REM
Ignore 'em, ignore 'em, yeah whatever, be careful, yeah whatever, be safe, yeah what-the-fucking-ever.
"CALVIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!" Jack Thomas called at the top of his lungs down the stairs after his son, watching as he disappeared underneath the stairs themselves, searching for his 'good' cufflinks. Jack didn't know where Calvin had gotten cufflinks himself, let alone what would make them 'good', compared to the heirloom pair that Jack had offered him, and he was quite sure he didn't want to know.
"Yes, Dave?" Calvin called back in his best Alvin chipmunk impersonation.
"Don't get smart with me, Calvin. Are you hearing me? I mean it. No drinking tonight. Not with you driving that death trap around. Your mother has a bad enough heart as it is."
"Dad. It's a high school prom. Obviously we couldn't be drinking!" Calvin called back innocently, grinning as he found his cuff links where he had hidden them under the crook in one of the stairs and fixing them to the cuffs of his suit.
Jack walked down the stairs so he could give Calvin his most stern look; which had never worked before and wasn't about to. "You think I was born yesterday, son? Now you listen to me. It's one or the other."
"Like I'd trash my car. If I need to hitch a ride, I will." Calvin checked his hair in the basement mirror as he passed it in his rush back up the stairs, ushering his father rather rudely out of his way. "I'm never gonna find another beauty like Esmeralda used! Mom! What the hell are you doing to my tie that is taking so God damned long, the guys are gonna be here any fucking minute!"
"It'll be taking a whole lot longer if you don't watch your language, young man!" Kathy Thomas called back, as she looked up from the ironing board in the living room, where she was leaning over a crisply pressed piano tie.
"...Mom, you're ironing my tie? Do you want the guys to think I'm a fag or something?" He plucked the tie from the ironing board and started putting it on rather carelessly until his mother grabbed it from him so violently she risked strangling him and he had to suffer through watching her put it on and straighten it endlessly, smoothing it down against him.
"I'm just gonna loosen it-"
"-I don't want to hear it. We're going to get photos of you looking nice, Calvin Thomas, and that is the end of it."
"...Mom, I don't have the time to watch you try and work your camera phone like it's a fu-lfillingly complex... calculator." Calvin struggled his way out of a curse word under his mother's stern gaze, and swore he heard his father quietly murmur 'nice save' in response.
"Your father got me a new camera!" Kathy said excitedly, holding up a small purple camera. "Just for your prom night! The man at the store said that it has 7 megapixels!"
"Mom, you don't even know what that means!" Calvin explained despairingly, watching Kathy point the lens at herself and take several pictures of her own forehead before it occurred to her that perhaps she should turn the camera in the other direction. She did manage it eventually, and Calvin went through the obligatory posing with each parent- and then several on his own- making the mistake of throwing up the horns on the last shot; startling his parents for two reasons.
"...I really don't think that symbolism is appropriate, Calvin, we're church-going folks." His father said, and Calvin raised his hand to argue.
"...Calvin, are you wearing gold nipple cufflinks?" His mother asked with a quiet horror.
"...You know, dad, you're right, I'll run to the prom!" Calvin said abruptly, grabbing his wallet and keys from the table by the door and bolting out it without a moment's hesitation. "Promise you won't kill me when I come home!"
"So long as you come home in one piece we'll be fine!" His father called back, concernedly, before adding, "Actually if you want to lose those cuff links, son, that's even better!"
"Aye aye, captain!" Calvin laughed, turning the corner and disappearing out of his parents' sight.
--
I sat in the back, on the floor; it felt wrong doing anything else. The only open chair in the place 'belonged' to a dead guy, so I figured I'd get too many stares sitting there. I scoped the room out, but nobody paid me much attention anyway. Sometimes a guy on the other side of the room would look my way so I'd nod back to him.
The whole funeral process kinda felt like a blur. Like I wasn't supposed to be here; or I was, but I was supposed to have left already. Actually for a moment there I thought I HAD left earlier but obviously not, right? Or I wouldn't have been there when I was. And it kinda felt pointless to leave when the thing was more or less over now. So instead I just sat there and kept my eyes on the casket, nailed shut to hide the mess of a guy inside; the dumbass who got totally piss drunk and fell 3 stories onto his head.
'Course I wasn't allowed to call him a dumbass out loud. I'd have gotten my ass kicked about 5 times over, plus I'd have to deal with the expression on the face of the old lady (well, not so old. But a bit past my MILF tastes, if you catch my drift) who'd just been sitting there with her cheek resting on the wood of the casket for like an hour now. Mom. The mom, I mean. She hadn't stopped crying the whole time, not even to thank the guests for coming. Her prerogative, I guess. I kinda felt bad, just letting her cry, but there wasn't really much I could do.
