My Father's Funeral

I think about that time in my life often, which is to say I think about it whenever I'm drinking. Things were great then. I was engaged to a wonderful woman, owned a decent home, and had a great job. Unfortunately, I just couldn't shake my past, mostly because of my father's ongoing health problems and my constant trips back home to see him. I loved my family but knew that all they ever did was hold me back, even from thirteen hundred miles away. I was desperate for an excuse to cut them loose. Some small slight that I could scoop up and run away with. Away from their dysfunction and neediness, and away from my white-trash roots. I knew that if I didn't break those ties they'd eventually drag me back down.

I got my excuse in a big way, but then it was too late.

My father was dying. Everyone seemed to realize it but my mother. Denial was a way of life for Mom. She spent our whole lives in denial about Dad's drug abuse and womanizing, my sister being the town whore, the eventual home foreclosure, and now Dad's obvious impending death.

"You need to prepare yourself, Mom. I think this is it. Have you made any arrangements?"

She looked at me as if I had just spit on her. We all knew it was the truth, but I was the only one brave enough to say it out loud and suffer that look- the only one brave enough to make my own mother hate me a little for just a moment.

"How can you say that?" she asked accusingly. "How can you just dismiss your own father's life after he's pulled through so many times before?"

He had, too. I'd spent a lot of money and taken a lot of personal time on these "this is the one" trips, but this time was different. I didn't see any of that fight in his eyes like I had before. Even lying in bed with tubes and wires sticking out everywhere, he'd always looked ready to take on the world. Now he just looked tired. Tired of suffering, tired of needing to be taken care of like a child, and tired of being in and out of the hospital, which was full of "ugly cunt nurses and sand-nigger doctors", according to my ever tolerant and eloquent father.

"He doesn't look good, Mom. It's amazing that he's held on this long. Doctor Patel said it's not possible for a man in his condition to be alive." Hell, she was there when he said it. Why did I always have to explain the reality that was in front of her face?

"Maybe if we all pray enough he'll get out and quit smoking for real this time..." There was more, but I didn't hear any of it. Whenever she started talking about the Irish Voodoo I tuned her out, and the sicker Dad got, the more she went on with that crap. I thought she was a holy-roller when we were kids, with all that no meat on Friday and parochial school, but now it was like she was running for Pope. I still hadn't told her that Vanessa and I weren't getting married in a church. A lot of shit was going to come crashing into the fan on that day.

"Hey Bro, we doin' the bachelor party while you're in town? I could get us a private room at Jimmy's club." Thank you, Kevin, my younger bother. Not for having sleazy friends who own sleazy clubs, but for changing the subject.

"No dude, I gotta get back t'work. I'm way behind and I ran out of personal days last time I was here." I wasn't lying, but I worked for some very understanding people and could have stayed one more day if I'd wanted. Maybe I was getting old. A night of drugs and hookers just didn't appeal to me the way it had in the past.

I could see the disappointment on Kevin's face. "Yo that's weak, Bro. Maybe next time."

There was the problem. Next time. There was always going to be a next time. A next time for me to go back home for a few days, hang out with the family, and fall back into my old bad habits. I'd drink way too much, yell at Vanessa for dumb shit, and slack off at work. It would pass, but seemed to take longer each next time that rolled around. I'm so ashamed of myself for wanting my father to die and get it over with. I would've loved for Dad to get better, but knew that it wasn't going to happen. Dying was the only other option that would ease both our suffering.

"God dammit Vanessa. How can you be such a great cook and burn fucking toast every morning?" I'd been back for almost two weeks and was still acting like a complete asshole. Vanessa was usually very understanding, but her patience was starting to wear very thin.

"Maybe next time your father winds up in the hospital you should just..." she was interrupted by the phone.

It was Kaitlin, my younger sister. Not the aforementioned town whore sister, but the other almost not completely fucked up in the head one of the six of us.

"What's up, Sis?"

No answer at first. Then a sniffle. Then a deep breath. Christ, how could I not be prepared after all this time? My breakfast churned in my stomach, burnt toast and all, as I wondered if maybe I was indeed my mother's son. Someone call St. Patrick's and see if they can pencil in a wedding on the twenty-first of August.

"He's gone." She didn't have to say it, but she did anyway.

"I'll see you tonight" was all I could manage. I hung up the phone and looked at Vanessa. "At least this'll be the last time."

I was a little drunk by the time the plane touched down. Even in May it was cold. Cold and dirty. I just couldn't face it sober. I had three whiskies on the plane. Vanessa was such a saint. She didn't complain at all even though she hated when I drank liquor. I couldn't blame her- Liquor really brings out my inner asshole with a vengeance.

Mike and Tommy, the two eldest, insisted on picking me up at the airport. After a quick round of hugs and "hayadoin"s we made the trek back to our mother's house in silence. The sixty mile drive took as long as the thirteen hundred mile flight. By the time we arrived I felt filthy inside and out as if the muck in the air had somehow seeped into my being and raped my D.N.A. It was a dirty feeling that a thousand showers would not alleviate, but some good strong southern sunshine would melt away. Unfortunately, there was none to be found.

