Love at a funeral

Today I saw a funeral procession. A line of cars going back what seemed like forever, even blocking the intersection where that King Taco is.

Out of morbid curiosity I followed it. Who was so loved that they had at least a hundred cars showing up to their funeral? The matriarch or patriarch of a family? A child? A politician? I started building them up as I sat in the car at the end of the procession, no “funeral” label on mine, but was able to feign grief and get into the cemetery.

As I parked, I decided It was definitely a matriarch, the woman who made this family great. They all looked from the same heritage, many looked related, there were kids running around in suits with angry mothers telling them to behave. Luckily I was dressed for work in a black dress so I fit in for the most part.

Quietly I entered the chapel and took a seat in the back row. Outside the laughter and chatter of everyone was muted but you could still feel the energy of them. The joi de vie that was absent in this somber space.

The chapel was quiet, only a few people were there. Up at the front the casket was open. I had to see. I had spent 45 minutes in the car to get here, I had to see. So after those vacated the casket area I walked up the center aisle and saw the face of a beautiful man. He must have been in his late 20s, smooth skin, serene smile on his face, hands perfectly folded on his midsection, and he in a navy blue suit. He was the kind of man you stare at and hope they don’t catch you, but here in this frozen state of death, I could gaze unfettered.

What had his life been like? How had he died? I imagined he had a cocker spaniel that he adored and took everywhere. He cooked authentic dishes his Tia taught him, and never missed a week of dinner at his mother’s.

He saw me at the farmer’s market as we both chose eggplants, and that’s when the spark happened. I smiled coyly an irrepressible blush staining my cheeks as our fingers touched reaching for the same eggplant.

“Oh. Pardon me. My apologies.” taking my hand away from the vegetable.

“Not at all.” His voice was deep and smooth, an exotic lilt in it that made my body want to dance with each nuanced inflection. “Please, ladies first.”

I blushed and smiled to take the aubergine and place it in my crocheted sack.

“What are you planning on making?” He was talking to me. My stomach did a butterfly pas de deux.

“Me? Oh, erm, I’m going to attempt babaganoush, but I have few hopes it will be wonderful.”

He smiled. My god is face was gorgeous when he smiled, his eyes lit up like black diamonds sparkling just for me.

I was tapped on the shoulder. Looking up, I realized I was still standing at the casket in the small chapel, someone getting my attention.

“Ma’am, are you sure you’re in the right place?” turning to focus on the source of the voice, it was someone that worked there. Shit, do I lie or confess?

“Hmm? Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I thought this was my nephew’s viewing. He passed quite suddenly.” I faked sorrow, but I’m a terrible actress.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I must ask you to leave and allow the family to grieve in private.”

That was that, but the fantasy lived on in my head. Not even the wretched traffic of the 60 freeway pulled me from the dream of a life with this departed man.