StrAngels: Agent Deckker

David Thomas Jarecki

AGENT DECKKER

"…they had their faces twisted toward their haunches and found it necessary to walk backward,because they could not see ahead of them.…and since he wanted so to see ahead, he looks behind and walks a backward path.” The radio speakers crisply released the words from Dante’s Divine Comedy.

He was halfway through of the second disc of the Inferno book on CD. Simon tried to keep up with the narrative sense of the prose as he drove down the highway hoping that the vivid description of hell would eventually get exciting.

He was anxiously waiting for Dante and Virgil to get into a bad ass fight with some demons. Simon looked at his odometer and decided to give the Inferno twenty more miles before he would replace it with one of his Star Wars books on CD. A loud popping noise shot out ahead of him and the steering wheel jerked to the right. He struggled to get the car back under control. He hit the button to ignite his hazard lights before pulling the car to the shoulder of the four lanes on Interstate 75.

Simon put his head to the top of his steering wheel and waited for his heart to slow down. Vehicles whizzed by him in flurry of light beam flashes as he jogged around the front of his car. Frayed strands of black rubber streamed out from the bottom rim on the front passenger’s side tire. The muffled sound of an Englishman enunciating Dante’s Inferno could be heard from the inside of the car as Simon popped the trunk.

After pushing aside his father’s suitcase he found the circle in the middle of the trunk bottom and unscrewed the bolt at the center of the hatch. He pulled the black crowbar from its holder and went to work. The first lug nut came off easily.

The sweat that was rolling down the sides of his nose made it feel as if he had been crying. Simon leaned over to grip the crowbar and pull it toward himself. The centers of his palms turned red with pain as he put all of his strength against the black bar to try and move the 2nd lug nut. He paused, took a deep breath and moved the nose of the crowbar to another lug nut. A couple more minutes of struggle yielded the same empty results.

Simon left the crowbar attached to the rim and walked across the shoulder to the guardrail separating the asphalt from the grassy edge of the ditch. The steep slope led down to a grassy marsh with brown cattails poking up from the murky waters. Putting his hands on his knees while trying to catch his breath, he realized that he hadn’t jacked the car up.

After getting the jack from the trunk he looked at the bottom edge of his car.

“Should I jack it from the front or the side?” The bottom side of the red Pontiac

Grand Am had an odd plastic curve to it. Looking at the metal ridge at the top of the Jack it wasn’t obvious how or where it would fit to lift the car up.

Before solving that issue, Simon shifted his focus to how the jack actually worked. There was a small five inch tube at the front of the contraption that when he gave it some torque made the jack move up. He went to the back of the car to look for the handle that would fit in the tube.

A quick breeze came from behind Simon. He pulled his head out from under the trunk hood. A loud screeching blared out. A shiny black Escalade swerved to a halt a few yards ahead of his car. Two men jumped out leaving the passenger and driver’s side doors open. They darted across the shoulder to run down the steep slope of the grassy ditch. Mind piercing sirens were followed by the flashing lights of a state police car poking itself between Simon’s Pontiac and the Escalade at an odd angle. As quickly as everything was happening it seemed like the two officers had leapt from the squad car before it had stopped. They ripped their guns from their holsters. The bulky items around their utility belts clanked against their sides as they ran down the ditch side in pursuit of the men.

“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW!!!” One of the officers shouted as the other pointed his gun in the air and fired a warning shot.

Simon yanked the back door of his car open and got inside. His left ass cheek pressed down hard on his mother’s laptop as he shut the door behind him.

Simon leaned his large frame over to squeeze down to the floor of the backseat.

With the driver’s seat pushed all the way back he was lucky to fit his left arm down to touch the musky beige floor mats. His forehead pounded a crater into the middle of the driver’s seat as he gripped the side of his jeans.

Some more bloop-bloops of sirens and screeches of cars stopping came from along the roadside. Simon tilted his head around and squinted to see blue and red flashes reflect in the foggy lamp at the center of his car ceiling.

After a few minutes there was some calm, muffled conversation from outside the car. Simon pulled himself up just enough to peek between the front seats to get a good view above the dashboard. Three policemen were carefully placing the two handcuffed men in the back seat of their prowler.

Simon let out a sigh of relief as he struggled to pull himself up from the claustrophobic wedge that he had shoved himself into. He was careful to not sit upon his mother’s laptop again, placing his ass strategically at the center of the back seat couch. There were three large cracks in the black casing of the laptop.

He opened the door and emerged from the car.

“Good afternoon. Would you be able to tell me what you just witnessed?”

The officer removed his sunglasses and put them in his light blue shirt pocket as he approached Simon.

“I didn’t see much. They got out of their truck and then you guys came and out and shot your gun and then I got scared and hid inside my car.” As Simon answered the question the other officers came back to them.

“Take my card and call me if you remember anything else—like if you saw them discard something or anything else that you think might help us. The department would greatly appreciate it.”

“I’ll do that.” Simon took the card and stared at the police badge emblem next to Detective Woods’ name.

“Are you okay with your tire situation here?” The detective asked.

“I can’t find the handle to my jack.” Simon looked down at the bug shaped contraption lying on its side next to the flat tire.

The uniformed officer walked over to the tire iron and pulled it from its frozen suctioned grip on one of the rim’s stubborn lug nuts. “You’re supposed to use this to jack the stand.” He handed the tire iron to Simon. ***** The time was now!!!

Simon camped his car in the 10 story apartment complex’s parking lot. He looked up and scanned across the windows hoping he would see Patricia anxiously staring out waiting for him. She wasn’t there.

The palm trees along the sidewalk swayed in the misty afternoon wind as Simon went to his trunk. The flowers that he had picked up for her at a nursery in Georgia were a mess. When he moved his father’s luggage to get to the jack he had cracked the stems and smashed the mixture of sunflowers and daffodils. Since he hadn’t given them any light or water the edges of the flowers had browned and the bundle emitted a slightly foul odor.

Simon tossed them back into the trunk.

The third floor of the complex was dirty and run down. When he got to apartment 325 there was yellow police tape across the front door. He looked at the frame and the ceiling expecting to see bullet holes, knife marks or some other kind of disturbance. There was nothing. He paused for a few seconds before stepping up and knocking on the door. There was no answer. Simon waited awhile in between each series of knocks.

A young Arabic looking couple came out from the apartment across the hall.

Simon turned and approached them.

“Do you know Patricia Milton? Apartment 325. Simon pointed at the door number. They shook their heads no before shuffling away. He knocked on the door and waited a couple more minutes before leaving the complex.

In addition to giving him her apartment address, Patricia had given Simon her parents’ home address. Simon plugged his mother’s laptop into the cigarette lighter and attempted to connect to the internet. It worked but the screen had a

black, yellow, green and bluish blur in the middle. He pulled the screen down to inspect the crack on the back. After a couple minutes of playing around with it he shut the mini-computer down and plopped it next to him on the passenger’s seat.

Simon then remembered that he had saved both addresses in the GPS when he first programmed it for the trip. ***** The street in front of the Milton residence was cluttered with cars. Simon had to park a block and a half away.

“Hello.” A lady in her late forties with bags under her eyes and a mixture of blonde and grey hair answered the door.

“Hello. I’m a friend of Patricia’s.” Simon’s bottom lip shook as he smiled and extended his hand.