Kevin was outside with our mother and sisters. I started to get out of the car when he climbed in and wrapped his long thin arms around me.

"You alright, Bro?"

"As alright as I can be, I guess. How's Mom? She doesn't even look like she's been crying."

"Well, you know, maybe she was more ready for this then we thought." He seemed to stumble over the words, which I chalked up to drinking, his favorite sport- death or no death. "Hi Vanessa."

"Hi Kev. You Okay?"

"Yeah, you know me. Nuthin' a little Jameson won't fix." Or a lot of Jameson, or some pills, or whatever. "You mind goin' with the girls? I wanna ride with my brothers."

"Where the fuck are we going?" I demanded.

"Mom needs to go over some stuff at the funeral home. She wants us all to go with her." He kept looking at Tommy and Mike, who were busy staring at the dashboard. Everyone knew I'd be mad. I'd been telling her to take care of that shit for years and now we all had to trudge up their eleven hours after my father dies and hold her hand. Our family outings had always been nightmares, but this one was numero uno with a bullet.

There wasn't anything I could do to change the situation. I took a deep breath, nodded at Vanessa, kissed her on the cheek, and sighed "let's fuckin' go" as she got out of the car.

Kevin talked non-stop about nothing. I was trying to figure out if he was tweaking or just needed to talk about bullshit to keep his mind away from reality. After about ten minutes I realized that he was actually distracting me from the fact that we were heading in the wrong direction. I hadn't been gone so long that I no longer knew my way around my hometown.

"Where the fuck are we going?" I asked for the second time in fifteen minutes.

"Oh, we just wanted a couple' a drinks before we did this shit. We didn't think you'd mind." It almost seemed like Kevin was lying, but it was hard to tell. He was always kind of fidgety and shifty, even before the drugs. He was the only one talking though. Mike and Tommy seemed to have taken a vow of silence somewhere between the airport and Mom's house.

"Yeah" I said nonchalantly. "Sure. Why not?" I needed a drink anyway. My whiskeys were wearing off and Kevin was giving me one hell of a headache.

Jimmy met us out in the parking lot. He was Kevin's age but looked older than Tommy. He was making good money, judging from the clothes he was wearing, but the late nights, booze and clouds of cigarette smoke were catching up with him.

"Good to see ya, man. Hayadoin'?" He asked as he shook my hand.

"Okay, thanks. Look at you, no more Pantera tee shirts?"

"I got one on underneath" he said as he patted his Versace button-up. "Krusty the Klown boxer shorts, too."

We all laughed at the much-needed tension breaker. Sleazy or not, Jimmy was always a funny guy.

"C'mon, I got the downstairs bar set up just for you guys- and don't even think about payin' for nuttin or even tippin' the bartender. I took good care a' him for tonight."

Tonight? How long were we supposed to be there? I shot Kevin a look.

"Relax, Bro. We'll have a couple, go do what we gotta do, and swing back by for a couple more. Sound good?"

"Sure, maybe, whatever" I was just going with the flow at this point. I wanted it to be over.

"Good deal, Bro, 'cause I'm fuckin' thirsty."

Jimmy's (I said the guy was funny, not creative) was a dance club upstairs, which I was in no mood for, and a bar downstairs. I might have enjoyed drinking there some other time, but then it seemed too bright and cozy. The paint was a high gloss, almost canary yellow that reflected the light and made the place shine like Vegas. There were black leather sofas and dark wood coffee tables. We sat at the bar, a big overly polished mahogany structure that created more gleen, and ordered four beers and four shots of whiskey.

"To Dad" I toasted as our glasses clinked.

"To Dad" they replied in unison. Then our heads all shot back like we were trying to give ourselves whiplash as we downed the shots. As soon as we did there was another one in my hand.

"Whoa, slow down. I don't wanna get there and puke in a casket."

"To Dad" Tommy shot back quickly as he raised his shooter.

"To Dad" we replied. Clink- whiplash- shot.

"What're you guys doin', trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?" I was starting to get nervous. It seemed like they were trying to soften me up. It felt a lot like the time they took me out and got me drunk to tell me that they'd gotten car jacked, in my car naturally, on the way to buy drugs in some shitty neighborhood. Of course they had to start out by breaking the news that they'd borrowed my car. But Dad was dead, what more could there be?

Then it occurred to me. We all had jobs, even Kevin, if you want to count selling drugs as a job, but despite the fact that I was the only one who owned a house and the only one paying for a wedding in a few months, I was somehow the only one with any money. "I'm payin' for this funeral, ain't I?"

They all laughed like that was the funniest thing they'd heard since a big Jewish guy from Brooklyn put on a leather jacket and rewrote nursery rhymes to include the word fuck. Mike put his arm around me. "We just want you to relax, little brother. Drink up, it's a special occasion." As I was trying to wrap my mind around the phrase he'd just used I noticed a couple of girls coming down the stairs hot girls. I figured they were looking for a bathroom or something.

