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Now I’m watching Albert Volares’ mom deal with the grief. It helps me forget my own grief. I thought I suffered. And here she is about to explode—a whole journey of suffering awaiting her. Another feast after the feast that followed the funeral. A bitter feast to be eaten alone in the dark of night while everyone else sleeps.
A woman who looks like she could be Rita’s sister steps up to the mound of dirt and shovels a clod onto Albert’s casket. She sets the spade down and steps aside, sobbing. Who was this Albert Volares? Fifteen years old…and dead. He probably didn’t know what hit him. That’s the hope at least: that he lost consciousness mercifully quick. But in all likelihood, he probably didn’t. He probably suffered a great deal for what he was about to lose: the whole rest of his life. What was I doing when I was fifteen? What did I do to earn the whole rest of my life?
?
A kid standing next to me is wearing a football jersey.
He was paralyzed from the neck down, the kid says.
Oh…
I visited him in the hospital.
You did?
He was my best friend.
I’m sorry.
He wanted to be an FBI agent.
Yes, I see.
He fell into a coma soon after he was carried off of the football field. He played running back.
I’m sorry, I tell the kid.
He never woke up.
How long did he survive after he died?
Three weeks. He had tubes in and out of his nose and mouth. It was terrible.
The priest signals for a moment of silence.
The shoveling pauses, and then it continues. The thudding of dirt on the casket.
?
After Albert Volares’ funeral, the father hands out cards and directions to the restaurant. He hands one out to all of the relatives. I watch him hand cards to some of the kids who came over on the bus. The kid in the football jersey waves his hand at it, declining to accept.
You sure? The dad seems perplexed. You’re welcome to come.
No. Sorry, sir. I have to take the school bus back. I have weight training.
Weren’t you friends with Albert?
The boy shakes his head yes. Yes, sir. Yes I was, as a matter of fact.
I would love for you to come to dinner with us. Why don’t you come? We can talk about Albert. I’ll see that you get home afterwards.
The boy looks at his friends. They shrug their shoulders. Unable to stand up to the man’s grief and curiosity, the boy assents. Fine, I’ll come.
You can drive along in the limo with us. There’s plenty of room.
He walks over to the three youths.
And how about you guys. Would you like to join us?
No thank you, sir, says the boy with the pink housecoat. His face is aflame with pimples, his hair blows wild in the wind, as does his pink housecoat.
Please. Join us. I insist. There will be pasta, pizza…all sorts of things to eat.
No thanks, sir. The boy looks at the father unblinkingly, looks him straight in the eyes, and the man stares back at the boy. They stand there looking into each other’s eyes. Thinking and seeing who knows what.
Please, I insist. The father puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
I didn’t know him.
The father looks slightly surprised, but nonplussed. Please, why don’t you and your friends join us anyway? You were here for our grief; the least you can do is let me feed you. A skinny guy like you, you must be hungry.
OK, the boy says. Alright sir, but we would need a ride.
Please, we have plenty of room in the limos.
The father walks over to me.
Hi, he says, handing me a card to the restaurant. Thank you for coming. Were you one of Albert’s teachers?
For a moment I don’t know what to say. I feel caught in an act of voyeurism. I have been standing at the periphery of the funeral observing their grief—for what, I cannot begin to say—and now he’s cornered me before I had the opportunity to get safely away. I smile sympathetically and shake my head no.
I’m sorry, I say. I never knew him.
Are you with them? He nods towards the kids.
No. I’m by myself.
What brings you here then?
The grave. His grave is located next to my wife’s. It was to be my grave, but I hadn’t gotten around to purchasing it yet from the cemetery. I came out today to visit her. It’s the fifth anniversary of her burial. You’ll have to forgive me; I didn’t mean to intrude.
He looks taken aback again. He might be my contemporary, my exact age. By the looks of him, we may have even gone to high school together. Like these schoolmates here, we too may very well have been schoolmates once. Young once, just like these kids, our whole lives spread out ahead of us. Once…
I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry about the grave. It’s the one they assigned us. I didn’t even think to ask.
It’s alright. First come, first served. Unfortunately for your son and for you, he came first.
Yes, it is unfortunate.
It’s terrible. I’m sorry.
He looks at me, then places a hand on my shoulder. I wish you could have known my son, he says. He was something else.
I believe it.
No. I mean that. He was something else. Every parent will tell you that their kid was something else if you give them half a chance—no surprise there. But my son, Albert, he was something else. I’m not stretching the truth on this.
Just then a small smile breaks out on his face. Oh, shucks. He was a good kid. He says it again: Oh, shucks. Such a waste…He had his whole life in front of him. Now he’s gone. But he will be missed.
My very sincerest condolences, sir. Believe me. I know whereof you speak.
Do you?
Oh hell, I don’t know. I just mean to say, if you’re suffering: Believe me, I know suffering. Perhaps nothing like what you’re going through. But if it’s anything like what I’ve been going through—anyway, I do offer my sincerest condolences.
He looks me in the eye. I have the missus to look after. That helps. I’m too busy worrying about her at the moment to worry about myself. She’s so hurt she wants to die.
I’m sorry.
Listen, why don’t you join us anyway? It’ll be nice to have you. No need hanging out in a graveyard. A little Italian place just down the road not far from here. You can practically walk there. Here’s the address. You’re welcome to join us. Maybe you’ll learn something of my boy.
Thank you, I say, taking the card. But I’m not much for these affairs.
Whatever you decide.
?
The kid in the pink housecoat walks over to me.
I saw him talking to you.
Yes.
If you go, we’ll go.
I don’t have a car.
That’s OK. The man said we could walk to the restaurant, didn’t he?
I know the place, actually, I say. I’ve been there before. It’s not far. Just outside the cemetery gate and past the intersection. I’ll walk out with you.
Good, says the kid in the housecoat. I always wanted to ride in a limo, but I’ll wait to do that. I don’t want to ride one out of a graveyard. It seems like bad luck.
The other kids walk over.
What’s the deal?
We’re walking over, the kid in the pink housecoat says.
Walking? Shit!