CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saturday, July 1st 2006
Because of the solemnity of the occasion and the final details she had to attend to, Alice barely had time to socialize with the attendees before the service. People arrived, gave nods or muted smiles of acknowledgement in her direction, then sat for the service.
Alice looked around at the attendees. Who was there that she actually wanted to talk to anyway? Abigail would probably just get on her nerves, and she did not really have anything to say to George’s old friends or his newer ones. As for the neighbors, she had already spoken to most of them, and she could easily speak to any of them at anytime. The same for her children, grandchildren and sister-in-law, who would be in her home for at least another day or two.
Alice’s eyes soon rested on the faces that stood out most in the crowd: a lady in black with skin the color of powdered nutmeg dressed in a stylish black suit and a hat that was ridiculously large as far as Alice was concerned. Her dark hair was pulled in a bun at the nape of her neck. Alice could barely see her face but figured she had to be at least middle-aged.
Next to her was a younger, taller, lighter-skinned colored person—a boy in his late twenties or so, her main interest.
Alice wondered how long they would stay and if they would come to her house later. She was concerned that they might; although she needed to speak to at least one of them, she preferred that they be in as private a place as possible when they spoke.
The boy made eye contact with her then. Rightfully, he did not greet her with a smile, and she also faced him with a somber face. Their eyes spoke their greetings, his dark eyes looking into hers without flinching.
She was the one to break the eye contact, but not before she noticed that the boy’s mother never turned her face to look at her—staring straight ahead or downward at all times. Alice was glad.
Alice turned her head to focus on Reverend Brown at the podium—his wrinkled face, his sparse white hair, his owl-like glasses. She found that she could not quite concentrate on what he was saying, too distracted by thoughts of what was to come next. She was worried about what would take place later, her immediate worry Elaine’s eulogy. It would be given any minute, and while Alice was looking forward to it, at the same time, she could not help dreading it. Would Elaine call her out on her mothering in front of all these people by sheer comparison?
***
Elaine took a deep breath to calm her nerves.
Short and sweet—that’s what they wanted the funeral to be. Elaine would have it no other way; she was all about efficiency. Thankfully, her mother had been on the same page. No long, drawn-out church service with a choir singing every ten minutes over a two-hour period, no multiple prayers, no one touching a pipe organ. And Elaine certainly had not planned out a long speech. The Reverend would speak, Elaine would speak, the grandchildren would say their pieces, and the Reverend would close them out. Elaine would ask everyone to say something, a final goodbye—out loud or silently. Then everyone would head over to Alice’s home for the luncheon where they would follow-up all the sadness with some humor, laughter, good memories. In and out. Go from heaviness to light; it was a celebration of her father’s life after all. She only hoped that they had enough food for later—more people had shown up than they had expected.
Elaine looked around.
She identified a few of the attendees as Alice’s neighbors since some had stopped by with condolences and cakes and nosiness. They were about her parents’ ages, as well as several distinguished-looking gentlemen and women Elaine guessed were her father’s old friends from school or work. There was also an older distressed-looking lady—another friend Elaine assumed, probably that Abigail girl he had mentioned. But there was an older black lady and a younger black man that Elaine assumed was the lady’s son who looked very much out of place beyond the obvious reasons. The lady’s sober face was partially hidden by a large black hat and her son’s eyes were downcast but Elaine could not help but notice his beautiful skin—smooth and golden, like honey. Elaine puzzled over them for a few moments until she mentally slapped herself on the forehead. She realized they must have been beneficiaries of a Thomas Gibson project. The young man was most likely a recipient of a scholarship, his thankful mother in attendance with him for support.
He was a handsome man, and Elaine did not realize she was staring until his soft, brown eyes met hers. She looked away. There was something about him that made her want to look back at him, but she remembered David at her side.
