Jan 07, 2009 03:49
How We Knew Him
Disclaimer: I own nothing from The History Boys. I am earning no profit from this.
Donald looked at Stuart's body in the shiny mahogany coffin, grimacing at his friend's plastic pallour, unable to comprehend why Stuart's mother had insisted on an open-casket funeral. Stuart's hair was thin, and even through the make-up you could see dark purple rings under his eyes and his hands were crossed over his breast in a demure pose that Stuart never would have sported in life. Donald was actually grateful that his seat was in the back of the church, although he could tell by looking at David and Tom that both of them would have preferred not to have been the pariahs of the funeral. Donald still couldn't believe that Stuart's mother had tried to force Tom not to come, despite the fact that they had been together for years, and that it was Tom alone who had been by Stuart's bedside in his last days.
"This isn't right," Donald reached over and whispered into David's ear, "This isn't anything like Stuart wanted."
David nodded, his eyes shiny. He sniffed and grabbed Donald's hand, squeezing it hard until his fingers cracked. Donald kissed his cheek, much to the dismay of some of the funeral guests, then lent over to Tom.
"How are you doing?" he whispered.
Tom's eyes and the tip of his node were red, and he looked at Donald as if he hadn't quite heard him, then cleared his throat,"I'm...awful," he said quietly, "And I hate this," he nodded towards the other mourners, who were now singing 'Be Thou My Vision.' "These people know nothing about Stuart," Tom's lips were sealed tight, bitterly.
And it was true, every speech given had little to do with the promiscuous and sharp-witted man they had known and loved. The readings were all Bible verses, except for the last one, which was given by Stuart's mother, and seemed to be about Stuart as a six year-old, with nothing at all mentioned of his adult life. Of his homosexual life.
They made the mistake of going to the wake. They were going to go to Stuart's favourite pub for a drink, but Tom had followed the rest of the funeral back to Stuart house, and Donald and David wondered after him, hoping to prevent him from saying anything too offensive to Stuart's mother.
The three of them stood in the kitchen, drinking lemonade. Donald shifted his feet and kept glancing at Tom, whose shoulders were shaking as he broke out into silent sobs. David held him close and tried to comfort him, and Donald thought about how David, despite being Jewish, had always been a better Christian than himself when it came to his capacity for compassion. Tom buried his head in David's shoulder, drying his tears on David's best black suit. He was pulling out of the embrace when they all heard the voice of Stuart's mother in the hallway.
"I just can't believe they had the audacity to show up here," her voice was indignant as she sniffed, and Donald could just picture her adjusting her ridiculously elaborate hat. "I mean, they must know they're not welcome here. Especially that Irwin."
Tom stiffened.
"As if this weren't his fault!" She continued. "My son was never suposed to be..." She trailed off, but they all knew what she was afraid to say: that Stuart would never have had relationships with men if it weren't for Tom. Donald risked a glance at him, and saw the dark flush of anger under his hairline.
"My son wasn't meant to die like that!" Stuart's mother didn't even sound sad, the anger and resentment in her voice was plain enough, as the door swang open, revealing her and her friend. "He wasn't meant to die of AIDS!" She froze when she saw the three men she had just walked in on.
Tom raised his head and looked at her calmly. "He didn't," he said, matter-of-factly.
She met his gaze and raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"
"Your son," Tom's voice was soft. "He didn't die of AIDS."
She snorted. "How dare you presume to lie to me? How dare you try to tell me my son wasn't sick?"
"He was," Tom interrupted, "He had AIDS, but he didn't die of it. He died of pneumonia. He died of AIDS-related complications."
"He died of AIDS - "
"It's impossible to die of AIDS!"
Donald moved to David's side and held his hand as they watched Tom and Stuart's mother go head to head.
" - You and your kind corrupting my son with your filthy ways! How can you pretend you knew my son?"
"How can you?" David surprised everyone there by speaking up. "You accuse us of corrupting your son and not knowing him, and yet for the last years of your son's life you wanted nothing to do with him! You barely spoke to him! How can you say you know him when you refused to get to know who he became?"
"Get out!" Staurt's mother was screaming and pushing them towards the kitchen door, and soon enough they were joined by the rest of the funeral party, and found themselves met with many angry glares. Donald spoke up.
"We'll leave," he said, "But if anyone feels like celebrating Stuart's life - " he glanced at Stuart's mother, " - his real life, then we'll be down at the Spotted Dog."
They walked out of the door, and Tom shook his head. "I can't believe I caused such a commotion at his funeral."
David shrugged. "He would've thought it was funny."
Tom smiled. "He would, wouldn't he?" He grabbed David's shoulder, "Now let's go and celebrate Stuart's life the way he would have."
Donald opened their car door. "A drink, then?"