Missing the Funeral

There are cuffs sticking too far out of suit jackets, muted floral print dresses that have not been worn in a short while, and murmuring about causes and effects. Now and then, an out of place laugh.

Someone steps up and speaks to the now-seated mourners. All the well-styled messages, all the bowed heads; then the getting up to go home or to the reception hall to set up the ham sandwiches and coffee, while others go on to the cemetery to check off that detail of obligation.

Somewhere else is someone else who, still ignorant of the event, is working, sleeping, fucking, fighting, or flying home to where they’ll get the news of the Passing once they’ve landed.

They will tell everyone they wish they could have been there.  

In private, once they are alone or flying back, they will be glad they were not. They no longer have the right clothes for that kind of event. The right taste in catering, or in God-talk.