Issue #72 : Insulting To Respect

The rain pelted off the roof and I sat listening to the sing song of its mid summer deluge. Maybe Hugo had been right, maybe I had no business going there in the first place, but I just don’t give a shit. Helen isn’t going to want me to be there, her brother is probably going to want to kick my ass, her parents for sure would tell me to stay away. I get all of that, but I still need to go.

So I’m not wanted, it isn’t like that’s a new experience for me. Why should I care what Helen or the or the rest of them think? It’s not like I have to see any of them from day to day, so I might as well do what needs to be done. After all, I think this is what she would have wanted.

Once you figure out what the right thing is, there really isn’t even a decision to be made anymore. The book was on the dresser next to the bedroom door so I picked it up on my way out to the car. The drive felt longer than it should have, the weight of the situation seemed to be dragging on the car, slowing it to a near crawl. I kept glancing away from the road, at the passing cars, the storefronts, anything to focus on, other than what was at hand.

The sky was darkening overhead, which just made the funeral home look even more dark and uninviting. No point in wasting time, I walked up the steps onto the porch, into the main room and immediately felt the collective intake of breath from her family. They hadn’t been expecting me to show up, and in a family as close-knit as this one, I had become public enemy number one.

To hell with all of them. I’ve got just as much right to be here as anyone. So Helen happens to be her granddaughter, that shouldn’t matter. There had to be things more important than our personal baggage. She had been just as important to me as the rest of them, don’t I have the right to have feelings?

Mr. Gravinson was seated next to the casket, staring at his hands and looking like he didn’t know what to do with himself. I walked up to him, book in hand. Despite his obvious feelings of animosity towards his granddaughter’s ex-boyfriend, he stood up respectfully to accept the offered handshake. He gazed down at the aged hardcover book as I handed to him, immediately recognizing it.

“She gave this to me,” I said, “She was the only one who ever had any faith in me and I just want you to know how much I respected her and I will never forget everything she did for me.”

You read about stuff like this, but I actually did feel the slap coming just before I turned into it. Helen was staring down at me through her self-righteous tears. To his credit, Mr. Gravinson’s hand shot out to restrain her before she could add a few kicks while I was down. I stood up and brushed myself off, looking into his eyes. I didn’t even see him as part of this family that hated me so much. I associated him with her, the best teacher I had ever had growing up. He wasn’t Helen’s grandfather, he was my favorite teacher’s husband.

“Her though,” I said as I jabbed a thumb in Helen’s direction, “That one, I’m more than happy to forget.”




The cover image, which was originally posted to Flickr.com, was uploaded to Commons using Flickr upload bot on 20:32, 8 February 2012 (UTC) by Pixi Uno (talk). On that date it was licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.

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