“Oh dear.” The woman’s face saddened as she put her palm on the back of his hand and moved it toward her, letting her fingertips drag across his knuckles as if she was petting a small puppy. “Thank…thank you so much for coming over Simon.” She led him from the doorway into the large hallway.

Simon looked around to see three openings to other rooms. There had to be at least one hundred people there. In front of him was a living room with a mixture of senior women and women in their 30s sitting around drinking coffee and tea.

To the right was a TV room with a group of children sprawled about the floor and across the couches watching whatever colorful cartoon was flickering about before them. The woman led him to the room on the left which was occupied by the men.

Most of them older but there were a couple that seemed to be around Simon’s age.

The den was filled with clouds of smoke. Simon glanced across the room.

In a quick inventory he found every single type of smoke or tobacco imaginable.

By far the highest percentage of inhalers had amber tipped white cigarettes lodged between their pointer and middle fingers. There were 4 cigars, a couple of pipe smokers and a guy in the corner with an empty water bottle that had black and brown chewing tobacco spittle running down the inside walls.

“This is Simon. He was a friend of Patricia’s.” The blonde lady introduced Simon to the room before pointing him in the direction of a slumping man in a large-backed brown leather chair.

Simon started to walk across the room in his direction. Two steps in he was interrupted by a short, white bearded man who removed the cigar from his lips before wrapping his arms around him and burying his head at the top of Simon’s stomach. Simon paused before leaning forward to complete the hug by wrapping his arms the short old man. As he did this the touch of different hands on his own shoulders turned into pats and back rubs as a few of the other smokers behind him flocked to the hug.

Once he was broken from the huddle, Simon stood before the man in the chair. “Hello. My name is Simon.” He extended his hand to the man in a thin black sweater vest and grey pants.

Without getting up from the chair, the man accepted his hand before pulling him down to grab the back of Simon’s neck and put his head next to his. The man’s short grey whiskers poked Simon’s cheek as he erupted into tears. Some of the men in the room turned away unable to bear the sight of the old man having another breakdown. The rest of the room pulled their cigarettes from their lips and held back tears as they tried to continue their hushed conversations without giving any direct acknowledgment to the most recent outburst.

The grip that the old man had on the back of Simon’s neck grew tighter with each new wailing eruption. His finger tips pushed into the skin and pierced Simon’s backbone as he softly patted the man’s back in a half-assed, confused attempt to console him.

“Harold. Get up, let Patty’s friend here have a seat.” The man dried his eyes with his shirt sleeve as he motioned for his nephew to get up from the edge seat of the couch to his left.

Harold moved away and Simon took his place. Quietness. The silence in the house grew so loud that it was as if it was vacant. The group of men in the den cautiously stared at Simon as he shifted in his seat on the couch.

“Get this man a bourbon and a stogie!” The man who was most likely Patricia’s father shouted out at Harold as he reached over and placed his hand on Simon’s knee.

“I…I don’t drink…or smoke.” Simon stared down at the back of the man’s crusty hand on his thigh.

“Well, what would you like then, Simon?”

“I could go for an Olde Tyme Root Beer.” Simon sat back. ***** “How about that time that Patty scared the bejeezus out of Ollie when he went up to her apartment to help fix her sink?” One of the men around Simon’s age announced his recollection. The room softened up with some scattered laughter as most of them offered half smiles and nodded their heads while staring at the varnished wood floor.

Simon looked up at the wall clock to see that he had been there for over two hours. He lifted the can of Franklyn Farmes Root Beer to his lips and forced the last few disgusting drops down his throat. He had to pause and close his eyes for a second to hold it down and successfully prevent himself from puking the monstrosity back up.

“Mr. Milton, I’ll need to be leaving now.” Simon said to Patricia’s dad as he set the empty can down on the small end table near the couch.

“Oh Simon…stay for a little while yet. The food will be here any minute.

You need to eat something.” Patricia’s father got up from the chair for the first time and stood before him.

“I’d like to, I’d really like to Mr. Milton. But I’ve gotta go check in at my hotel.” Simon patted the old man on the shoulder.

“Hotel?? Nonsense!” He pointed his finger in the air. “Harold, go get Silky…go get your Aunt Martha.”

“Sir?” Simon looked at Patricia’s father.

“You’re staying right here with us. I won’t have….Patty wouldn’t have one of her out of town friends spending the night in a strange place at a time like this.

We’ll set you up good!” Patricia’s dad leaned in and gave Simon his 30th hug of the afternoon. ***** After bringing his luggage to the upstairs guest room and being introduced to Mrs. Milton and the other two rooms of women and children, Simon was able to break away from the Milton house. Two blocks down the road he pulled his Grand Am into a vacant lot and parked.

“She’s dead!!” He shouted into his cell phone after his cousin Elena answered.

“What are you talking about Simon?”

“You’re friend Patricia…she died. The wake is tomorrow.”

“Patricia…Patricia who?” Elena’s confused voice irked Simon’s ear.

“Patricia Milton!” With the car still running he flung the door open and lumbered out into the open space of the gravel lot.

“Milton…Milton….” Elena repeated as she tried to remember.

“She’s one of your friendhouse friends.” He paced across the lot.

“I’ve got 1,672 friends on friendhouse. Wait a minute…oh yeah…PattyMill! I remember her. She turned into quite a little psycho slut from what I last heard.”

“Hey now!! She’s dead!! Don’t talk about the dead that way.”

“I am sorry to hear that and I didn’t mean anything by it. But I haven’t talked to her…God, in like 5 years or so. And that was just for a minute. We were never very close to begin with. What do you care so much for anyway?”

“Ellie…I became friends with her on friendhouse and come help her move and I guess she died while I was on my way here! I never even recently speakingly spoke to her…just some messages on friendhouse. I need you to come here and help me!”

“Oh my God, you kill me, Cuz! Where are you?”

“I’m in Florida and her parents insist that I stay at their house. They’ve even

got me lined up to help them set up for the wake tomorrow. You’ve gotta come down here and either make an excuse to get me out of here or help me help them with the arrangements.”

“You’re in FLORIDA!” Elena shouted out and then began laughing.

Simon pulled the phone from his ear and walked back to his car. After shutting the door he put the phone back to his face. Elena was still laughing. He put his seatbelt on and shifted the car to drive before returning to the phone.

“What should I do Ellie?” Simon asked.

“Leave. You don’t know these people. Who cares what they think of you?

Just bail and get the hell out of there if you’re not comfortable.” Elena advised as she cleared her throat…gradually recovering from her fit of laughter.

“I can’t leave. I put my luggage up in their guest room. Plus I met her parents and all her cousins. They’re really counting on me to help out tomorrow.”

“Well then, there’s only one other way for you to go with this, Cuz.” “What’s that?”

“Offer her family my condolences, suck it up and help them with the services.” ***** “I need a suit.”

“Absolutely sir!” The hotshot dark-eyed, dark-haired attendant smiled as he walked Simon down the center aisle of the menswear establishment. The pasty, faceless mannequins stood atop black boxes wearing different sizes and shapes of tuxedos and suits. “Is there anything in particular that you had in mind?” The crisp scent of the cologne that this twenty-something was wearing reached back and poked itself right up inside Simon’s nostrils.

“Yeah…I’d like to have the kind of suit that James Bond would wear…if…if you have one.”