"Special occasion? That's a fucking odd way to put it. Look, I really think it's time to go." As I spoke I noticed the two girls walking right toward us, a blonde and a brunette with too much fake tan and obvious breast implants that were too big for there small frames. "If I didn't know better" I thought to myself "I'd think these two were..."

"So who's the lucky guy?" asked brunette. They all pointed at me, but looked at the floor. She walked over and started playing with my hair with one hand as the other caressed the back of my neck. She leaned in real close and was whispering in my ear. Something about having a good time and taking care of me tonight. I almost got lost in it all, her breath against the side of my face and her soft hands on my skin, when reality seeped back into my consciousness like cold air through an old cheap window.

"Guys, this is hardly an appropriate time for this." I said as I brushed brunette aside. (She had told me her name, but I can't remember it now any better than I could a second after she said it) "I mean c'mon, our father is lying in a..." And then it hit me. It hit me like a fat guy's ass hits an ice patch.

"Our Father...is dead...right?" I was trying not to freak out. The idea that had gotten into my head couldn't possibly be right.

They answered me with their silence.

"Somebody better goddamn tell me that my father is fuckin' dead and that you people aren't really even more fucked up then I always knew you were." I was yelling at this point. I couldn't help it, I was furious. But no matter how loud I got they all acted like they didn't hear me. Apparently something very interesting was happening on the floor. Or maybe there shoes were untied and they were trying to E.S.P. their laces into slipknots. Either way, no one was talking.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I was screaming "Is this a nightmare? Can you... am I..." I started hyperventilating. The room was spinning. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. My head was that bright dark red that only the Irish and some Germans can get, and my veins were bulging everywhere. I looked like I was about to pop. The three of them were finally talking, but I couldn't make it all out or tell who was saying what.

"Relax, dude."

"Breath, Bro, breath."

"Get him some water."

"Sit down. Take it easy. Sit. Calm down"
I sat on a barstool. "Just get the fuck away from me." They gave me some space. I may have appeared calmer on the outside, but I was still seething. As I sat and fought the urge to beat them with the barstool I was on I felt that breath again, this time on my neck.

"Are you gonna yell all night or are we gonna have some fun?" Brunette asked. Blonde was still there somewhere, but I had all but forgotten about her. (I always did prefer brunettes) I could tell from the way she felt against me that she was naked already, or mostly naked anyway. I'll give her credit; she sure knew how to diffuse a bad situation rapidly. I hope she eventually found a job on the bomb squad or as a hostage negotiator.

"Gimme another shot" I told the bartender. All the tension seemed to fly out of the room.

Why did I stay? I try to tell myself that I didn't have anyplace else to go. I could've- should've really- took a cab to the airport, got on the next plane heading south, and changed my address and phone number. The truth is I didn't because the booze was free and there were naked woman there. Put on a football game and that's as good as life gets.

The girls put on a hell of a show for us. You know it's good when you keep asking yourself "Is this legal?" I was really drunk and extremely horny by the time they finished. Brunette had decided that it was time for a little one on one with the man of the hour while blonde kept my brothers occupied. They had both helped themselves to plenty of the free liquor and were acting pretty frisky- even for strippers. I started to say something about wrapping it up and how late it was getting when she started gyrating hard against what was a much bigger erection then I would have thought I could get in such an inebriated state.

"Just have one more drink" she told me as she kissed my neck.

"Okay, jus' one more. And den..."

And then- I don't remember.

Vanessa was yelling. Yelling and cursing like a drunken sailor, which wasn't like her. I was wondering what the hell was going on and realized that my head felt like it was in a vice. As I picked my aching head up slowly it became evident that it was the least of my problems. I was completely naked on a pool table with my sundial at high noon. Brunette was next to me and, needless to say, naked as well. Vanessa was screaming and throwing things and calling me names that I didn't think that she knew. "This is about as bad as things can get" I thought to myself as I tried to get dressed while dodging shot glasses and ashtrays. Fortunately, I didn't know at the time that I had just contracted herpes. That would have been the burning sensation that broke the camel's back.

Vanessa finally wore herself out and stormed off. I knew right then that I'd never see her again. Sure enough, when I was finally able to get to the airport and get a flight back home I got to the house and all of her stuff was gone. I called and apologized to her voicemail, but I know I don't deserve her forgiveness. I wouldn't let her take me back even if she wanted to- and that's as big an if as there ever was. She deserves something better than what I apparently always will be.

Since then I've pretty much been drunk or hung over. I lost my job and the house and got the news that my father really did die. I didn't answer the phone when they called. I just listened to the message thinking how ironic it was that after all the times I went up there for close calls and faked deaths; I couldn't go now if I wanted to.

"To Dad" I toasted and tipped back the bottle.