The crowd started getting restless after a while. Everybody'd kind of done that 'oh yeah he was a great guy, let's try and avoid actively calling him a dumbass for a few minutes of conversation regarding him now- out of respect' thing for a while, and now the mom and dad were supposed to say something. Except the mom was still totally balled up and useless and the dad didn't seem to have anything ready. He just was kinda waving the mom's speech at her and telling her that guests had to leave, so she should say what she had to say. She just kept crying. She could barely reach for the paper, and even then when she turned to face the crowd it was all she could do to stand there. She was shaking so bad the paper rattled really loud.
"You want me to read it for you?" I volunteered. Everybody looked kinda surprised. Not really shocking, considering that I introduced myself as some guy who used to drink with minors at parties, but I couldn't come up with any other way that I would've known the kid. At least not without raising suspicion. No, what was really shocking is how eagerly the old lady offered me the paper. So I got up and walked over to her. Seemed like a hell of a long speech. I wondered how she'd stopped crying long enough to type it.
"What was your name again, young man?" She said it like she was gonna throw up from the effort of it. I almost took a step back, but- y'know- it's really not cool to be rude at a funeral.
"Adi."
"And you knew Calvin through-"
"We met at a party. We went for drinks. I didn't know him well, especially, but he was a good kid."
It mighta said something about the other kind of friends that this kid had that Calvin's mom smiled quite so big at me as she handed me her speech. Some of Calvin's best friends were guys he'd met drinking at parties. And I don't mean that in the 'This guy- I'll tell- I'll tell you about THIS guy. This guy is the BEST.' drunk talk kinda way. I mean in a way where you actually remembered the next day.
I turned back to the crowd. "Listen up," I said, "Because just because I'm saying it doesn't mean that the words aren't coming from this beautiful young lady over here, so shut the fuck up and listen." Some of the more prudish members of the audience outright stared when I cursed. It was strangely satisfying.
I looked down at the paper, at the handwritten letter, bent in places so I had to pull it tight between my hands as I read- smudged with tears so I had to guess a few of the words, and I read the words of Katherine Thomas.
Thank you, to all our friends, to all of Calvin's friends, for coming here today. Thank you to strangers, to curious souls and sympathetic ones alike who read of our tragedy in the paper, or heard about it this Sunday at church, or just wondered why there was such a crowd outside. Thank you for being here to celebrate my son's life, and his passing to a better place.
I stopped for a moment there to appreciate the irony. Everybody else figured I was being dramatic, which worked fine for me.
I'm afraid as I write this that the grief I am feeling is so much that I am unable to celebrate with you. In all honesty, my heart is numbed,halved, broken... no, all of those words seem too little. My heart was with Calvin, and so it left with him. All of it but the pieces he gave to each of you in his time here on Earth. So while I tend to the hole left in me by the loss of my son- know that I am comforted that all of those he loved and cared for- and I know there are many of you- are here today, because you loved him too. Although I cannot truly celebrate, I feel as if Calvin has sent me the joyful companions he made in order to make his loss more bearable.
Somebody was crying, now, and it wasn't Katherine. The dad, this time. Jack.
I started reading again.
With God's love, and yours, I know I can recover, if never heal. Calvin Thomas is dead, and
I stopped reading. Because I had said the 'and', people caught on that it wasn't a dramatic pause this time. Something about that sentence seemed wrong.
Calvin Thomas is dead
I read it again.
Calvin Thomas is dead, and
...Yeah. I got it that time.
Calvin Thomas is dead, and in the arms of the Lord. And I will be with him again and forever when my passing comes. But for now, thank you for being here. Thank you for allowing me to remember my son through happy memories instead of the sting of loss. Thank you for giving us your blessings. Thank you.
I looked at the paper in my hands, 'cause most other people in the room were crying or comforting crying people. They weren't paying attention to me. Which is good, because this was too weird. I had just read the eulogy at Calvin Thomas' funeral.
I had read the words of the woman who was- or rather was not- my mother.
I had seen the grief of the people who were- or rather were not- my friends.
I was standing in the living room of what was- or rather was not- my childhood home.
I had just read the eulogy at was was- or rather was not- my own funeral.
Underline every 'was not'. Underline every 'were not'.
I am not Calvin Thomas.
