Once in a Blue Moon

by Vicki Covington

  Landon smiled and took her hand. “Yes, he was. A legend.”

  “The nicest man in the world,” Jason inserted.

  “You are right about that,” Landon said.

  “He was compelled to help people,” Mrs. Kasir went on.

  She stood, walked to the drawer that held silverware, and sat back down with a fork in hand. Carefully, she pulled the foil back and scooped out a bite of the Veg-All.

  “Mmm,” she said. “Do you make it the standard way? I taste something special.”

  “Well, I did pour some melted butter—more than is called for in the recipe—over the Ritz crackers crumbs.”

  “Ah,” Mrs. Kasir replied. “That’s it.”

  Jason got up from the table and went to the living room. Landon guessed he wanted to give the women privacy.

  Mrs. Kasir took off her earrings and put them on the table. “I guess I don’t need these, now that the church friends have gone,” she said. “I know you don’t mind how I look, do you, Landon?”

  “I think you look beautiful.”

  For some reason, this caused Mrs. Kasir’s eyes to fill. “I apologize,” she said.

  Landon reached over and squeezed her hand. “I understand.”

  Mrs. Kasir dabbed her eyes with a napkin and asked, “Are you acquainted with grief?”

  Landon told her about Nick’s young death, and that she had lost both her parents many years ago. She didn’t know how much Mr. Kasir had told his wife about Landon’s past and present struggles.

  Mrs. Kasir reached for one of the spiral notebooks. She came to a red one that had “Landon Cooper, 1627 Cullom Street” printed on the cover. “I need to jot some things down,” she said. “And what better place to do it than in your notebook?”

  For a moment, Landon feared that Mr. Kasir might have mentioned the girl in his notes. Or that he might have put the photograph of herself at twenty-one in a side pocket. But Mrs. Kasir went straight to the back and tore out a sheet.

  “I need you to help me remember some things,” she said.

  Landon sipped her tea and nodded.

  “First of all, don’t you think we should have the funeral day after tomorrow?”

  “Have you talked with the funeral home about it?” Landon asked.

  “Jason!” she called.

  He appeared immediately and pulled out a chair for himself.

  “Didn’t the funeral director tell you that it would be day after tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Then, or we’ll have to wait until next week.” He turned to Landon. “I can’t remember if I told you I’m studying music at the university. My granddad’s funeral will have the best music in the world. The service will begin with Aaron Copland’s ‘Fanfare for the Common Man.’ A soloist will later sing the old Shaker hymn ‘Simple Gifts,’ which was the inspiration for Copland’s Appalachian Spring.”

  Mrs. Kasir turned to Landon. “If Jason thinks it’s what we ought to do with the music, then that is what we will do. He is also putting together a eulogy for our priest, Father Mark. We’re Catholic, you know.”

  Landon nodded. “I know. I know where your church is. It’s beautiful from the outside, and I am looking forward to seeing the inside. I told Mr. Kasir that I used to think it was Greek Orthodox. But he set me straight on that.”

  “Here,” Mrs. Kasir said, and put the piece of notebook paper and a pencil in front of Jason. “Write all this down, hon. I mean, the order of things—the processional, the solo, the eulogy, the surprise recessional. I know we have to follow all the rituals of the church, including the Eucharist. But you will talk to Father Mark for me about the music, won’t you?”

  “I will. And the soloist is one of my friends from the Department of Music. She’ll knock your socks off when she starts to sing, ‘ ’Tis the gift to be simple.’ Do you know that tune?” he asked Landon.

  “Yes, I do, and how perfect for your granddad.”

  “Listen to me, Grandmom,” he said, and broke into song.

  ’Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free

  ’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

  And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

  ’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

  For a moment, neither Landon nor Mrs. Kasir said a word, they were so moved by his baritone voice and the lyrics that so personified Mr. Kasir.

  “Can’t you feel his spirit?” Landon said.

