Fin.'We are gathered here to celebrate the life...'
Bullshit. We're here to be miserable, and let us be miserable instead of making us all feel selfish for the want to the right to be damned upset for once in our stoic lives. We're here to wonder in whose right mind the choice to take the less desirable individuals, was passed over in favour of taking a much-loved man.
'...may we praise that he didn't suffer long...'
and it might be the first sensible thing to be said today. Unfortunately, time taken to take also leaves less time to steel yourself for the sickening moment when you pick up the phone, smiling, and put down the phone, wishing you had never smiled at all. Wishing you could stop the world and make it silent just for a minute. Wishing it was the 11th of November and near 11 o'clock just so you had a recognised reason to tell everyone to shut the hell up and think outside their puny lives for just a moment. Of course you can't. You can't stop the world for one person, because the
SenseiThe old man sits in his chair, facing the window so that he can see all the children walk past. He gets sick of bird watching after a while, he says. His friend talks of the teachers going on strike, of things happening at work, but all the man can think of is why the inhaler is so difficult to manage.
I'm trying to ignore the shaking of his hands, so different to demonstrating something at the front of what best resembles a classroom. I look away at his friend, my father, when the old man reaches for his glass. I don't want to see his shaking, and I wonder if the man notices me look away. So much love but not wanting to show too much lest it comes out as sympathy, or worst of all, pity for an old man on his way to a grave too early. We're not ready to let go of him yet. He's not an old man, nowhere near it, and there are worse people we'd do better without.
Not this guy.
Not the guy who, despite a broken eye (from the broken end of a glass bottle as a hell's angel) and missing finger
Latte?'Why are you up?'
'It's the morning!'
'Oh, God. You're one of those morning people, aren't you?'
'I'm so sorry. I know I should have told you sooner, but now you know and I feel like such a great weight has been lifted off of my-'
'Shut up; right now.'
'Am I speaking too loudly?'
'Serves you right for downing basically a pint of sambuca last night.'
'Please, be quiet?'
'What was that?'
'Please, be quiet?'
'My parents are and were very happily married, actually. However, if you insist, I'm at least a bastard with coffee.'
'Go away. Right now, I think I'll just go back to sleep. Back, back to depths of the unknown hell of my scary, scary subconscious ness.'
'You grammar is scarier. There I was, thinking you liked coffee. Maybe not in the mornings, then? I could always drink it myself, if you don't-'
'-Wait, coffee? Where?'
'I could always make you a latte if you prefer those in the morning?'
'Don't use that word.'
'I'm warning you.'