What Happens Now

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man writes down his feelings the day after a funeral.

Submitted: September 16, 2016

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Submitted: September 16, 2016



I don't know why I am doing this.

They said I should write my feelings down. It might help me with moving on. 


I can't just be left alone. It isn't normal. You can grieve for a little bit, but people have to interfere with your plans. I'm sick of people. I'm sick of the false sense of friendship that they try to offer me. These people were never my friends. They were Linda's friends. Linda said that they were ours, but ultimately they were hers. 

The funeral. What a joke. Get a pastor from a church Linda and I had never been too, to offer a summary of what her life was like. 10 minutes that made me wanna head straight for the bar. But instead, I was stuck in the front row with people watching me. All the glances and second looks. Poking and prodding. 

"How do you think Dave is holding up?" "Do you think he will be able to handle it on his own?" "He must be going through hell."

No shit! Are you kidding me? These people are just fake as can be. 

The kicker had to be afterwards. Everybody went to Linda's parents home on Franklin Boulevard, for a get together. What a joke. Nothing says celebrate life like a over cooked pot roast. I didn't show up at first. I wanted to sit at home and just be left alone. I was never a big fan of spectacles. That was what that funeral was. 

Nothing more than a big goddamned spectacle.

Three people showed up at our house. I guess it's my house now. They knocked and knocked and screamed my name.


I walked to the door and saw who it was. Turned straight back around and went to my chair to sit. Somehow they ended up in my house and "helpfully," took me to their car and we went to my in-laws. So once again, I was paraded around. From person to person. Offering their condolences and giving meaningless hugs. Saying I was in their prayers.

These people can go to hell.

All they can do is offer my wife an afternoon of over cooked food and people wrongly summing up her life. My anger was building. With every breath, the locomotive of rage was going. Faster and faster. I sat at the kitchen table, nursing a lukewarm Pepsi. I stared at the wall, letting memories of the great times I had with her. 

25 years. 25 years that were the best of my life. I remember her clearly as ever. Blonde hair that was always down past her shoulders. The way she would always wear my leather jacket, no matter what time of day or how the weather was. All the times she would convince me that I needed to try new things. Like the time she convinced me to grow a beard. I thought that since I was rather pudgy in the facial area, the last thing I needed was a beard. But damnit all, that woman convinced me. I kept it for 15 years. 

Everyday, she would work in her studio painting. She would play Dan Fogelberg or Jackson Browne, but her favorite was always Billy Joel. In fact, at our wedding the song we had our first dance to was "Just The Way You Are,". She would always play it, I would ended up walking over to where ever she was and we would just dance. Let the music absorb us and take us to a special place and time. Linda was the best thing that ever happened to me. 

How did she die? She had Pancreatic Cancer. I don't think she actually died. She just went to a better spot. To a better vacation spot. If anybody deserved a vacation, it was Linda.

I got up from the kitchen table. People immediately walked over to see if I was losing it. I was sure they were counting on it. I figured that I couldn't let them down. Linda was always the voice of reason. But for this one time, I would indulge myself. 

I told everyone in the house that they were a bunch of frauds. What a joke this funeral and service was. What a way to waste my day and disrespect the memory of my wife. I turned to Linda's parents and apologized to them. I turned back to the crowd and told them that I was gonna grieve on my own and didn't want anything to do with them. A big gentleman walked over and tried to put his arm on my shoulder. I turned and hit him with a left hook. I put everything into that punch. The Locomotive crashed into the wall called the Human jaw. Everyone was shocked. My breathing was out of control. I ran outside and fell to the yard. 

I was on all fours. I screamed as loud as I could. Cursing out everyone and everything I could think of. People walked out from the house. Linda's sister Jenny wrapped her arms around me and held me as I sobbed. I couldn't take it any more. I knew that she was gone. 

She's gone. My wife is gone. I'm here alone.

Jenny helped me into the house. We went into her parents spare bedroom and I slept. Jenny sat in the chair and watched over me. 

Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day. I don't know what to do. 

I'm sure I will figure it out though. 

Everybody moves on, somehow.

I guess?

© Copyright 2018 Robert Logan. All rights reserved.

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