  She often found herself talking to the deceased at night or when she felt most alone. And she never stopped talking to some of them, particularly Nick. She prayed more to those she’d lost than she did to God, in fact. She was certain they would hear her and pass along the information to him.

  Now, she basked in the invisible presence of Mr. Kasir, along with his wife and beloved grandson. Landon reached for Mrs. Kasir’s hand, then Jason’s, as if they were a family about to give thanks for their supper. But they didn’t speak. Instead, they sat quietly holding hands.

  Finally, Jason smiled at Landon and asked, “You sure you’re not a priest?”

  “Afraid not,” Landon replied.

  After Jason and Mrs. Kasir had a rough draft of the order of worship, Landon stood.

  “I need to be going,” she said softly.

  Mrs. Kasir stood alongside her, then hugged her, lingering in the embrace for a moment, then backing up to study Landon’s face.

  “You are special,” she said. “Just like Abe told me. Keep us in your prayers.”

  “I will. And I will see you at the funeral.”

  When Landon got in her car, she looked back and saw Mrs. Kasir standing on the porch, waving. As she drove away, she kept sneaking glances in the rearview mirror, only to see Mrs. Kasir standing by the screen door, still waving until Landon turned left and she fell out of sight.

  THE NEIGHBORS

  The funeral was held two days later at Mr. Kasir’s church. Landon, Sam, and Jet all piled into Abi’s Volvo and drove to the church together.

  They chose a pew at the very back.

  The extended Kasir family gathered in the vestibule. They were to lead the processional down the aisle. Jason was holding his grandmom’s hand. At the front of the church were the brass and percussionists—friends of his from the Department of Music at the university. He waited for “Fanfare for the Common Man” to begin. He spotted the Cullom Street neighbors in the last pew and was somehow humbled by their presence. The drummer heralded the beginning stanza of Copland’s piece.

  When the trumpeters sounded the clarion call, he took a deep breath and whispered to his grandmom, “Here we go.”

  They walked hand in hand, leading the rest of the family. Only his father, Abe Jr., was missing, still doing time. Jason quickly dismissed that thought. He felt something—pride, perhaps—that he had assembled this group of friends to perform. The music felt special.

  Jason held his head high as they moved down the aisle. This wasn’t something he had anticipated—the power he felt, knowing he had done a good job with the funeral planning, his final act of helpfulness for his granddad.

  The pew for family members at the front of the church was marked by purple velvet ropes. He unfastened the one on the first pew and helped Grandmom along until she was seated.

  The priests led the rest of the processional, followed by the pallbearers, who carried Mr. Kasir’s body in a flag-draped coffin. Jason hadn’t known he would be so moved by the fact that it was to be a military funeral.

  At the back of the church, Landon leaned forward to check on Abi, who was in the aisle seat. Abi was staring straight ahead. She felt uneasy being in a church. Her heart was racing. She hoped her body wasn’t going to revolt and send her running from the service. But when the incense was released, she relaxed and leaned against Sam.

  “Wow,” he whispered reverently. He associated incense with weed. But here, in this place, its power caused a quickening in him—like the feeling he often had when Poppy’s preach
ing started its crescendo.

  Abi took his hand. “This isn’t what I thought it would be like,” she whispered.

  “You all right?” he asked her.

  Sam was surprised and touched that she let him hold her during this moment. Abi was fighting back tears. She prided herself in her ability to dodge hysteria, to be stoic in the face of catastrophe, to hide when hurt. But Mr. Kasir had been part of her life for so long.

  Landon again checked on Abi and was relieved to see that she was finally letting herself grieve.

  Jet looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. This was so different from when her daddy died. She didn’t have to love Mr. Kasir; he wasn’t kin to her. But she had loved him, and he had caused her to realize that she was worthy of love.

  The priest spoke of Mr. Kasir, his family, his service to the country, and his work as a landlord. “Mr. Kasir helped those who had chains they could not break, a song they couldn’t sing, a path they couldn’t find. I have never, during a funeral, asked what I’m about to ask, but I feel I must do this. If Mr. Kasir personally helped you find your way, will you please stand?”