I never was.
I never will be.
Calvin Thomas is dead.
I woke up.
"CALVIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!" Jack Thomas called at the top of his lungs down the stairs after his son, watching as he disappeared underneath the stairs themselves, searching for his 'good' cufflinks. Jack didn't know where Calvin had gotten cufflinks himself, let alone what would make them 'good', compared to the heirloom pair that Jack had offered him, and he was quite sure he didn't want to know.
"Yes, Dave?" Calvin called back in his best Alvin chipmunk impersonation.
"Don't get smart with me, Calvin. Are you hearing me? I mean it. No drinking tonight. Not with you driving that death trap around. Your mother has a bad enough heart as it is."
"Dad. It's a high school prom. Obviously we couldn't be drinking!" Calvin called back innocently, grinning as he found his cuff links where he had hidden them under the crook in one of the stairs and fixing them to the cuffs of his suit.
Jack walked down the stairs so he could give Calvin his most stern look; which had never worked before and wasn't about to. "You think I was born yesterday, son? Now you listen to me. It's one or the other."
"Like I'd trash my car. If I need to hitch a ride, I will." Calvin checked his hair in the basement mirror as he passed it in his rush back up the stairs, ushering his father rather rudely out of his way. "I'm never gonna find another beauty like Esmeralda used! Mom! What the hell are you doing to my tie that is taking so God damned long, the guys are gonna be here any fucking minute!"
"It'll be taking a whole lot longer if you don't watch your language, young man!" Kathy Thomas called back, as she looked up from the ironing board in the living room, where she was leaning over a crisply pressed piano tie.
"...Mom, you're ironing my tie? Do you want the guys to think I'm a fag or something?" He plucked the tie from the ironing board and started putting it on rather carelessly until his mother grabbed it from him so violently she risked strangling him and he had to suffer through watching her put it on and straighten it endlessly, smoothing it down against him.
"I'm just gonna loosen it-"
"-I don't want to hear it. We're going to get photos of you looking nice, Calvin Thomas, and that is the end of it."
"...Mom, I don't have the time to watch you try and work your camera phone like it's a fu-lfillingly complex... calculator." Calvin struggled his way out of a curse word under his mother's stern gaze, and swore he heard his father quietly murmur 'nice save' in response.
"Your father got me a new camera!" Kathy said excitedly, holding up a small purple camera. "Just for your prom night! The man at the store said that it has 7 megapixels!"
"Mom, you don't even know what that means!" Calvin explained despairingly, watching Kathy point the lens at herself and take several pictures of her own forehead before it occurred to her that perhaps she should turn the camera in the other direction. She did manage it eventually, and Calvin went through the obligatory posing with each parent- and then several on his own- making the mistake of throwing up the horns on the last shot; startling his parents for two reasons.
"...I really don't think that symbolism is appropriate, Calvin, we're church-going folks." His father said, and Calvin raised his hand to argue.
"...Calvin, are you wearing gold nipple cufflinks?" His mother asked with a quiet horror.
"...You know, dad, you're right, I'll run to the prom!" Calvin said abruptly, grabbing his wallet and keys from the table by the door and bolting out it without a moment's hesitation. "Promise you won't kill me when I come home!"
"So long as you come home in one piece we'll be fine!" His father called back, concernedly, before adding, "Actually if you want to lose those cuff links, son, that's even better!"
"Aye aye, captain!" Calvin laughed, turning the corner and disappearing out of his parents' sight.
--
I sat in the back, on the floor; it felt wrong doing anything else. The only open chair in the place 'belonged' to a dead guy, so I figured I'd get too many stares sitting there. I scoped the room out, but nobody paid me much attention anyway. Sometimes a guy on the other side of the room would look my way so I'd nod back to him.
The whole funeral process kinda felt like a blur. Like I wasn't supposed to be here; or I was, but I was supposed to have left already. Actually for a moment there I thought I HAD left earlier but obviously not, right? Or I wouldn't have been there when I was. And it kinda felt pointless to leave when the thing was more or less over now. So instead I just sat there and kept my eyes on the casket, nailed shut to hide the mess of a guy inside; the dumbass who got totally piss drunk and fell 3 stories onto his head.
'Course I wasn't allowed to call him a dumbass out loud. I'd have gotten my ass kicked about 5 times over, plus I'd have to deal with the expression on the face of the old lady (well, not so old. But a bit past my MILF tastes, if you catch my drift) who'd just been sitting there with her cheek resting on the wood of the casket for like an hour now. Mom. The mom, I mean. She hadn't stopped crying the whole time, not even to thank the guests for coming. Her prerogative, I guess. I kinda felt bad, just letting her cry, but there wasn't really much I could do.