“Excuse me.” The attendant stopped in his tracks and turned to put his hand at the center of Simon’s chest. “Did you just ask for a James Bond type of suit?”

He whispered as he shifted his to the left and right and back.

“Y…yyyyeah, if you have one.”

“Wait right here.” The attendant walked away.

Simon looked around the store trying to figure out why the clerk had departed from him so abruptly. The man returned with another well dressed young man. This new guy had his styled fluffy brown hair and was wearing an earring.

“So…you want a James Bond suit?” The new hot shot whispered his question as he leaned in close to Simon’s face.

“Yeah.” Simon whispered back. His eyes widened.

“Come with me.” The man led him to the dressing rooms along the back wall of the store. “This one here.” He pointed to the middle door.

“Okay, what’s in there?” Simon whispered.

“Once you are in this dressing room there will be a large mirror in front of you. Ten centimeters to the right of the mirror there will be a coat hook. Grip that hook tightly and jerk it down. The handle is a bit tough so you’ll have to give it a good, hard tug. Once you’ve done that the mirror will slide aside and there will be a long hallway. Enter that hallway and an agent will meet you. Give me a slight nod if you understand my instructions. Touch your nose with your finger if you wish for me to repeat the instructions.” The man whispered through his directions.

Simon nodded. The other attendant opened the door leading into the dressing room.

“Good luck.” The two of them offered as Simon entered.

The mirror was quite large and imbedded in the wall as he expected. Simon paused to look at his reflection. The dark brown curls of his hair were swirling all over the place. His random patches of beard were starting to come back. He lifted his arm to put his hand on the glistening metal hook next to the mirror. As any good agent would do, he looked at the bottom edge of the mirror to make sure through the reflection that the legs of the two attendants were not out there behind the door waiting for him.

Simon took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he jerked the metal hanger down. He fell forward as the hook ripped out of the wall. He braced himself against the mirror as a speckled array of white dust and drywall chunks spit out into the air. “Arrghh!” Simon shouted out as he let the silver hangar drop from his hand to the black carpet floor.

The two attendants erupted in loud gushing laughter as they exchanged high fives. The slick dark haired clerk opened the dressing room door with a large smile across his face. “We were just messing with you man…come on out! You want a James Bond suit we got a James Bond suit for ya!”

Simon rubbed his hands together in a circular motion as he joined the two jokesters out on the main floor.

“Don’t worry about that hook. It was on the repair list before you even touched it. Are you looking for something that’s ready to wear or something that we can get fitted for you Sir?” The taller brown hair guy asked.

“Ready to wear. I…I have…have a wake to attend tomorrow.” ***** Simon stood in the darkness at the front door of the Milton household with his new tuxedo carefully draped over his left shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he should knock or just walk right in.

After a few minutes of contemplation, he knocked.

A nine year old girl in pink and blue pajamas answered the door.

“Hello. I was one of Patricia’s friends. I’m staying here. If you need verification you can go ask Mr. Milton and he can confirm it for you.”

“I saw you with Poppy bringing your stuff in here earlier. Come in.” She said before she left through the door way back to the TV room.

Simon entered and turned to shut the door and lock the deadbolt. Though the den was vacant the same mist of smoke lingered as it had earlier in the day when the various grieving chimneys filled it with misery. He turned and entered the TV room where the little girl was looking at the shelf next to the television.

Simon laid his plastic covered tux along the arm of the couch.

“Can you reach this movie for me?” She turned as she pointed up to the top shelf.

“Sure. Which one are you trying to get?” Simon walked over to look across the array of films. He put his finger on the plastic DVD case that he thought she wanted.

“Yeah!! That one!” She exclaimed before getting out of his way. Simon pulled the case out and turned it around to look at the cover.

“What! ‘Saw 3’? This is torture porn—blood and guts. You can’t watch this! You’re way too young for this movie.” He looked down at the girl.

“Yeah I can watch it. Put it in. I’ve seen the first two ‘Saws’ already so I can watch this one too!”

“I don’t think so. Let’s put in something like ‘Little Mermaid’ or ‘Ice Age’ or something.”

“You’re bogus!” The girl plopped down on the couch and crossed her arms.

“Oh am I now?” Simon chuckled to himself as he yanked ‘The Little Mermaid’ out from shelf and stuffed the disc into the DVD Player.

“Well…you’re bogus but not as bogus as some of the other guys that my Auntie Patty had for friends. Most of them would never even talk to me.”

“Glad you think of me that way.” Simon picked up the remote from the floor and took a seat next to the girl.

“Yeah…that last boyfriend of hers Roger didn’t even come over today when everyone was crying and sad. Everybody was talking about it. Even my Grandma Silky was upset that he didn’t show his face. He’s even more boguser than the most bogusests.”

“Well…maybe he had other things going on today. Hopefully he’ll be there for the wake and funeral.” Simon smiled at her and pressed the play button to start “The Little Mermaid”.

“Is that the suit that you’re wearing tomorrow?” She asked as she sat up on her knees and looked past Simon to the back of the couch.

“Yeah. I just got it tonight. It’s the same kind of suit that James Bond would wear.” Simon smiled as he looked over at the bottom edge of the tuxedo pant leg that poked out from the protective plastic.

“My name is April.” She held her small bony hand out.

“Nice to meet you April. My name is Deckker. Garfield P. Deckker.”

“Ha Ha..Garfield….like the cat!” April put her hand to her mouth as she laughed.

“Yeah…I never thought of it that way but…but you’re right. The name is like the name of the cat.” Simon glanced down at the carpet as he ingested this realization.

The two of them watched “The Little Mermaid” quietly for the most part.

About halfway through the film Simon went to the kitchen and raided it for some ice cream, cookies and milk. They stuffed their faces in the dark still of the bottom level of the Milton household as they watched the classic Disney flick.

“How…how did your aunt Patty die?” Right about the time that the prince was to marry the evil squid, the question that was on the edge of his mind popped out.

“I’m not sure. Every time my mom talks about it she tells me she died because she was sad. My cousin Bernie says she jumped off a roof…but he’s always lying.” April flatly stated in a somber, direct tone without taking her eyes from the screen. ***** The cobblestone basement of the hundred year old funeral parlor was dimly illuminated by the yellow glow of fluorescent fifty year old light fixtures across the low ceiling. Scuffed-up brown fold out tables were strategically aligned between the grey stone pillars that cluttered the dungeon.

Simon helped Patricia’s brother Jared. He carried jugs of potato salad and coleslaw down while Simon hauled the 3 liter bottles of soda down the steps. They put them in the refrigerator next to the counter that lined the back wall of the basement.

Patricia’s mother and two of her aunts had a well-oiled assembly line operating across the back counter tops. Her aunt Amelia was cutting some ample sized Keizer rolls in half. Her aunt Malena selected from a variety of piles of shaved meats and placed them on the bottom halves. Her mother placed a slice of cheese from one of two stacks and then put the top back on the sandwich before she tightly secured it with saran wrap and placed it in alignment with the other completed sandwiches on a large circular tray.

“Excuse me Mrs. Milton.” Simon tapped her on the shoulder.

“Yes, Simon.” Patricia’s mother turned her attention to him thus putting the assembly line to an abrupt halt.

“Are you going to put cheese on all the sandwiches or are you going to leave some of them plain?”

“Why, are we short on cheese?” The false happy front that was in her moist eyes gave way to a concerned look.

