Ana now stands next to me, wearing a black pantsuit. I would hazard to guess she did this to allow me to shine today, as if this were my wedding. Susan is wearing a black sweater and black skirt. She is surrounded by young men in black suits and a few older women in black or navy dresses. We are standing outside in the grass. The heels of my high heels are digging into the grass, making me sink into the ground as if on quicksand. Moving my legs means pulling the heels up out of the ground as if they were mini-shovels. I’m aerating the graveyard grounds.
I can hear the pastor speaking; rather, I can hear that he is speaking, but I cannot make out the words. I believe he is the pastor that tended to Ben’s father’s service a few years ago. I do not know his denomination. I do not know how religious Susan really is. I just know he’s speaking about an afterlife I’m not sure I believe in, about a God I don’t trust. I am standing with my head down, glancing furtively at the people around me I don’t know. I don’t think I ever imagined attending my husband’s funeral, whether it was specifically Ben’s or the fictional idea of a husband I held on to until I met Ben. But if I did, I would have expected to know the people at the funeral.
I look over and see people I can only assume are aunts and uncles, cousins or neighbors. I stop trying to guess who they are because guessing makes me feel like I didn’t know Ben. But I did know Ben, I just hadn’t met this part of him yet.
My side of the funeral looks like a frat at a school dance. It’s Ben’s friends and former roommate. It’s men who have one nice suit, who eat pizza every night, and play video games until they go to bed. That’s who Ben was when he was here, it’s who Ben surrounded himself with. It’s good that they are here now, however nameless and faceless they feel in this crowd. Ana stands next to me, one of the only women our age in attendance. Ben wasn’t friends with a lot of women, and ex-girlfriends would be out of place. Some of my friends offered to come, the ones that had met him a few times or gone out with us. I had told Ana to tell them, “Thanks, but no thanks.” I wasn’t sure how to react to them in this context. I wasn’t sure how to be their host at a place where I felt like a guest.
As the pastor’s voice dies down, I can sense that my turn to speak is coming. I am relieved when his hand gestures first to Susan.