Funeral

“Come In”, Esther said, ushering the latest visitors into her parlor. 

She held the door open as Mr. Jones and his wife Michelle walked in from an unusually colorless day in Los Angeles. He was carrying flowers which he handed to Esther. He was dressed in a fraying suit, which must have fit him well before, but now, the vagaries of a recently diagnosed disease had taken their toll on his frame, and Mr. Jones’ clothes fit him like a child whose mother had bought him his clothes in anticipation of his future growth. His shoulders drooped, and he acknowledged Esther with a grim nod before shuffling into the parlor, the weight of the inexorable on his creased brow. Mrs. Jones stopped a while longer, and held Esther’s hand and looked into her eyes and nodded an acknowledgement. Michelle’s irises were an intense brown, made darker by the shadows playing in the deep hollows around her eyes. She had been a very pretty woman once upon a time, and she still bore herself well, with her funereal dress (‘How many times had she had occasion to wear it?’ Esther wondered)  and her auburn hair, streaked with silver. The Jones’ went inside the house and Esther looked outside once more before she went inside. The skies weren’t the usual perfect shade of blue, and the normally scattered clouds loomed larger and grayer, less cotton-wool and more lead. An old newspaper blew across the yard, and, almost impulsively, Esther stepped onto the doorstep to pick it up. March 1, 2013, the date read. There was nothing remarkable in the headlines, something about the oil related tensions between the United States and Iran, more drone attacks in Afghanistan, violence in Syria and the resignation of the Pope. Nothing remarkable.. and yet, Esther closed her eyes and felt she was falling. Falling back into the memories that she had tried so hard to escape. Things had been so different then, and she wished desperately to be back in that time, staring at the L.A. Times headlines, but not really reading.. in her kitchen with her cup of green tea, the morning sunlight casting a glow that made it seem like everything was forever, and nothing could ever change. The perfect deception of the skies in Southern California. And all of a sudden, she started sobbing, losing the composure that she had promised herself that she would keep. She hoped no one inside would notice. After she had herself back under control, Esther dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, white abstract patterns on a light yellow base, and went back inside, shutting the door behind her.

In the center of the parlor was a table, long and black, polished, as if, for the purpose of being a center-piece to a wake. Near the geometric center of the table was a photograph and a vase of daffodils. On the table was also a spartan arrangement for food and beverages. The turkey wraps sat neatly arranged in a circle on a silver-plated dish, next to the cheese and the crackers and the three varieties of dip. There was wine too, four bottles of Merlot, jostling for space towards the edge of the sleek black table. The edge of the table held the uncertain reflections of the guests, falling off as they reached the end. The guests sat in an imperfect circle with the table as the focal point, while a Steinway nestled in the corner of the room, by the glass paneled window. Gray sunlight filtered through onto the keys of the piano. The off-white walls of the room had little ornamentation, barring one almost idiosyncratic poster, an American Airlines advertisement for Los Angeles, from sometime in the early 60’s. The room had rather unremarkable lighting, a faux chandelier hung from the ceiling, a wrought-iron sculpture really, casting strange shadows on the off-white walls. They had always reminded Esther of the Wayang Kulit shadow plays of the Javanese. She fancied she sometimes saw shapes emerge from the wrought-iron silhouettes. She re-entered the room to find almost complete silence. 

“Please”, she said, “help yourselves to some refreshments while we wait”. 

And the guests, slowly, almost reluctantly got up and started pouring their wine, and talked in low voices of the things that they felt ought to be discussed about that day. Esther watched and tried to steel herself for what was to come, a distant observer to these proceedings which were unfolding in her own living room. The guests slowly loosened up over red wine and cheese, making awkward conversation, while Esther leaned against the living-room entrance, waiting for the door-bell to ring.

             The leaves danced a late Spring dance, all around them, circling the skies for a few heartbeats before settling down again on the grassy patch of Angel’s Knoll. The inoperative cable car watched them as they kissed, the familiar kiss of people who have been together for a while. The passionate kiss of people who have never lost the magic. The movie hall when they were eighteen, some excuse of a movie playing out on its own, as oblivious of its audience as its audience was of it. Her hair looked perfect in the projector light, and so did she. And mustering up all the courage that he had within him, he reached over and put her lips to his. And they were back on the grass, watching the sinking sun set fire to the Los Angeles skies. 

  The door-bell never rang. He used his own key instead, a turning of the latch announcing the arrival of the newcomer. Esther stared at the front door as it opened gently inward, expecting ghosts, seeing people instead. Rahul stepped into the awkward space between the front door and the living room, wearing a black polo neck, and a pair of chinos, dark as Esther’s eyes. Jennifer walked in behind him, her hand still framed in inertia from a second ago when they had still been holding hands. She smiled furtively at Jennifer, and walked straight on through to the living room, the ghost of the smile still disappearing from her face. Rahul lingered behind, and it seemed an eternity before he brought his eyes up to meet Esther’s. She seemed to remember them being less dark,but then, it had been a while. She had lived long enough to know that people often remember the things they want to remember, irrespective of reality. 

“You’re looking good”

“So are you”

And in some way this was worse than anything else that had come before this. This almost superficial exchange of words, between strangers, between acquaintances, now between them. 

“We should go inside”, she said, “everyone’s waiting”

“Yes, we should”

And with that Rahul walked into the living room, and Esther followed behind, gently tracing her hand along the wall.