  Jason rose from the first pew at the front of the church. His grandmom reached for his hand so as to stand, too.

  Landon saw this and was moved. How had Mr. Kasir helped her, his wife, find her way? And then she understood—they had lived and loved together for over sixty years. Landon cried for them but also for herself, thinking of her own marriage, of the years spent with Robbie. They had witnessed one another caught in chains they could not break, a song they could no longer sing, a path they could no longer go down together.

  Landon stood, thinking of how Mr. Kasir had helped her find her way forward.

  Jet rose. Then Abi. Then Sam.

  Jason turned to see who was standing. It was nearly half the people in attendance.

  “Look how young these people are,” Landon whispered.

  “Other tenants,” Jet whispered back.

  “Will you all join me,” the priest concluded, “in celebrating the life of a man such as this?”

  Those who were still seated rose, and the priest asked for a moment of silence. Then the rites, and finally the Irish blessing: “May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of his hand.”

  The recessional began. An acolyte extinguished the candles. The sound of recorded music began.

  “What is that?” Abi said.

  “It’s Pat Metheny,” Landon told the group. “‘Last Train Home.’”

  “Pat who?” Jet asked.

  “I guess some churches allow secular music,” Landon said as they filed out.

  They packed back into Abi’s Volvo and joined the other cars to form the procession to the cemetery.

  “Turn on your lights,” Jet told Abi.

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  “Look at those cars pulling over,” Sam said as they drove toward Elmwood Cemetery. “I can’t believe people still do that.”

  “It’s one of those old Southern traditions that never die,” Landon replied.

  At the grave, Mr. Kasir’s friends and family gathered under the canopy surrounding the coffin. The priest read a passage: “‘For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited me in; naked, and you clothed me; I was sick, and you visited me; I was in prison, and you came to me. The disciples asked when they had done those things for him, and he replied, Inasmuch as you do unto the least of these, you do it for me.’”

  A prayer was recited. The flag was folded and presented to Mrs. Kasir. A lone bugler played Taps. He was clearly just a kid, a volunteer student, but he hit every note perfectly and, in this way, played Mr. Kasir home.

  Jet realized her father was buried here. She hadn’t come to the cemetery in years. As she looked out over the acreage, she decided that maybe it was time to start coming again.

  She joined Sam and Abi, and the three of them walked back to the Volvo.

  Landon waited until the family members rose from their folded chairs under the canopy. Then she walked in the direction of Jason and Mrs. Kasir.

  “It was a beautiful ceremony,” she told Mrs. Kasir.

  “Didn’t Jason do good with the music?” Mrs. Kasir asked, patting her grandson on the arm.

  “Oh, yes,” Landon replied.

  They embraced. Mrs. Kasir was so much older, yet Landon felt a new bond with her. They were both living alone, without their men, but Landon knew Mrs. Kasir was going to be fine. And in that moment, for the first time, she knew she also would be fine.

  The next time the neighbors were all together was election night. A month had passed since they’d buried Mr. Kasir.

  They met at Landon’s. Abi, Sam, and Tanya. Jet and Lenny and his boyfriend, Brett. Jason and his girlfriend, Carly. Jet had invited Jason. Nobody thought he’d come. But he did. He thought his granddad would have wanted him to.

  Landon, Tanya, and Carly sat on the couch. Abi took the lounge chair. Jet sat on the floor. Sam stood. He needed to stand. He was still worried, even though it was going to take a miracle for McCain to pull out a victory. Sam was almost too nervous to watch CNN.

  Every time a new state was called for Obama, the tenants toasted.

  “Sam, it’s gonna happen,” Abi said. “You’ve got to sit down.”

  “Can’t,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Call Poppy,” Jet suggested. She was clutching her own phone in her hand, occasionally texting Caroline and Stephanie.

  “Not now,” he replied.

