Part II: Journeys (Chapter 27)
At
Pappa’s funeral, I get this urge to laugh.
I don’t know why, there’s
nothing funny about my Pappa laid out in his casket, soon to be lowered into
the ground.
But I can’t help it.
First, I begin to giggle; trying
to stop only makes it worse.
Nana digs her elbow into my
side – that doesn’t help, either.
I’m holding my sides and
laughing so hard…
The entire congregation stares
at me.
Father Salvatore has just
stopped the Requiem Mass – they’ll all be gossiping for the next 50 years, but
who gives a fuck? I’m only 23 years old, and I’ve lost my Pappa. A very funny
man who did gross things with his false teeth, who told humorous stories about
a curly-tailed dog that died long before I was born, a man who had taught me
the fundamentals of booking bets at the dog track.
I’ve lost that forever. I have
the right to laugh however and whenever I want.
The absurdity of living and
dying – or maybe it’s the echo of the eighth-grade choir in the throes of their
hormone war – has hit me in a way I can’t ignore. The absurdity of finally
figuring out what family is all about, only to have a significant part of it
ripped away forever. I can’t stop the obscene guffawing. Guttural sounds rise
up from my gut, and I’m gagging.
Cousin Jimmy comes for me and
says, “C’mon, Samantha, let’s go outside for some fresh air.”
As Jimmy leads me away, I look
around the church; I don’t see any strange children there. Not that my
grandfather’s family would ever need to hire children to attend his funeral – the
church is packed with mourners, most of whom I don’t know – still, he was my
grandfather, and I would have hired children anyway, just for good measure, for
extra Indulgences, even if we had to stack the little brats in the vestibule or
stuff them into the trapezoidal confessionals or make them stand outside on the
icy steps.
Outside on the landing, I feel
nauseated; I lean over the wall and let loose of the bile and waste of the past
23 years, and it keeps on coming up, and I know it’ll never stop unless I make
it stop, and even when the stuff is gone, my gut is still racking with spasms.
Finally, I’m finished, I’m
tired, and I’m ready to go back inside, to say goodbye, to mourn.
