Facades

Funny, isn't it? How dreary the world seems when you look at it from across a casket. The field over there might be green as an emerald with happy little animals prancing about, but all you see is a damp, dull gray-green patch of wilting grass. The sun could be shining bright, but all you can see are the shadows cast. That's the effect of a funeral, I guess. The sadness just pervades your senses, no matter your disposition toward death.
I've never been one to care much about death. When you're gone, you're gone. That's it. These plots of dirt are just houses to remind you of something you've lost. Nothing more. I'd say I want to be cremated when I die, but what would I care? I won't be around to dictate what happens to my body. Let those who care decide. If they think I'll be able to have a better afterlife 6 feet underground than as a pile of ashes, then let them do what they want. I don't care.

Why I'm here now? It's a nice gesture towards those who knew him I suppose. They're all crying or sad, but I can see it. Their true feelings. His girlfriend sitting over there? Weeping like a faucet? She was about to dump him in a couple days. She hated his damn guts and made no effort to hide it. Yet now she puts on her facade of sadness and tears. How about the football team sitting behind me? Do you think their melancholy reminiscing is real? I bet all they're thinking about is "Who's gonna be our new center?". From the sound of the things they used to say behind his back, he should be too hard for them to replace. And the perennial favorite, the priest. He has no fucking idea who this kid is, how can he possibly care? But he too wears the mask of sadness.

Me, you ask? I was the bastard's roommate. We were on good terms with each other, I suppose, but I had no attachment to him. We weren't really friends. He was just there. I'm not going to pretend I'm sad just because the idiot drunk himself to death. I mean, you'd think with the ten fucking years of people trying to hammer in the negatives of alcohol that [i]something[/i] would get through. Yet, the moment he gets some freedom, he thinks he knows the world better than the back of his hand. Ah well. More food for the worms. They just might be a bit intoxicated after their meal.

"Excuse me?"

Someone's trying to get my attention, draw me away from my reverie. I suppose I could humor them.

"Yes?" I answer.

"You were our son's roommate, right?"

Ah, the parents. They may well be the two people here whose emotions are plain on their faces. Their tears may be the only real ones.

"I... yes."

That's another thing about funerals. Even when talking to others, your tone is dreary and your words are reserved.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." I continue. Damn facades. I hate having to use them. Like I care about that fucker in the casket. What am I apologizing for anyway? It's not like I was there and saw the damn signs or anything. He didn't even tell me where he was going.

"We've heard a lot about you. You were one of our son's best friends."

I was? The guy was a jock. Hung out with jocks. Talked about jock-y things. How was I his friend?

"We were wondering if you might say a few words about our son."

No! I don't want to go up there and talk about some guy I don't like and don't know.

"...okay..." Wait, did I say that? What am I thinking? Aw, shit.

The priest say his words and introduces me. Ever hear about how public speaking is the number one fear, while death is second? And that those people would rather be in the casket than delivering the eulogy? I'm with them.

I stare out at the faces of the crowd. All of them stare back with tears and sadness, facade or not. I feel a bit out of place with my demeanor. I keep telling myself not to worry, though, just a few quick "He was a nice guy." statements and I'll be out of here.

"I..." I start, but I can't continue. Why?

"I was..."

What's the fucking problem? This guy means NOTHING to me. We WEREN'T friends and we never will be. I hate him. I hate the goddamn bastard.

"I..."

Something just hit my hand. A drop of water...? No...

"I'm... sorry."

It's all I can manage before I run off, covering my eyes and mouth while I sob. That... fucking... idiot.

I hate facades.