“No…not at all. There’s plenty of cheese. I…I was just thinking that there might be some people who don’t like or might be allergic to cheese. So…maybe there should be some sandwiches that don’t have cheese. Just a suggestion.”

Simon smiled.

“Good point. I’ll leave some of them plain. Simon , you…you are such a dear! Thank you so much for all your help today!” She patted her hand on his left cheek before turning from him. The assembly line cranked up again.

When Simon got back upstairs Jared—through his bloodshot, hung-over disposition—told him that he had to run to the store for some more ice. He instructed him to wait there and help put the plastic table cloths on the tables. On his way to the doorway leading to the basement a chubby round faced man in a black suit stopped him.

“Are you with the bereaved?”

“No, I’m here with the Milton’s.” Simon answered and then turned from the man.

“One moment, sir.” The man put his hand on Simon’ shoulder.

“What is it Reverend?” Simon asked as he turned.

“Oh..hah…why thank you but I am no Reverend, sir. I’m merely the undertaker of this humble establishment. My name is Laverne.” They shook hands. “I am so sorry to disturb you but I happened to notice that members of your party have two vehicles parked out in the alley behind our rear entrance. I’m going to need to ask you to have them moved to the front parking lot that we have provided for our patrons.” The undertaker spoke in a hushed well-enunciated tone.

“Okay. I’ll let Mr. Milton know.” Simon shook the man’s hand again and jogged down the stairs.

When he got to the dismal basement a large wail was bellowing from Mrs. Milton. She was sitting on a chair with Mr. Milton on his knees before her. The aunts dropped what they were doing and ran over to complete a group hug that contained various degrees of tearful wailing. Simon struggled to hold his own tears back as he witnessed the temporary family breakdown.

“Excuse me.” Simon returned to the undertaker. “I was wondering if we could work out this deal between you and me.” He imitated the undertaker’s hushed tone and enunciated his words perfectly as he extended a shaky hand with a folded twenty dollar bill.

“Sir.” The undertaker pushed his hand and money back. “I cannot accept that. There is no deal to be made here.”

“Okay then, let’s…you … you and me try to come to an agreement on a way that we can resolve the situation.” Simon shoved his twenty back into his pants pocket and returned to his normal voice.

“The only resolution for the situation is to have the vehicles moved. Our establishment services many patrons. Within the hour we will need access to the rear doors to bring the deceased of another bereaved family. Any assistance that you could give us in re-locating your vehicles would be greatly appreciated Sir.” The undertaker remained calm and nodded after speaking.

“You got it.” Simon slumped as he turned and went back to the basement door. Patricia’s cousin Harold came around the corner. “Hey, Harold.” He moved quickly to meet him.

“Yeah, Simon. What’s up?”

“There are two cars out back and we need to get them moved.”

“Oh…okay. One of them is my mom’s and one is mine. I’ll go down and get my mom’s keys.”

“If you want to give the keys to your car, I can go get the process started.”

Simon offered.

After both vehicles were moved Simon poked his head into the Funeral home’s main office. The undertaker was sitting behind a long brown desk typing away on his computer.

“I got that whole ‘cars in the alley situation’ squared away for ya!” Simon interrupted him.

“Greatly appreciated.” He returned in a whisper and gave a subtle smile while nodding his round face in Simon’s direction. ***** The candles along the stone walls of the parlor room were dangerously close to the flower arrangements in some places. Simon walked the perimeter to move each of the flower stands at risk before he took a seat along the back row of chairs.

The immediate family members were sitting on and standing in front of a string of chairs flanking to the left of the mahogany casket. A line of people waited to walk by the casket before having a hug-a-thon and offer condolences to Patricia’s relatives.

Two rows ahead of Simon, Little April was sitting with her parents. Once they had her settled, they left her to take their place in the row of relatives. Simon buttoned his tuxedo coat and cautiously left his back row spot to go sit next to her.

“Hello April.” Simon whispered as he looked around the parlor room to monitor who was watching his movements.

“Hello GARfield!” She barely got through her exaggerated pronunciation of his alias before putting her hands to her mouth. April’s skinny legs dangled from the tall stained cedar chair as she muffled her chuckle.

“That cousin of yours…the one that told you about your Aunt Patty jumping from a roof…”

“Bernie.”

“Bernie that’s it...Bernie. Is he here?”

“Yeah. He’s downstairs with the boys.”

A split second after getting the information from April, Simon adjusted his bow tie to the center of his neck and got up from the seat.

“Pardon me, Sir.” The undertaker stopped him right after he exited the viewing room.

“Yes, Reverend.”

“I need to talk to you about the DVD remembrance video that you have playing in the foyer. Quite a lovely tribute as it may be, the agreement was to have it playing until 6pm.” The undertaker whispered before putting his hands together as if he were about to say a prayer and pressed his lips to his pointer finger tips.

“It’s 6:30.” Simon stated as he pulled the sleeve of his tuxedo coat back to look at his Transformers watch.

“Yes…we’ve allowed the DVD to go past the allotted time. But you must respect the reality that we have another visitation that will promptly begin at 7pm.

I’m sure you can relate to the confusion that it would cause for the other bereaved family. There is a television and DVD player provided for your personal use in your assigned parlor room if you wish to have the video on display for the remainder of your visitation.”

“You got it!” Simon patted the undertaker on the shoulder before walking past him to the foyer.

Simon moved a red velvet arm chair from near the window to place it beneath the combo TV/ DVD player that was hanging from the ceiling in the far corner. He positioned it directly underneath and then stepped on top of it. He shook as he removed his hands from the arms and stood up trying to keep his balance. The stiff seat cushion pushed down under the weight of his stance.

Simon reached up and pushed the eject button.

“What are you doing with my sister’s video?” The blonde and grey haired lady who greeted Simon when he first arrived at the Milton house ran up and yanked the back tail of his long tuxedo coat. He carefully moved his feet on the chair surface to turn himself around to face the woman. He leaned over and placed his hands on knees.

“It’s okay.” Simon whispered to her. “We have to stop playing it here but they’re going to let us play it in the…”

“Sir!” The undertaker interrupted him. “That is an antique chair that you’re standing on. The bereaved are not permitted to stand on the furniture.” The undertaker scolded him as discreetly as possible.

Simon jumped up and tried to turn and grab the DVD in one quick motion.

His feet crossed over each other. He fell forward and bounced off the wall before his large frame, along with the chair, crashed to the floor. His shoulder hit with a loud thud. The concentrated chatter of the room came to a halt. Following a couple of gasps and looks of shock, people began flocking over to Simon as he grimaced in pain—favoring his arm.

“Are you alright, Sir?” The undertaker was leading the crowd to help him to his feet.

“I’m fii…fine. Simon’s red face gradually returned to its original pale white.

The undertaker pulled the small wooden step stool that Simon hadn’t noticed from the wall and proceeded to retrieve the DVD for Patricia’s sister.

Simon rotated his left arm in an attempt to get his shoulder back to normal as he scanned the tables across the basement looking for April’s cousin Bernie. There was a group of four boys in small, dark suits at the end of a table near the counter.

He stood a couple feet from the boys to listen to their conversation. Two of them were deeply immersed in playing some hand held video-games consoles while the other two sipped from clear plastic cups of orange soda and used plastic sporks to sculpt their mountains of uneaten potato salad.