***
Drew stopped scrutinizing the stained glass windows and looked around the church, studying the faces of the people filling the seats around him. Elaine, David, Amber, Jade. Himself and Jack. His mother, his aunt Miriam and her boyfriend Dennis.
Dennis
, he thought.
How’d an Indian guy get a name like Dennis anyway?
Then there were some old fogies—a couple of guys, a woman, some of his mother’s neighbors. Some more old people. And then there was that black couple, although the woman looked much older than the guy. By the way they were holding each other Drew guessed they were related even though he looked quite different from her.
Drew found himself drawn to the young man and he could not put his finger on why; he just found that his eyes kept returning to him. And he knew he wasn’t gay although the guy was admittedly handsome. Drew decided it was sheer human curiosity because he could not even guess what their connection to his dad could be. He thought about it a little, running possibilities over in his mind until he came up with the most obvious and overlooked likelihood: the Thomas Gibson fund. Drew was surprised there weren’t more of them there who were involved in the thing, more who benefited from it wanting to pay their last respects. But in planning, he and his mother and sister had overlooked it, and the only way recipients would know his father had died was if they read the local paper, and by then it would probably be too late. Although the organization had been alerted, Drew doubted the word got out to the recipients in time and those who’d received the message had only two, three days the most to receive the message then plan a trip. He was glad someone managed to though.
Drew looked forward to meeting the man, hearing more about his father’s good deeds and how they affected people’s lives.
Then Drew noticed his sister looking at the man too.
Was Elaine checking him out?
Drew was about to laugh but quickly stifled it when he realized how inappropriate it would seem.
Elaine looked at him then, then looked ahead. Yeah the guy was good-looking, but he never figured his sister to have a wandering eye. Drew couldn’t stop the smile forming at the thought. But in the end, he figured it was the same thing—curiosity or whatever it was—that kept him glancing over at the guy. He was magnetic.
It seemed to Drew that time was flying, for soon, it was time for Elaine’s eulogy.
Drew figured she would be used to this kind of thing since she had always participated in debates and public speaking events, but Elaine actually looked a little nervous.
He supposed she was allowed to be nervous this one time; after all, she wasn’t arguing for animal rights or against abortion or anything; this was her father, their father. Knowing her, she not only wanted to do it right, she wanted to do it perfectly.
He hoped she hadn’t stressed herself out too much about it; something like this was hard to do perfectly.
He wanted to catch her eye so he could give her a thumbs-up and a smile to show his support but she seemed not to see anything beyond the podium. After approaching the podium, she pulled out a piece of paper on which she had printed her final product. If it was him he probably would have left it handwritten—might have even been in crayon if it was the only thing around, but not Elaine.
She gave a nervous smile.
“Hello, everyone.”
Grumbled hellos rose into the air.
“I must say, I tried to come up with something cute, something witty, but I found myself following the paths of many before me. Gathering quotes and stories, sprinkling them throughout the speech. It seems that’s what people like, so that’s what I’ll deliver.”
Drew breathed a sigh of relief on her behalf; it seemed she took it easy after all.
“First I’ll tell you the story of George Andrew Owens, beginning with George the man, who he was literally. My father was the only son of Fred & Rose Owens, the baby of Fred’s children, the other of whom is Miriam from a previous relationship—wave, Aunt Miriam.”
Drew saw that Miriam did not wave, only stared ahead as if elsewhere.
“And according to whom, he acted like a baby too,” Elaine continued.
People chuckled.
“But my father became a man when he took on a family of his own, had his own babies. I was the first, and I remained daddy’s little girl. My brother came soon after, and my father then worked several jobs throughout the years supporting us, finally ending up in a company where he eventually moved up to financial analyst, a job he loved. But in the end, it was not his jobs that mattered—he just needed to make money for his family because his family, well, that’s what mattered most to him.
