Funerals stink. Especially your daddy’s funeral. Especially, especially when you have to sneak out to go because your crazy mother would totally flip if she had a clue that was your plan. And, hey, why not toss in the fact that your lunatic mom was most of the reason your dad drank himself to death to start with?
Mom chased Dad out of the house and all the way to San Antonio four years ago. Maybe it’s just eighty miles from Austin, Texas, but it might as well have been eight hundred. I’ve only seen him a half dozen times since he left, and the only way I even know he died was because I happened to answer the phone when Uncle Wade called. Mom wouldn’t have said a word. I didn’t bother to tell her, either.
Instead, I bummed a ride with Tati, who only griped a little about spending her Saturday taking me to the funeral of a dude she’s never even met. “What are best friends for?” I asked, when she hesitated to say she’d drive.
“Sex?” she answered, and all I could do was laugh.
I’ve been in love with Tatiana Holdridge since seventh grade, but that’s not something I can say out loud, and it’s got nothing to do with sex. Tati is the one person who knows me inside out, and sticks around anyway.
“Are you sad?” she whispered as we slipped into seats near the front of the mostly empty funeral parlor.
The simple question was hard to answer. Dad was in my life daily till I turned twelve, but even when he was home he was mostly absent. Kind of like how I am in chemistry class—there, but not. Still, he was gentle, funny, and offered himself up when Mom aimed her anger my way. The few times I’ve seen him since, he always did nice things—took me clothes shopping or to a movie, something Mom considers frivolous. That’s her word for anything fun. “Frivolous.” Things that qualify: movies, arcades, amusement parks. Even television.
Dad’s funeral wasn’t frivolous. It was spare. The only people there were his girlfriend Claire, his brother Wade, a few of the guys he worked with, and a couple of kids from the middle school where he was a janitor. That was sweet. They told me he didn’t put up with the bullies who harassed them, and they wanted to pay their respects. I’m glad Dad was a hero to someone.
Throw pride into my jumble of feelings. Sadness was in there, of course. I also felt pity for Claire, who looked swallowed up by grief. She never said a word to me, or anyone else that I could see. But then, if I barely knew my dad, I didn’t know her at all.
I felt grateful for Uncle Wade, who took care of all the details. His eyes watered as the minister recited his canned eulogy, and that made me remember the last funeral I went to. He was there, too, and Dad, when Grandma and Grandpa McCabe were killed in a car wreck. That must’ve been five years back.
Today, after the minister talked, everyone offered a favorite memory. Claire talked about the day she met Dad, working at a car wash fund-raiser for the school. Uncle Wade told about going fishing when they were kids, and how Dad insisted on using stink bait so he wouldn’t have to thread worms. One of the kids shared about the bullies.
And me? “Mostly what I remember about Dad is watching games on TV on weekends. He taught me baseball and football and basketball. Tried to get me to watch hockey, too, but it’s not my thing. My best-ever memory was going to an Astros game and they creamed the Dodgers. My dad was so happy he sang all the way home. He could really sing.”
That choked me up. When we were called forward and I bent to kiss Dad’s white wax cheek, it was like the air got sucked from my lungs. It hurt to breathe. You always think you’ll have more time, you’ll get another chance to make things right with someone you should be closer to. Sometimes that doesn’t happen. But why did it have to be Dad, and why so soon?
Tati escorted me to the open casket. I could tell she didn’t want to, but in the moment I crumbled, she reached for me, propping me up with a subtle merge of fingers. “I’m here for you,” she whispered. Well, of course she was, though as soon as we turned to leave, she let go of my hand. Considering where we were, that was necessary. But painful.
Outside, Uncle Wade stood sweating in the sweltering late August shade. “Would you like to follow the hearse to the cemetery and witness the lowering?”
Watch the earth swallow my dad, bait for my nightmares? I shook my head. “I have to get back to Austin or Mom will throw a fit.”
He handed me a manila envelope. “Your father wanted you to have this. He loved you very much, you know. He was sorry he didn’t have more to give you.”
All I could do was nod and look inside. I’d thought every photo of my father was gone—trashed in one of Mom’s rages. But Dad had kept a handful of the two of us, and now they’ll be my hidden treasure. I have to hide them from Mom, along with Dad’s handwritten apology for leaving me, and $1200 cash.