After a few minutes of patient spying, Simon heard one of the potato salad kids call out Bernie to the brown haired, freckle faced boy vigorously shaking the game counsel between his hands.

“Excuse me, Bernie.” Simon interrupted the kid. “Can I have a word with you alone for a moment?”

“Sure.” Bernie paused his game and handed it to the boy sitting across the table from him. “I’m already near the power generator. Don’t go inside the gate and mess up my game. Just keep killing the zombies on the outside of the fence until I get back.”

“Alright.” The other kid grumbled back at him “Is that ‘Zombie Apocalypse 4’ that you’re playing?” Simon walked Bernie over to the corner on the side of the refrigerator.

“Yeah.”

“Make sure you go back to the farm and get the fence cutters before you go after the generator.

You’re going to need them to cut the…”

“I’ve got a laser knife. I don’t need the cutters from the farm. What do you want?” Bernie snapped back.

“I need some information from you.” Simon asked as he extended a folded dollar bill while looking back over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

“A dollar?” Bernie smirked. “What do you think this is? The 80’s? Even my grandma isn’t that cheap when she tries to give me money.”

Simon stuffed the bill back into his pants. He reached around and grabbed his wallet. After sifting through the bills he found a five and yanked it out for the kid. “Look…all I need to know is whether or not you were lying to your cousin April.”

“What do you mean…lying to April?” Bernie asked as he snatched the five out from his hand.

“You told your cousin April that your Aunt Patricia jumped off a building.

Were you telling the truth? And if so who told you that?” Simon leaned over and stared hard into the kid’s eyes.

“My dad told me.” Bernie quickly responded.

“What’s your dad’s name?”

“His name is Jared. You already know him; you were helping him bring food earlier today.”

Simon rubbed his left shoulder with his right hand as he emerged from the basement into the foyer. Scattered clumps of people for the 7pm wake were making their way into the building. Simon scanned the faces of the wake to try and find Patricia’s Brother Jared.

“Excuse me, Sir.” The undertaker came from behind Simon to put his hand on his back.

“Yes.” “I hate to bother you once again but I have another issue that I believe requires your immediate attention.” He stated in his trademark hushed tone with fingers locking his hands below his waist.

“You do know that I’m not the only bereaved here.” Simon consciously kept his voice down as he shot back. “There are all kinds of other bereaved trouncing about this joint. You could take your little issues up with another one of them…once in awhile…ya know.”

“My apologies.” The undertaker nodded as he placed his hand on his heart.

“The account is in Mr. Milton’s name. I should be bringing these things directly to his attention. Pardon me.”

Simon looked into the parlor room to see Mr. Milton slouched over in his chair with his hand on his forehead. Two middle-aged men leaned over him with

their hands on his respective shoulders. Mrs. Milton was turned from him hugging Patricia’s sister—the one who blasted Simon for taking the DVD out earlier.

Before the undertaker could fully get through the doorway, Simon grabbed the left sleeve of his jacket and led him back out to the foyer.

“Okay. What issue do you have now?” He asked.

“Our rules and bylaws, which were clearly outlined at the time of our agreement state that alcohol is not allowed on parlor grounds at any time for any reason. There are a group of people out back with a cooler—drinking. It would be greatly appreciated if you could have them leave the premises to partake in their inebriation elsewhere. An alternative solution would be to have them remove the adult beverages from the vicinity. Either resolution to the situation will suffice.”

Next to the back of the dreary cobblestone wall there was a large green rusted dumpster. A broken down and battered Jared leaned over the black plastic lid. Three others stood near him below a silver utility light that extended out from the back of the building.

“Excuse me.” Simon talked in his imitation of the undertaker’s hushed tone.

“Simon…pulled up a chair. Let me get ya a beer.” Cousin Harold announced as he leaned over to open the cooler.

“Thank you Harold. But I’m actually here to tell you that we need to get the alcohol away from the building or everyone has to leave.”

“What!?!? This is some BS man!!” Harold shouted as he gunned his half full can against the wall. A spiraling spray of the beer spiraled out of the can before it slammed against the cobblestone and limply fell to the gravel surface of the alleyway.

“It’s alright, Harry.” One of the guys announced as he looked at his watch.

“This thing’s almost over. We can all meet up at my place for the after party.

Let’s go back inside.”

“Sounds good. What are we gonna do about Jared?” Another guy pointed at the slumping brother barely hanging on to the top of the dumpster.

“You guys go back inside. I’ll get him and the beer back to his van. Who’s driving him home?” Simon asked as he stepped over to the dumpster.

“I am. Thanks a bunch Simon. You’re a real trooper.” Harold handed him the keys to the van before patting him on his good shoulder.

After stuffing the cooler inside the van Simon created a small bed from some dirty tarps and potato sacks that were strewn about. Jared seemed mostly awake and pretty much put himself into the back.

For a minute before he closed the back doors of the van, Simon stared down at the side of Jared’s drool covered cheek. “Did you tell Bernie…did you tell your

son that Patricia jumped off a building?” Simon asked, not expecting a response and still imitating the hushed voice of the undertaker.

“HAhhnn. Hah…hhrr…rrhh.” Jared rolled onto to his back. He opened his mouth as wide as his face would allow while he let out a stuttered cry. “My sis…my li’l sis..sissser going to hell. Going to hell for…fah..taking her own live.

Oh…lord…lord have mercy my li’l sister, my little Patty cake going to hell…”

Jared garbled through his tears as he put his hands over his eyes.

“Hey buddy!” Simon interrupted as he grabbed Jared’s right ankle and shook it. “What if I told you that…that your sister, that Patricia didn’t kill herself?

What if I told you she was murdered? What if I told you that she was murdered by her boyfriend Roger? She…Patty…Patricia told me right before she died that he was beating her…with some mental torture on top of that. She told me that she was going to leave him. What if she didn’t jump and this bastard Roger tried to make it look like suicide by throwing her off the building?” Simon ended up grabbing Jared’s other ankle and shaking them both as he grew more and more excited while speaking through his revelations.

“Arrhhhh….uhhhh…Pat…Patty cake.” Jared’s wail began to run out of energy as he flopped over to his side and curled himself into a crescent along the inside wall of the van.

“Where’s Jared?” Mr. Milton asked as he met Simon at the entry door to the parlor room.

“I just put him in the back of his van. He’s had a lot to drink and he’s…he’s not in good shape Mr. Milton.”

“Ahhhhh. I should’ve known! My boy…my boy. Jared was so close to Patty. I should’ve known he’d take it the hardest.” Milton put his hands to his cheeks as new tears seemed to blast out from his squinted red eyes.

Simon stepped forward and almost hugged him. Before he got his right arm away from his body he adjusted and just reached out and patted him on the shoulder with his left hand. “Just stay strong. She’s in a better place now. Just tell Jared that she’s in a better…place now.” Simon said the only words he could think of.

“I need to go see him, where’s the van?” Mr. Milton sucked in some breath and settled himself.

“It’s in the front lot. Yeah. They won’t let us park in the back.” Simon handed him the keys.

“Thank you Simon.” Mr. Milton smiled. “Do me one more favor. There’s still a good amount of people coming through. Could you go take my place next to Silky Momma until I get back?”

“Silky Momma?” Simon’s eyebrows rose up as he looked at him.

“My wife…Mrs. Milton. It would mean the world to her…mean the world to me.”