John was at the piano, as he was always wont to do. He was a show-off, but Esther never really minded him. He was reasonably good, if somewhat socially unaware. He was playing a Chopin Nocturne, though she couldn’t remember which one. Kavita had engaged Jennifer in conversation, and the Jones’ sat by themselves, Mr. Jones munching a cracker, looking as solemn as ever. Robby was seated on one edge of the sofa, poring over a history of modern art book that had been decorating the bookshelves, his awkward shock of hair falling over his face. They all looked up when Rahul came in, followed by Esther, a little nervous, not quite knowing what to do. The sound of a lawn mower rose above John’s piano, and then he stopped, as did the grass-cutting. Esther assumed a position closer to the center of the room, filled up a wine glass, took a swig, and spoke.
“Hey.. so.. we know why we’re here today.. and it is painful but I feel that it is a necessary thing. I didn’t know what else to do.. and I’m glad you all came. I needed you at this time, and I’m happy you were there for me. (She looked at Rahul a fraction of a second before looking back at nothing in particular). I… I think I’ll hold back for a bit.. before I start embarrassing myself.. and let the others say what they want to say”

And she walked away from the imagined limelight and took a seat on the sofa beside Robby. 

       Sometimes she wished she could be stuck in a moment. There had been so many of those, so many perfect ones. But they all went away, sooner rather than later, by definition. She remembered driving down the I-10 E, finding a rare stretch of freeway unencumbered by endless traffic. And right then, on cue, Born to Run came on the radio.. and they were free and limitless and together accelerating through this continuum, and yet locked in their own little perfect corner of space and time, locked in that little car, running free, running through a city of blinding lights,far from Springsteen’s Jersey in geography but not in spirit. But moments pass, and that one did too. 

Outside the skies had cleared up and the Southern California sun refracted through the wine bottles on the table, creating a static golden blot on the ceiling. John played a couple of trailing notes on the piano, almost impulsively, as Kavita stood up, her wine glass half-empty, and proceeded to refill it. The golden blot jerked to life and danced across the ceiling, only to be rendered static again when the bottle had been set down once more. 

“This isn’t easy. Not for us.. and certainly not for those for whom it strikes much closer home. We grow up with the idea of death in our minds, and we know, intuitively, that all things die.. they age, they fall apart, they disappear.. and so the cycles go.. but we never really realize it till it actually happens to us. It isn’t easy to accept… and it isn’t easy to get over. None of us can ever really know what Esther and Rahul are going through, but we can be there for them. I think you guys were wonderful together.. and magical.. and beautiful.. but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. So what must be will be.. and we are here, giving our support, as much as you need, and I can’t think of much else to say..”

She sat down.. and there was silence once more. Even John, for a change was quiet. The afternoon grew on in silence, knowing all the things that they wanted to say better than they did. 

Rahul stood up this time. He hadn’t been drinking any wine. The silence in the room seemed to grow a little more profound. He looked around the room.. Esther sat next to Kavita, and she looked so incredibly pretty in her black dress, and her air of complete effortless elegance. Jennifer sat next to where Rahul had been sitting, looking awkward, looking like she didn’t want to be there. He closed his eyes for a moment.. and let the years slowly wash over him.

  He knew it was a dream, but he didn’t need to wake up. Time had slowed to a perfect standstill, and Esther stood looking up at the stars, a picture of frozen beauty. And even as Rahul watched, they started falling. The sky was aflame with fireworks, and falling stars… all around them.. and he reached out and held her hand.. and they stood in the center of a field, while bits of silver stardust collected all around their feet. He held her hand with his right, and reached out his left to catch a spark of the falling flames.. and he felt it hurting.. but not more than a pinprick, and he looked at his wrist to see a galaxy, spiral, gently rotating in time frames incomprehensible in real-time… and he looked at her cheek to see the exact same pattern. The night sky had never been so bright. He awoke to the Sun piercing through the half-drawn blinds… and he awoke happy, with Esther beside him.


“Time changes so many things… I.. I’m sorry it had to be this way.. but I guess we have to get over this.. We know there is no other way.. “

He looked at Esther.. and she looked at him.. and for a second, it was like nothing had ever changed. But they had. And they were here, then, in that funeral room.
“I’m sorry”, finished Rahul.. and sat down awkwardly, not looking at Jennifer beside him. No one said anything more.. and the sounds of the dying afternoon took over once more.. the shadows of the trees outside gaining prominence on the off-white walls of the room. And John, absent-mindedly, inconsiderately,but somehow, not quite inappropriately, of Jim Croce’s ‘I’ll Have To Say I Love You (In A Song”). And as the piano tinkled from years away.. and Esther started crying softly, Kavita’s hand around her shoulder. After having recovered her composure, she got up, shakily.. and John trailed off.. the notes slowly disappearing like a dream after waking. 

“Thank you all again.. I’m still not sure what this achieved.. but I’m glad you came.. some part of me feels better to know that I have so many people to rely upon. Today was to commemorate the death of something I will always remember”.

And with that the guests slowly started to leave.. and at the end.. of course.. Rahul remained after Jennifer had gone ahead.

“I’m sorry Esther”

“It’s alright.. I’m glad you came today”

“I still have the key”

“I know”

“We had it good didn’t we?”

“I think so.. “

“I’m sorry things turned out the way they did… things die.. I just don’t know what else I could have done”

“It’s okay.. can’t resurrect the dead can we? You had to go, you went.”

“I’m sorry. And I keep saying the same thing. You look very pretty today”

“Thank you. Don’t worry about it. The funeral helped. It’s just.. we never think what is precious to us is anything but immortal… everyone dies.. everything dies.. even relationships”

“I… I guess I’ll go.. I’ll see you around”

“Yes.. perhaps.. bye”

And she heard the door shutting behind him.. and the funeral was over. And Esther was left behind in the empty house, listening to the echoes of a thousand memories.

She stood without her shoes in the center of a vast field, her feet one with the grass.. watching the stars fall from the sky. It was summer.. and the night was alive, and sentient and kind. She reached out her hand, and of course, he was there. He always was. He always would be.