The crowd started getting restless after a while. Everybody'd kind of done that 'oh yeah he was a great guy, let's try and avoid actively calling him a dumbass for a few minutes of conversation regarding him now- out of respect' thing for a while, and now the mom and dad were supposed to say something. Except the mom was still totally balled up and useless and the dad didn't seem to have anything ready. He just was kinda waving the mom's speech at her and telling her that guests had to leave, so she should say what she had to say. She just kept crying. She could barely reach for the paper, and even then when she turned to face the crowd it was all she could do to stand there. She was shaking so bad the paper rattled really loud.
"You want me to read it for you?" I volunteered. Everybody looked kinda surprised. Not really shocking, considering that I introduced myself as some guy who used to drink with minors at parties, but I couldn't come up with any other way that I would've known the kid. At least not without raising suspicion. No, what was really shocking is how eagerly the old lady offered me the paper. So I got up and walked over to her. Seemed like a hell of a long speech. I wondered how she'd stopped crying long enough to type it.
"What was your name again, young man?" She said it like she was gonna throw up from the effort of it. I almost took a step back, but- y'know- it's really not cool to be rude at a funeral.
"Adi."
"And you knew Calvin through-"
"We met at a party. We went for drinks. I didn't know him well, especially, but he was a good kid."
It mighta said something about the other kind of friends that this kid had that Calvin's mom smiled quite so big at me as she handed me her speech. Some of Calvin's best friends were guys he'd met drinking at parties. And I don't mean that in the 'This guy- I'll tell- I'll tell you about THIS guy. This guy is the BEST.' drunk talk kinda way. I mean in a way where you actually remembered the next day.
I turned back to the crowd. "Listen up," I said, "Because just because I'm saying it doesn't mean that the words aren't coming from this beautiful young lady over here, so shut the fuck up and listen." Some of the more prudish members of the audience outright stared when I cursed. It was strangely satisfying.
I looked down at the paper, at the handwritten letter, bent in places so I had to pull it tight between my hands as I read- smudged with tears so I had to guess a few of the words, and I read the words of Katherine Thomas.
Thank you, to all our friends, to all of Calvin's friends, for coming here today. Thank you to strangers, to curious souls and sympathetic ones alike who read of our tragedy in the paper, or heard about it this Sunday at church, or just wondered why there was such a crowd outside. Thank you for being here to celebrate my son's life, and his passing to a better place.
I stopped for a moment there to appreciate the irony. Everybody else figured I was being dramatic, which worked fine for me.
I'm afraid as I write this that the grief I am feeling is so much that I am unable to celebrate with you. In all honesty, my heart is numbed,halved, broken... no, all of those words seem too little. My heart was with Calvin, and so it left with him. All of it but the pieces he gave to each of you in his time here on Earth. So while I tend to the hole left in me by the loss of my son- know that I am comforted that all of those he loved and cared for- and I know there are many of you- are here today, because you loved him too. Although I cannot truly celebrate, I feel as if Calvin has sent me the joyful companions he made in order to make his loss more bearable.
Somebody was crying, now, and it wasn't Katherine. The dad, this time. Jack.
I started reading again.
With God's love, and yours, I know I can recover, if never heal. Calvin Thomas is dead, and
I stopped reading. Because I had said the 'and', people caught on that it wasn't a dramatic pause this time. Something about that sentence seemed wrong.
Calvin Thomas is dead
I read it again.
Calvin Thomas is dead, and
...Yeah. I got it that time.
Calvin Thomas is dead, and in the arms of the Lord. And I will be with him again and forever when my passing comes. But for now, thank you for being here. Thank you for allowing me to remember my son through happy memories instead of the sting of loss. Thank you for giving us your blessings. Thank you.
I looked at the paper in my hands, 'cause most other people in the room were crying or comforting crying people. They weren't paying attention to me. Which is good, because this was too weird. I had just read the eulogy at Calvin Thomas' funeral.
I had read the words of the woman who was- or rather was not- my mother.
I had seen the grief of the people who were- or rather were not- my friends.
I was standing in the living room of what was- or rather was not- my childhood home.
I had just read the eulogy at was was- or rather was not- my own funeral.
Underline every 'was not'. Underline every 'were not'.
I am not Calvin Thomas.
I never was.
I never will be.
Calvin Thomas is dead.
I woke up.