“George, the father, was a kind, loving man. He provided us with what we needed emotionally, and there for us to show he cared. He supported us, knew our interests, and helped us get involved with them. He took me to volleyball practice and faithfully picked me up. Same with violin practice. He was at our every game or play, or whatever it was that we had going on, his encouraging smile on at all times. We never doubted his pride in us; he loved anything we did, loved being a part of our lives. He loved being a dad.
“Then there’s George, the philanthropist. Many might not know this, but my father was heavily involved in a charity. Later on in life, my father decided to take up a project, one that involved helping people. He worked with a non-profit organization, providing scholarships for underprivileged segments of the population. My father found this immensely fulfilling, and I can honestly say that I see no place for regret in his life and I hope he saw it that way too. And daddy, I just want to say that you did it—you made us good people, you made us happy.”
She paused for a moment. Then, almost like an afterthought, she said: “And I would also like to say thank you for dressing Drew up like a deranged bunny that one time for Halloween when he was six; I still laugh at that today.”
Some people chuckled.
Drew shook his head slightly, while looking downward for a few moments as people inevitably looked his way.
Thanks Elaine,
he thought, but he couldn’t help smiling. When he looked up, their eyes met for a split second, and he could still see the laughter in hers.
Then she drew a deep breath.
“Daddy, thank you, and I love you. You have succeeded in life and I want to be just like you. Finally, I will close out by saying this: it has been said that the graveyard is the richest place on earth because therein lies the hopes and aspirations of leaders that never were, dreams never realized, words never said. Perhaps it’s appropriate that my father will not be going to a graveyard, for he would not be contributing to its legacy. He made his dreams become a reality while he was here. As a celebration of my father’s life, this...”—she gestured with both arms at the room—”...is a reminder to those of us still around. Examining my father’s life made me realize there are a few areas I would like to explore on my own. I guess what I’m saying is this—don’t be afraid to pursue smaller goals, to reach out to people on smaller scales. And definitely don’t be afraid to pursue larger ones. I will end with the words of W. M. Lewis: ‘The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.’ Now please welcome my daughters and my nephew—my father’s grandchildren—who have poems they wrote to share.”
Amber stepped up to the podium first but Elaine positioned her beside it and brought down the microphone. Amber launched into her piece with a self-important air:
“My grandpa had very wrinkly eyes
My grandpa thought he was very very wise
He used to tell us lots of stories
But he couldn’t climb with us in the trees
He said his legs and arms were old
But grandpa had a heart of gold.”
People clapped again then waited for the next one.
The mic was put to Jade’s mouth.
Her slower, higher voice rolled into the air, as she enunciated each word carefully, slowly:
“I loved my grandpa very much
He used to give us lots of hugs
He sneaked us candy so mom wouldn’t know
He never used to tell us no.”
People laughed and clapped again.
Jade smiled wide, proud of her poem and its reception, her little baby teeth shining, along with her cobalt eyes.
Then Jack stepped up. Drew could feel a smile form across his own face. Jack caught his eye for a moment then launched into his own poem:
“He tried to play baseball with me
He helped me when I got stung from a bee
He was a good cook and grandma was glad
But now everyone is sad
He’s the only grandpa I ever had
I love him and I’ll miss him, my fun granddad.”
Drew felt his eyes water a little. Everyone clapped in support one final time as Jack left the stage looking sad, unlike his cousins who instead looked like they had read their part in a play and had done it well, proudly returning to their seats with satisfied grins.
Drew put his arm around Jack when he reached the pew and sat down next to him.
He squeezed his shoulders. “You did great, sport.”
“Aunt Elaine says it’s ‘well’; ‘you did well’.”
Drew smiled at his son.
“You’re right, kiddo,” he whispered.
Elaine returned to the podium, readjusting the microphone.
“As indicated on the program, my brother will say his piece and my mother will close us out. We know some of you have something to say, so although you’re not officially on the program, you can come up when you’re ready once Drew’s done. Please keep it brief and please make sure it’s something relevant—we don’t want to hear about Bingo night coming up or anything.”