It's a Wake

On Saturday (Dec 31st) I was waiting in the car for my wife to finish shopping. The snowbird in the next car was calling friends all over the US to catch up and wish them a happy new year. I was bored with the radio and cds, so I wondered if I could come up with a short story before my wife returned to the car. In a way, what I came up with might be appropriate: the end of something, the beginning of something else. what do you think?


It’s a Wake

As the evening approaches, more and more people start to arrive at the funeral home. One of the rooms-they’re called halls-holds the casket with the body, and everyone who enters signs a guest book before entering.
I don’t want to feel crowded, so I stay in the back and just watch what happens. As people come in, some glance in my direction, and I smile at them and say, “Thank you for coming.” Then they look toward the end of the aisle and see the casket.
It’s always awkward, I think. They don’t know whether to approach the family to offer their condolences first or whether to approach the casket for a glimpse and a brief prayer. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, I think. Just the fact that they show up in support of the family is enough. I know some people can’t come due to circumstances-distance, illness, emergencies-but I know their hearts are in the right place anyway.
I just sit quietly in the back; I don’t know whether to approach anyone in the family and tell them not to be so sad. I’ve noticed these situations are always awkward, no matter who the deceased is. Instead, I just think back and remember the good times we all had together.
Before the hall gets crowded, I decide to slip out and stretch my legs a bit. As someone opens the door to enter the hall, I slip out and walk around the funeral home. I smell coffee in the air, and I follow the scent to a little kitchenette area. There’s a counter, a sink, a table with some chairs. Two distant cousins are there, talking and catching up. They don’t see each other too often, and wakes and funerals seem to be the only time to get reacquainted. Or so it’s always seemed to me. I smile as one takes out his wallet to show the other some pictures. I decided to leave before they can even sense I’m there with them. As I slip out, a couple of other relatives come in and head for the pan dulce.
I walk around the reception area where people are standing around talking. One group is snickering, trying not to laugh out loudly in this place on this occasion. But I’ve always noticed this about velorios; there’s always a little group off to the side telling funny stories or jokes. Wish I could have heard this one, but I got here too late to hear it.
As people pass by me, I tell them, “Thank you for coming.” Some look in my direction, puzzled; others just ignore me and continue on their way.
I slip back into the hall and keep out of the way in the back once again. While I had been walking around, I missed the beginning of the rosary they’re praying. It’s a beautiful little ceremony. Someone was saying the prayers for one of the mysteries. Then there was some singing. Then someone else says the prayers for another mystery. I always wondered why each turn of the rosary is called a mystery. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation somewhere.
The rosary ends, and people just sit silently for a while before they decide to leave. I hear several people start to laugh, and as I look to the laughter, I figure out what happened.
Grandma is hard of hearing, so to hear herself, she speaks loudly, trying to compensate for her hearing loss. When one of my cousins approached her, he told her,
“Grandma, me tengo que ir (Grandma, I have to leave); I have to take my girlfriend home.”
She turned to look at him and asked, at the top of her voice, “To vas con la gorda?” (You’re leaving with the fat one?)
Of course, the people around her couldn’t help it; they had to laugh. Perhaps it’s a type of relief, or release. People start to relax. There’s a sort of relief in the air. Soon, people start to leave. Eventually, only the family is left behind in the hall. It won’t be long before even they, too, have to leave for the night.
I can’t wait. I approach the body and look at it, seeing the all too familiar face. The makeup they applied gives my face the glow of health and contentment; they did a good job. I turn to look at the bright light calling me. I can’t resist it any longer. Walking toward it, I wonder what’s on the other side.