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The
bus ride to Los Angeles was about 6 hours
long but it felt like a whole entire day.
I was tired but I couldn't sleep and the
batteries went out on my walk-man so I
couldn't even listen to my music. Great,
huh?
In
the seat across the aisle from me was this
old guy who smelled like he had forgotten
what a shower was for. And to make it
worse, he was having this one way
conversation with the lady sitting next to
him. She probably wished she had taken the
train or even walked instead of picking
this bus, but she was real polite. He'd be
talking to her in this really loud voice
like she was deaf or he was
deaf or something and she just listened.
He was saying all this stuff about how he
used to be some rich guy. Running his
mouth about how he was always traveling
all over the world on business. "First
Class, that's the way to fly. Not only do
they show you first run movies but each
seat has it's own screen and it's own
phone."
What?!
Not your own private bathroom? Forget
it!
Then
the guy goes on and on about the food,
just what I did not want to hear because
by this time I was really hungry. Did you
know first class serves things like
chicken Kiev, whatever all that is. Yap
yap yap about Caesar salads and chicken
teriyaki all served on fine china plates,
with silverware that has that heavy feel
in your had and the wine... man, he must
have blabbed for ten minutes just about
the wine! Merlot, Chardonnay, Cabernet.
Jeez! So I'm listening, 'cause there was
nothing else to do since he was totally
monopolizing the airwaves, and I'm
wondering, if this fool has all these
frequent flyer miles saved up, how come
he's riding on this crowded bus in the
middle of the night? Of course, he never
said. And I'm also wondering why this lady
is putting up with this invasion from who
knows where. I mean it actually mad me mad
the way she sat there listening. Why'd she
have to be such a "lady"? If it was me, I
would have told him after 15 seconds that
I wasn't interested in listening to his
noise. But she just sat there, smiling
softly and nodding as if he was the most
important soul on the planet.
When
we finally got to Los Angeles my butt was
so sore from sitting that I could even
feel it any more! Aunt Beatrice came to
meet us but I fell asleep in her car so I
don't remember anything about the trip to
the church where the funeral
was.
There
was a strange feeling at the funeral.
There were all these relatives there, some
I sorta recognized, some I swear I never
saw before, but they all seemed to know me
all right. And they did that obnoxious
adult thing about saying how I've grown
up, and while they say it they're looking
right at my breasts! Not it a sleazy way,
like some guys do, but in a way that makes
me think that they think my breasts are
something that I made to show off, like a
project in art class and that by them
noticing my breasts it's supposed to make
me feel proud or something. It didn't make
me feel proud, it made me feel like I
wanted to put on a big bulky sweater.
These relatives were all really happy to
see each other again, and inside that
church, it felt like there was a party
going on. Like they all seemed to forget
why they were there... I mean, it was a
funeral! And down by the pulpit,
surrounded by wreaths of flowers, was the
open coffin. I really did not want to look
inside but I also kinda did, if you know
what I mean. I wanted to see Grandma
Webster one last time and even though I
was freaked at the idea of looking at a
dead body, I knew I was going to do it
anyway.
So
when no one was paying much attention to
me and my breasts, I just walked over to
the coffin and looked in. She wasn't in
there. Instead there was this waxy looking
old skinny dummy lying there, wearing
grandma's shoes and one of her dresses.
Maybe that dummy fooled some of the
relatives, but it didn't fool me. My
Grandma had crinkles around her eyes when
she laughed and she laughed a lot. This
dummy's skin was smooth as a brown
eggshell. And my Grandma's hair kinda
buzzed around her head in all directions.
The hair on this dummy was so perfectly
curled it looked like it was glued on. But
the thing that was really gave the whole
thing away as the sick bogus joke it was,
was that dummy didn't feel like my
Grandma. Anytime I was near her, even with
my eyes closed, I could feel
her presence, like a gentle breeze in my
heart. And looking down into that coffin,
I couldn't feel a thing. My Grandma wasn't
in there. I wonder where she
is.
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