sleep.
We bantered on about our presents and the weather and going back to school and playing baseball again, until I finally told him about Mom and Dad. I also wanted to tell Brennan about the wake and the funeral, about all the bizarre things I had to do and listen to and watch, but chose not to after I almost started crying again, just thinking about it.
I looked forward to the day when I could go more than twelve hours without wanting to break down and cry.
"I don't know if I'll see you before school starts again." Brennan's voice sounded regretful and unhappy. He had been so cheery when the conversation began. "My parents are talking about staying here until after the first."
"That's okay. I'll see you when you get back." I tried to sound as hopeful as I suddenly realized I wanted to be.
"No, it isn't. I should be there now, with you."
I felt a small flash inside of me.
There were about ten of us who played ball together. We didn't have teams. We just took turns coming to bat and switched positions when we weren't up. Most of the guys went to the local public high school, and they were the closest friends. They saw each other every day, no matter what. Brennan and Ozzie went to the nearest Catholic boys school, but didn't seem to hang out much, except with us. I was the only one who left the immediate suburbs every day and always seemed to be the last one called out to play, even though everyone was cool to me. I suppose if you counted all the games and all the cookouts and all the times we'd drink and light up together since I moved in from Roseland, we were actually a pretty good group of buddies. But I never pictured any of them as friends, or ones that would last, and never felt like anyone was picturing me that way either.
Brennan all of a sudden did. Another close friend? I was still getting used to the one, and now out of the clear blue I had two. Flash.
"Are you still there?"
"I'm sorry. My mind’s someplace else." I wasn't day-dreaming. I couldn't focus long enough to do that. I was tired, but not terribly sleepy. My stomach felt like it was a pretzel. I wasn't sure if I was hungry or I had some queer ache that wouldn't go away. Since the Captain had brought me home, I had washed my hands and face more than Lady Macbeth. My teeth ground together, picturing Brennan playing in the untouched Indiana snow. I had two close friends my own age in the entire world, and they were both in different states, I protested to any god that might have been listening. I sighed heavily. "I'm glad you called, though."
"I feel real close to you right now." Sure. Terre Haute might as well be in France, for all intents and purposes. And Fort Myers? How about the Seychelles? "Hey!" He barked at me like I was standing across an outfield from him. "Did you get my Christmas card?"
The envelope I left outside. I felt a little life creep back into me. "That yellow thing? What are you trying to say to me, hm?"
"It's all they had left down here," Brennan replied defensively. "They ran out of fluorescent pink envelopes."
"That's because you kept them all for yourself."
"Fuck you!" I heard a single, loud "hey!" from an older man in the background, probably his dad. "Fuck you!" Brennan whispered.
"No. Not unless I can fuck you back." We burst out laughing, nervously you could hear it, but laughing all the same. Terre Haute didn't seem so far away right then.
The doorbell rang. I flinched. "Someone is at the door." Oh, please, I pleaded to the ceiling, don't let it be a relative. We listened to each other not say anything for almost a minute. The chimes rang again.
"Okay. I'll call you in the morning." Brennan's voice got cheery again. "Don't stay up all night drinking."
"It's an idea at that."
*
Wait. Oh my God! I kn
ew it! It was those damned coffins! Mom! Dad! I told them they were too uncomfortable!
*
"The eaglet has landed." Felix's usually dapper trench coat looked old and wrinkled. Snowflakes dotted his shoulders and were strewn all over his wind-blown hair. He held out his hand with an apologetic look on his sun-burnt face, which looked funny in the cold. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here any sooner."
I shook my head in disbelief, but seized Felix's offered hand in both of mine. I had resigned myself to a long night alone. Now I had Felix standing in front of me, smiling me into submission. "I thought you were still in Florida," I said dumbly.
"My pale face is."
We practically knocked ourselves over trying to hug each other, the snow, wind, and cold be damned.
*
The entire house looked like the Red Army had just gone through it. Dishes and glasses, clothes and boxes, wrapping paper and books, everything was everywhere it didn't belong.
Felix peered into our arid refrigerator. "What were you planning on doing for dinner?" He took out a bottle of Coke for the two of us.
"Pizza," and a bottle of vodka for dessert.
"Well, there's nothing in here. You go and order one, and I'll start cleaning up."
"Felix, I can do it myself later on."
"Later on when? Next year?"
"Next year starts in three days."
Felix brought the mini-debate to a halt by turning on the kitchen radio, which was set to Dad's usual jazz station. He nodded his head with satisfaction. "This is pretty cool music." My friend pushed me toward the wall phone. "You won't do any work if there's some symphony on."
*
We gutted every room in the house. The kitchen was now spotless. Every dish and glass was washed and put away. I started a fire while Felix tended to the couches, the book shelves, and the wet bar. He did two loads of laundry while I dusted and vacuumed both the living and dining rooms. He even scrubbed my bathroom down while I changed the sheets and made my bed, which I hoped we would share later that night. I put away the clothes Felix had washed while he went through my record collection.
Miles Page 12