Silky Momma’s right hand gripped Simon’s left hand as they greeted the people that came by. She had a near constant stream of tears but did not have a break down. He was able to tell how close she was to each person by how tightly she gripped his hand when they approached her. At one point she squeezed so hard it, she damn near cut off the circulation to Simon’s fingers. He almost said something to her but opted to man up and let it go.

Whenever they were done offering condolences to Mrs. Milton they offered Simon their regrets often accompanied with a hug. At first he repeated the mantra he gave to Mr. Milton before he darted off to find Jared. “Just stay strong. She’s in a better place now.” After a few utterances of this statement he began to feel as if he were just being a flat out phony. Simon started to mix it up a bit.

“We all will miss her. Thank you for coming.”

“Everything is going to be alright.”

“Our lives now have a big hole in them but heaven has given us a new guardian!”

“It’s support like yours that is going to get us all through this.”

He tried to not repeat himself but often mixed and matched the wording of previous statements to encourage the well wishers that were filing through. Simon looked over at the closed casket and started to imagine her face inside the box. He pulled his memories from one of the pictures he saw on Patricia’s friendhouse page. It was one where she was with two of her girlfriends at a beach. They had their arms around each other—all of them making some goofy faces. Patricia had her tongue poking out the side of her mouth and her beautiful dark eyes pointed up in the opposite direction—happy as could be.

Simon looked down to her mother who was being consoled by one of Patricia’s co-workers. He immediately noticed that she had the same eyes as Patricia. His bottom lip started to quiver as tears started to form at the sides of his eyes.

“Hang in there, Simon.” Patricia’s Uncle John (who was in line to his right) grabbed his arm and handed him a tissue.

As he was dabbing the top of his right cheek behind his glasses, he noticed a group of three guys walk in the back of the visitation room. Most everyone seemed to turn their attention back to the guy in the middle who was wearing dark sunglasses and had his head hanging down.

“Well the douche bag has finally decided to make an appearance.” Patricia’s Uncle John muttered.

“Who’s that?” Simon asked as he stuffed the tissue in his coat pocket.

“That’s Patty’s boyfriend Roger.”

Simon reactively took two steps back as he stared at their staggered entrance in horror. He started to turn and remove himself from the line before he realized he was still holding Mrs. Milton’s hand. Simon stepped back in line. He looked around the room hoping to see Mr. Milton on his way back.

When Roger got to the casket he knelt down and bowed his head to say a prayer. After a minute his body began to shake as he stuttered out some tears. He then stood up and dramatically draped his arms over the top of the sheen of the wooden box. His two cohorts put their arms on his back as he started a soft moaning that provoked a mixed reaction from the row of relatives.

When Roger gained composure he stood walked over to greet Patricia’s sister. Simon’s hand tightened up to damn near crush Mrs. Milton’s.

“Ahhh! Simon!” Silky Momma jerked her arm back and inspected her red hand.

“I...I…excuse me.” Simon stumbled and then turned from the group. He took quick, long strides to get from the parlor room to the front foyer.

He pushed the bathroom door open with a charge before walking around in quick circles within the black and white tiled confinement. Simon’s heavy breathing reached near hyperventilation as he paused and leaned over. Eyes closed, he concentrated on his breathing patterns. After a few minutes he calmed and stood up—loosened his bow tie as he looked around the bathroom.

There was a good sized frosted window above the first stall. He pushed the stall door open with the same thunder that he had when he charged into the bathroom. After flopping the toilet lid down he stair-stepped to the tank and jimmied the window open. He did alright getting himself up and into the window frame but struggled to turn himself around to get his legs dangling along the outside wall.

Simon looked down his right side to see the green dumpster that Jared was hanging all over earlier. At first he put his feet at the front edge near the building but couldn’t get a good balance. He moved them back to the middle of the plastic lid to see if it would hold him. His fingers started to hurt from the tight grip he had on the cobblestone wall. Before he could fully test himself on the lid he lost his grip on the window frame and dropped straight down.

The plastic cover completely caved in under Simon’s weight. The right side of his chest hit the front edge of the dumpster. His neck snapped forward as his glasses jumped off his face and fell to the alley floor.

Simon let out a muffled grunt. He rolled over to his side and flung his left leg over the side edge before pulling himself out of the dumpster. He picked up his glasses. The left lens had a crack going from the bottom left corner up to the top

right corner. When he tried to clean his glasses with his shirt he almost pushed out the loose bottom half of glass.

After brushing himself off he noticed a small tear in his tuxedo pant leg with a splotch of blood underneath coming from a small scratch on his inner thigh. He reached his arm around and began to rub the small of his back as he limped from the alleyway. ***** The red Grand Am shot away from the Funeral Parlor’s parking lot. In the darkness, Simon’s view was greatly disrupted by the crack in his lens. Two blocks down the road, he removed the glasses and placed them on the front passenger’s seat. The blurry night view was difficult at first but after his eyes adjusted to the small blips of streetlights along the misty Florida night road, Simon was good to go.

Rolling the driver’s side window down to let the humid breeze inside—he turned on the radio. The CD player picked up from where it left off on the reading of Dante’s Inferno: “From these two, art and nature, it is fitting, if you recall how Genesis begins, for men to make their way, to gain their living; and since the usurer prefers another pathway, he scorns both nature in herself and art her follower; his hope is elsewhere."

Simon pulled into Benway’s—a 24 hour drug store. First thing he picked up was a tube of hair gel. Then he went to the eyewear section to see if there was some kind of quick fix or tape there for his glasses. He settled for a small vial of glass glue that’s package claimed it would be transparent once dried. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Once he had these items he went to the school supplies aisle. He picked up two thin black sharpie markers, two spiral note books, a combo pack of six small notepads and a package of ten black ball point pens.

When he got back to the car he laid his purchases out on the passenger’s seat. The neon green glow from the store sign illuminated through the windshield as Simon put the miniature nozzle to the small crack on his glasses and ran a stream of glue between the separated shards. He pushed out a long breath of wind along the line before carefully placing the glasses on the dashboard.

With a black marker, Simon labeled the first notebook “FACTS”. The second notebook he labeled “THEORIES”. In the “FACTS” book he started off by noting the dates and general nature of the discussions he had with Patricia on the friendhouse website. He then went on (to the best of his recollection) to describe some of the concerning posts and comments that she had placed on her friendhouse page. This included her self-demeaning comments as well as her recantations of

depressing lyrics. After writing about her chat messages telling him of Roger hitting her, he ended the facts page concerning online activity.

The next page he started contained facts about what he had seen since he arrived in town. He listed the yellow police tape on Patricia’s door, the comments made by little April, the information he had gotten from Bernie and detailed Roger’s early absence followed by his exaggerated appearance at the Funeral home.

Simon unbuckled his seat belt and leaned to his left to get his wallet from his back pants pocket. He pulled out the business card that the police detective gave him along route 75. After punching most of the numbers into his cell phone, Simon paused. He hit the cancel button before hitting the dial key to completed the call and inform Detective Woods about his murder investigation. He tossed his cell phone aside.

The “THEORIES” notebook stared up at Simon from the passenger’s seat.

He reached over to it but stopped short of picking it up. He knew Patricia’ death could be attributed to one of the two things but didn’t feel that he needed to write either of them down—at least not until he had gotten some more evidence.