  And then, finally, it happened. The network projected Obama to be the next president of the United States. Abi went to her knees and put her face in her hands. Sam and Tanya raised their hands like they were in church. Jet jumped around the room, hugging Lenny and Brett, Jason and Carly. Landon sat dumbstruck, trying to hear the TV.

  “Let’s just listen in to what’s happening at Grant Park in Chicago,” the TV commentator said before falling silent.

  It was a sea of flags. Some people were cheering; others looked stunned; some were crying. The network switched to New York for a view of Times Square, then to Atlanta, Los Angeles, Paris, London, and ultimately Kenya, where Obama’s African family members were dancing in the streets.

  “I didn’t for a moment think this would happen in my lifetime,” Landon said to nobody in particular.

  Abi was still on her knees. She was thinking about her mother—how she had, in the end, not only accepted a black man but actually voted for him. Abi felt like the problems they had in the past were erased. She was going to call Mama and tell her how she would always remember her vote—what she did for Abi, for her friends, for her country.

  Abi stood and hugged Jet. “Little sister,” she whispered.

  Jet hugged Abi tight and perhaps for the first time in her life felt proud of herself. She never for a moment had doubted that Obama would win, that he deserved to win. And at this moment, she felt she did, too. Jet looked at each of her friends, lingering on the two couples. She saw the way that Sam was looking at Tanya, the way Lenny had nestled into the crook of Brett’s arm on the sofa. She knew that their lives would be better because of what had happened that night, and she knew she was a part of that. Alabama had gone for McCain. Work was still to be done in their state. But it didn’t matter right now. This was the time to be happy for what had come to pass.

  Finally, the crowd at Grant Park quieted for an announcement.

  “America, here is your next first family.”

  The house was rocking. Cell phones were ringing. On the TV, Bruce Springsteen was singing “The Rising.” These friends, from all different worlds, had their moment in time, and it was good. It was good.

  After Obama’s speech, everyone stayed on, getting drunker.

  Jet pulled
up a playlist from Obama’s campaign on Landon’s computer and turned the volume way up—“Your Love Has Lifted Me Higher,” “Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I’m Yours.”

  Sam finally called Poppy. He knew it was late, but he couldn’t resist.

  Poppy answered the phone quickly, as if he’d been awaiting the call.

  “Poppy!” Sam shouted.

  “Sam! My boy!” Poppy answered.

  Poppy’s voice was wavering. Sam figured he might have been crying. He thought of how Poppy had helped him understand that a black man could make history, could be president.

  Poppy, as always, had a piece of scripture just right for the moment. “‘All things work together for good to those who love God,’” he said, “‘to those who are called according to his purpose.’” Then, “I hear that party going on, wherever you are. Go be with your friends.”

  After he hung up, Sam held Tanya tight. He looked into her eyes and saw their whole future—marriage, travel abroad, their own family, children who could be anything they wanted.

  Jet had brought a bottle of champagne. She uncorked it and passed it around the room. Stephanie had already texted, “Congratulations!” as if Jet had personally made it happen—this historic night.

  Jason sang along with the music. He felt so exhausted from everything that had happened since Granddad died, and yet he was excited for what was to come. He had started pulling for Obama once he saw the neighbors’ signs in their yards. They couldn’t all be wrong. Now, he understood that the new president wanted the whole country to be like the neighbors on Cullom Street, taking care of each other. He stood and pulled Carly to her feet. They danced, clumsy and happy.

  Landon picked up Alejandro, who was hiding in a corner, dazed and unhappy with their rowdy houseguests. She carried him to the front porch. It wasn’t that she wanted to get away from her party. She just wanted to listen from a distance as she held Alejandro on the porch swing.

  Once, she had dreamed she could fly. And she had shot straight up into the sky. She looked back and saw the backyard she’d grown up in. She knew she’d return to earth. But for a brief moment in time, she wanted to keep flying, glancing down at her life on earth, gazing at the trees, the seasons, the friends, the neighbors. Now, as she walked back toward her door, to the neighbors dancing inside, she thought once more of Mr. Kasir, where he was now, and where they would all be in the by and by.