The Funeral

The funeral was held on a Wednesday. It was a beautiful day, weather-wise; the funeral was sad. Some people cried uncontrollably, while others tried not to look uncomfortable. There weren't that many people. The saddest thing though, was that his family was nowhere to be seen. 

I sat near the back, marveling at the whole scene, thinking what a beautiful day to be buried. In the movies, directors like to make it rain whenever someone dies so as to make the scene sadder. I think funerals should be a happy ceremony, celebrating the life of a person. But the problem is that people seldom enjoy others when they have them near, which is probably why they cry when they die, because they can’t have the time they took for granted back. 

There I sat, thinking all of this. I didn’t really know him, but I knew his parents. They were good people until they weren’t. It's funny how sometimes people change, so you have to change the way you perceive them. If it’s troublesome for a stranger to change their mind, imagine a kid having to watch the two people that brought him to this world, destroy it. I wondered if they are the reason for the fate of this kid. Only twenty five. What a waste.

Somebody cleared their throat behind me. I turned around.

“I suppose you did not hear me. I asked if you needed a ride.”

I look at the man, with a black trench coat and a matching fedora, and not a drop of recognition hits me.

“Sure, but then how would I get my car back home?”

He chuckled weakly, a hint of annoyance in there.

“Sorry then. I really only wanted an excuse to ask you out. My name is Roger. Paul. Roger Paul.”

“Nice to meet you, Paul Roger Paul. It’s weird that your first name is the same as your last.”

This time he didn’t bother laughing.

“You’re a hard one, eh.”

“Au contraire, monsieur. I’m Tara Scott, and I’d like to go out sometime, but not today. Friday? Six o’clock? Downtown’s Diner.”

With that I stood up and walked to my imaginary car.