Simon looked up at his glasses on the dash board. The line of glue along the crack was not anywhere close to transparent. In fact it was the opposite—you could clearly see the frosting like spill over onto the bottom part of the lens. He folded them up and put the glasses in the glove compartment.

The tube of hair gel ejaculated a nice clear liquid into Simon’s hand. A soft joining of his hands was followed by a quick spread through his hair. He went from curly brown to a slick black. The alcohol smell from the gel quickly overtook his nose within the car.

Simon pulled the rearview mirror toward him and sat up to see how he looked. He gained some confidence at the sight of how much more serious he looked without his glasses and his hair slicked. He tore open the pack of cigarettes and lit up a smoke. He took a cautious pull from it before quickly releasing the puff of smoke from his lips. In the rearview mirror he could see the smoky mist travel upward before his face making his visage all the more mysterious.

After taking a second, deeper pull from the cigarette, Simon began coughing violently. He tossed the cigarette out the driver’s side window. ***** In less than five minutes he was back at the Funeral Parlor. Jared’s van was gone. In fact there were next to no cars left in the lot. Simon stuffed two pens and two note pads into the inside pocket of his tuxedo coat. Without glasses and his hair slicked back, Simon walked chest-out into the funeral parlor. The remembrance video of a 90 year old man was playing with some classic music in the background. No one was in foyer to watch it.

The doors to the Milton parlor room were closed. Simon put his hand on the door knob. It was locked.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” The undertaker stepped up behind him. “Your party has departed from our facilities.”

“Alright.” Simon let his hand drip off of the brass handle.

“I…I know that I’ve been a bit of a pest today. But along the lines of the integrity that this operation is run by I am obligated to inform you that the deposit for the Milton account will not be returned. Of course I’ll be courteous enough to wait until after the deceased’s ceremonies tomorrow before I officially inform Mr. Milton of this detriment.”

“What? I’ve taken care of everything that you’ve brought to me—on the spot…immediately!” Simon pointed his finger at the undertaker’s chest as he shouted.

“Yes…yes you have sir. And for that, on behalf of this establishment, I offer you our sincerest appreciation.” The round-faced undertaker put his hand over his heart. “But it is clearly stated in the agreement that the lower-level lounge will be cleaned and cleared by the occupying party at the conclusion of the allotted rental time. Failure to do so will result in the forfeit of said deposit.” He cusped his hands and put his chubby lips to the top of his reddened knuckles after reciting verbatim from the contract.

“Okay…I’ll go down there and take care of the mess. It’ll only take a minute.” Simon announced before trudging over to the door leading to the basement.

“Sir, both parties have left and I’m about to shut the building down.”

Simon ignored his announcement and continued down the stairs.

On the floor there were pieces of buns, crumpled napkins and loose plastic pieces from various toys. The beige metal chairs were in scattered disarray—some pulled from under the table, some lying in their backs. The table tops were covered with abandoned half-filled plates of food and half-empty plastic cups of soda. Along the back counter there were aluminum trays with the remnants of salads and baked pasta. Simon looked it all over and decided to start from the floor and work his way up.

He used a push broom to zig zag between the tables and push a pile into the corner by the fridge. There was a large plastic garbage can by the counter. After dragging it over he looked around for a dust pan. Unable to find one, he took an empty box from the top of the fridge and tore off a side of it. He knelt down and used it in conjunction with the broom to scoop up about a third of it and dump it into the can. As he went down to get another scoop, Simon began to cry. He huffed trying to hold it back as his stomach turned with an odd feeling.

The sound of someone walking down the stairs came from behind. Simon dropped the cardboard slab. He lifted the back of his right wrist to wipe his eyes.

In slow motion the undertaker waded through the crowd of tables to bring a large silver pot to the sink in the middle of the counter. He filled it with soap and water before setting it on the open space next to the sink.

Simon took a deep breath. He sniffled a bit as he tried to get the rest of the refuse on the card board. The undertaker only got about half way up the stairs before turning around and walking over to Simon. He knelt down and took the cardboard from him. Simon stood and used the broom to push what was left of the napkins, breadcrumbs and toy parts onto the makeshift cardboard dustpan. The undertaker picked the refuse from the ground and stuffed it into the garbage can.

“How about you work on the counter and I’ll start on the tables.” The undertaker proposed in his signature hushed tone.

“You got it.” Simon moved to a crusted tin foil lasagna pan and folded it in fours. The undertaker scooped up the plates and cups and tossed them in the green garbage can as he quickly made his way through scattered mess of tables.

“Hey, Reverend…I have a question for you. I’m not a religious person. My family just never was very religious. Is it really true that when someone takes their own life that they go to hell?” Simon asked as he used the sink to wet a towel.

“I’m not a Reverend.” The undertaker replied. ***** All the lights in the Milton house were out with the exception of a flickering coming from the TV room on the right. An exhausted Simon’s legs throbbed as he made his way up the steps leading to the house. The door was locked. He turned his hand to give a soft knuckled knock.

“Hello GARfield!” April mockingly greeted him after opening the door.

“Hello.” Simon drug his feet through the door way.

“Guess what I watched tonight?” With an overload of sass, April put her hands on the hips of her pink and blue pajamas.

“I don’t know.” Simon shut the door and turned the deadbolt lock.

“SAW 3!! My uncle John let me watch it. He’s not as bogus as you are.”

She crossed her arms.

“That’s great.”

“Hey…want to watch another one of your old cartoons and scarf down some ice cream?” April asked.

Simon slugged up the stairs to his room without acknowledging little girl’s suggestion. ***** The church smelled like old brown wood up until about halfway through the mass. The priest walked down the center aisle with a golden incense holder that he

swayed back and forth from its golden chain. Smoke billowed from it as he chanted in Latin. Simon sat three rows from the back aisle of the church.

Roger sat in the middle of the rows of pus on the left. Simon paid more attention to him than he did to the mass itself. The blue book of Hymns was large enough for him to hide one of his small note pads inside. He held it up and jotted down any odd movements or behaviors that Roger made: 11:30—Outside the Church. Uncle John is the only family member that he approaches. They barely speak—about 2 words each…no physical contact.

12:05—He enters the Church after the mass has started and walks down the side aisle.

He chooses a seat in the middle of the church and sits by himself.

12:11—Follwing the opening speech by the priest, everyone stands. Roger remains seated.

He hunches forward and puts his forehead on the back of the bench in front of him.

12:30—In the middle of the 2nd bible reading, he slides to the end of the aisle and then Simon stopped writing. He put the book of hymns down and stuffed his notepad into the inside pocket of his tuxedo coat. Once Roger got past him to the back of the Church, Simon scooted the end of his aisle as discretely as possible and followed him.

When Simon got in the bathroom, Roger was in the first stall with the door open. He was pulling a long string of toilet paper from the roll. He crammed a balled up bunch in his pants pocket before tearing off another strand and using it to wipe his eyes before blowing his nose in it.

Simon walked over to the urinals and unzipped his pants. He tried to piss but didn’t have to go. So he stood there and pretended to urinate— inconspicuously looking over every so often.

When Roger finally emerged from the stall he went right to the sink. He put a couple of splashes of water to his face before grabbing a few paper towels.

Simon zipped his pants and flushed the urinal. He stood behind Roger waiting for the sink. Looking over his shoulder, their eyes met in the mirror. The bloodshot redness of Roger’s eyes was trumped by the red skin of the areas around them.

