Mints at a Funeral

It was the funeral of James’s best friend’s, boyfriend’s, mother’s, sister’s brother in law, who died of cancer. James was the only one who wasn’t crying, so he left the wake and instead sat outside on a bench. The summer breeze rustled his gelled hair, and he watched as more people dressed in black went to pay their respects. Some even nodded at him in greeting, as if he knew them.

Because funerals were the weirdest things. They somehow brought people closer, even if they were strangers, because you’re strangers who are all connected to one person. And you’re there because you’re hurting, or a loved one is hurting, or your best friend called last week sobbing over the phone because a man he knew went from the hospital bed to a casket.

James tried to calm his best friend as much as he could, and because he was half awake, he found himself agreeing to go to the funeral next Sunday for support. So on Sunday he did his damn job as the only coherent person in the room and gave his friend a hug, a squeeze, and a shoulder.

But he wanted out. Now was enough. If he stood there staring at a blank face of an empty body any longer, he would throw up.

(It was James’s first funeral, after all. He was lucky enough to be clueless on how funerals work.)

He didn’t expect anyone to approach him on the bench, but an old lady nearing the age of ninety sat down next to him. She opened her beaded handbag and said, “would you like a mint?”

James nodded, and as it turned out, the mint helped his stomach settle a little. “Thank you.”

“Did you know Robert?” That was the name of the man inside in the casket. He remembered looking at the gold plated board.

“A bit…I’m here for a friend, mostly.” said James. “How did you know him?”

“I was his godmother.” said the old woman. Her nails were painted a light pink and she wore pearls around her neck.

The next words James said didn’t have any real emotion behind them, but he was here for support, whether that was his best friend or an old woman who noticed he was alone and nauseous.

“You still are his godmother.”

And all the woman did was pat his hand that rested on his knee, and go back inside without another word. The bench felt empty after she left, and he wished she stayed longer.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to know a stranger.

Author's Note

Be gentle on me, please! Also, if you made it all the way down here, thank you :)

Reviews

[Donna]

I really like it! Two people connecting and making each other feel better. The mint settled his stomach, and when he told the lady, " You are still his Godmother." That was beautiful! Nicely written!

[Ioanna Engarhos]

Thank you so much :)