The Funeral

Then we got in and made our journey to the funeral home. Along the way my sister asked me what I had been up to. I just replied flatly, "nothing much." We didn't converse further about the matter. We just sat in silence. I watched as my sister picked at her nails like she used to do when we were kids. I began to whistle Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon".

I had lied to her about my life again as always. I didn't think she could take hearing about how I had lost five of my friends in Ciudad Juárez in the last year alone. The drug war down there was getting worse by the day.

When we arrived, we got out and headed into the funeral home with the other guests. I didn't cry when they were burying the old man in the local cemetery just behind the funeral home. My sister was another story. She cried profusely about losing the old bat. Then afterwards some dude in uniform with a buzz cut gave me a flag. I accepted it gratefully.

Afterwards, my sister led me to the reception. It was at one of my family member's house or should I say mansion. Who needs a two-story house for one person or even two? I was perfectly fine in my one floor, two room home in Mexico.

When I started to walk around to maybe talk to someone, I stopped short when I overheard a conversation coming from an older woman and the owner of the house, my aunt Attie or Andy or something like that. I couldn't remember her name. The two women were talking about my father.

"I heard that Charles's own son hasn't been seen for seven years. He wasn't even here to visit him in the hospital before he died," the one woman stated. She was dressed in black like everyone else except she had this huge, stupid, wide brimmed hat on with a fluffy, pink feather on it.

"Yes, the two of them used to be close and then suddenly he left to go somewhere far away, Las Vegas or something," my aunt replied, while pushing a piece of graying hair that had fallen out of her tightly made bun behind her ear.

"Ciudad Juárez, and I'm standing two feet away from you, you know," I retorted.

Both women jumped, my haughty aunt's chest even jiggled a little, and they stared at me for a bit. "But you can't be my brother's son. You are so old, and my nephew is only in his late twenties," my aunt commented.

"But I am your nephew. I saw a lot in Mexico," I retorted.

She didn't reply to that. She just went back to talking to the other woman. I heard something like she thought I had said Ciudad Juarez and not Mexico, and other idiot things. I laughed at them and kept walking.


The End

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