After noticing Simon’s stare in the mirror, Roger turned and gave him a dirty face to face glance before leaving the bathroom. The dozen or so questions that were at the tip of Simon’s tongue went unasked as he stepped up to the sink.

Without his glasses the vision of himself in the mirror was a bit blurry. As he had the night before, Simon slicked his hair back with the gel. Now that it had dried the natural curly state of his hair was starting to break through—he had small and thick curls stretching out above both of his ears. He tried to push them back down by running his palms across the sides of his head but it didn’t help much.

Simon pulled his notebook from his inside pocket and documented the bathroom encounter before returning to the services.

In bringing the casket out from the Church, Simon somehow got placed on the right side. He had to use the left arm that he had bruised the night before to grip the bar. At first he thought about asking Harold to switch with him but decided to man up and give it a try. Much to the chagrin of the other Pallbearers about halfway down the center aisle, Simon’s arm began to give in to fatigue. He struggled to keep the bottom back edge of the coffin up—letting it dip down below the level everyone else had it at. Sweat poured from his forehead as he huffed in deep quick breaths trying to keep it up. When they got to the top of the outside steps Simon thought for sure that he would lose it on the way down. Fortunately, he was able to soldier through it until they got the large mahogany box pushed into the back of the hearse. ***** About a third of the people that were at the church showed up to the graveside ceremony. Five choir members gave a lovely a cappella performance of two hymns before the priest cracked open his bible and began to recite a rite of passage sending Patricia to the afterlife. Simon stood at the back of the crowd watching the movements and actions of all the mourners. The main group of close relatives sat on folding chairs beneath a small tent-like covering—the bright green grass-like tarp at their feet as the metal contraption began to lower the casket into the earth. Tears and stammered howls began to spread through the group.

Roger, wearing sunglasses, turned from the proceedings and with his head down, walked away. Simon watched him depart. At first he turned back to the lowering of the casket and tried to ignore the departure. “This is my last chance.”

Simon whispered to himself before he charged after Roger through the garden of headstones.

At the middle of the cemetery there was a small courtyard. A white stone statue of a layered cross was at the center of some plush green bushes. Roger sat on one of the grey stone benches that circled the area.

Simon took a deep breath and walked into the circle. He sat next to Roger as he pulled the small notepad from inside his tuxedo coat. “Do…do you mind if I

ask you a few questions?” Simon flipped the book open and then whipped a pen out from his pants pocket.

Roger turned and scanned Simon from head to toe before pulling the program that was handed out at the church from his back pocket. He leaned forward and tried to ignore Simon as he flipped through the pages of the booklet.

“Wh…where were you the night that Patricia Milton died?” Simon poked the tip of his tongue with pen before putting the ballpoint down to a blank page in his note pad.

“Did you or any of your other family members actually read this thing?”

Roger tried to clear the phlegm from his throat and spoke in a gravel filled tone as has he handed the open book to Simon.

“Yes. I read it at the church.” Simon handed the booklet back to him as he put some stern insistence in his speak.

“Do you see what it says here?” Roger took the booklet back and pointed to a paragraph in the middle of the remembrance. “It says ‘Patricia’s life was troubled as she fought a losing battle with emotional demons. In spite of her daily battle with anger, depression, fear self-hatred and all other irrational thoughts feelings and actions that go with her illness, she still managed to leave a positive mark in a world that she struggled to find happiness in.’ How…how could they put something like that in here?” Tears raced from his eyes as his voice started to clear up. “To…to disrespect her memory by putting this in here…I…I don’t know how or who wrote this but they should be…be ashamed. They might as well have printed a description of…put pictures of…ahh…for Christ’s sake.” He choked up a bit as he started tearing the program apart and tossing the shreds of paper into the air.

Simon sat silent as he watched the paper swirl in the misty breeze.

“What does it matter anyway. At the end of the day none of us really have a say in how she’ll be remembered by others. When it comes to remembering her you all are going to be better off than I am…I’m….I’m actually jealous!” Roger chuckled at the end of his rambling as he sat back on the bench. He slouched forward as he let his hands limply drop between his legs.

“Jealous?” Simon closed his notepad and returned it to his coat pocket.

“Yeah. When all this misery, this immediate pain passes, you and your family will be able to look back and remember your good times with her. Those happy memories will be able to overcome your thoughts of her. I…I could’ve…I should have treated her better. For me…whenever I go back and try to think of her, the bad times are going to overcome my thoughts…my memories of her. The hell I’m going to have to live in is that I’m going to be asking myself ‘how much did I contribute to Patty’s struggles to find happiness in this world?’.” Roger

stared languidly at the ground, his mouth open as the tears steadily rolled from his eyes down his chin to stream down his neck.

“I think everyone who knew her is going to be asking themselves that question to varying degrees.” Simon’s eyes started to water up as he put his hand on Roger’s shoulder.

Simon got up from the bench and started to walk away.

“Hey, man!” Roger shouted out and turned to lean over the back of the stone bench.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for listening to me. You’re the only member of her family that’s taken the time to talk with me.” Roger smiled through the sullen and battered wreck that was his face.

Simon nodded and then turned to walk back to the graveside ceremony which was slowly breaking apart. ***** The sewing job that Silky Momma did on the tear in Simon’s tuxedo’s pant leg was impressive. Simon took a minute to look it over before folding up the pants and placing them in his father’s suitcase.

After descending from the upstairs bedroom, he gave handshakes and hugs to the scattered members of the Milton family that were lingering about the house.

He declined the offer to stick around a couple hours for one more meal.

“Let us walk you to your car.” Mr. Milton announced as he cusped hands with Mrs. Milton. They followed him out of the home and down the walkway.

Simon put his luggage in the trunk before returning to give each of Patricia’s parents a hug.

“Thank you for everything, Simon! You are such a dear! Patricia was lucky to have you as a friend and I’m sure she’s very proud of you for all that you’ve done for us!” Mrs. Milton tilted her head to the right as her smile beamed out along with glow of her eyes.

“I was just glad that I could I could help, Silky Momma. I really appreciate your hospitality and what you’ve done for me. Just stay strong. She’s in a better place now.”

“Have a safe trip, son!” Mr. Milton grabbed the back of Simon’s neck and pulled his head down to kiss his forehead. He then proceeded to give whiskery pecks to each of his cheeks before letting go of his neck.

“Thank you.” Simon smiled.

“Make sure you stay in touch!” Mr. Milton pointed his finger in the air.

“Absolutely. I will. Actually….” Simon reached around and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He yanked out the business card that he had gotten from the police detective on route 75 when he had the flat tire. Simon flipped it

over and placed it on the back of his wallet before pulling a pen from his pants pocket. He scribbled across it and handed it to Mr. Milton.”

“What’s this?” Mr. Milton squinted as him and Mrs. Milton looked over the card.

“That’s my friendhouse web address.” Simon stuck his chin out with pride.

“Freindhouse?” Silky Momma questioned.

“Yeah. Friendhouse. It’s a social website. If you’ve never been there before, it’s free and really simple to join. The site is VERY user friendly. It’ll only take you a minute to log in and set up your account. It’s the easiest thing in the world. Once you’ve got that done type in that URL that I just gave you. That’ll bring you to my profile page. After you get there all you have to do is click on the ‘Add as a Friend’ button.”