Sunday, May 21, 2006

everything is different but the same

his mother approached her. 'he was afraid to come you know.' she said. 'he is afraid now. to see you.' 'tell him not to be afraid. he needs to. he needs to have his peace.' she is a greater person than i. i, standing outside. all of us. smoking cigarettes. looking at each other. look at us. we are still alive. look at us dressed up. in costumes. cheap and purchased hastily. for modesty. for dark colors. for mourning. look at him. i did. i stared. what are you doing here, i said silenty, how dare you. i went on. i know you can see me looking at you. look at me. look at me. i know you won't.

meanwhile his mother said that every day she feared that this would happen to her son. this. you selfish cunt. this will never happen to your son. or it will. it will happen to your son but it will happen differently. did you know that he was there that day?

none of us talked to him. standing outside. smoking cigarettes. looking at each other. i don't want to go back in there. out here it is like a bad movie. look at us. watch us come of age before your very eyes. in our cheaply made and hastily purchased skirts that don't fit quite right. look at us wearing ties. out here it is like a bad movie but in there, in there there is a dead body with a bad haircut and even if you try not to look it is in your periphery, out of focus and blurred as you look at pictures of him running down the street holding onto his beer, pictures of him eating hamburgers. even in the distance you can see that his skin is orange. pancake makeup, maybe. out here i can smoke cigarettes and rip the kleenex i stuffed into my purse into little balls, twist them up between my fingers and throw them on the ground, out here i can be a complete wreck without shame while everyone in there smiles as the procession shuffles past them. i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry. he's in a better place now. i'm so sorry. and so it goes.

and i could write forever. i don't know how this is supposed to end. maybe it isn't. death is one of the only events in life that is predictable. that is certain. maybe it's ironic because certainty should be comfortable should be comforting. maybe if i believed in god. maybe if i believed in god a man in black could lie at my funeral about how i walked with jesus. funny, i didn't know this movie was a comedy. maybe it is a black comedy. he always liked dark humor. i will write it that way next time.
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