necessary apologies to onlookers who might have been offended. No one cared.
The red-haired woman was confused by the fat woman's overt glances. A funeral parlor is not the place to pass judgment on people's fashion sense. “But Dad never laid a hand on him, now.”
“Oh. Of course not. It’s unimaginable.” They both ignored the shaky insecurity in her assertion that such things were.
The two women took an impatient step forward as the line inched along. They craned their necks to see who was paying last respects and to find out what could possibly be taking so long. A mother had picked up her little girl to let her look at the coffin. The little girl reached for the edge of the lid and pulled on it. The mother slapped her hand and put the little girl down. The little girl ran back down the aisle pushing through all the legs of people waiting in the receiving line. Her brother appeared from nowhere and followed her through the crowd. His hair was neatly combed and wet. He said, “Excuse me,” to the red-haired woman. He moved quickly, careful not to run, and fidgeted with his tie. As the red-haired woman smiled down at him, the fat woman echoed with her own appropriate smile.
The red-haired woman revived their other conversation. “Why? Did your boys?” There was interest in her voice.
“Well, I would like to think not. But sometimes I suspected it. There was this one time with my middle boy, and he was just being secretive as you wouldn't believe. It made us both, me and Frank, just so uncomfortable. Sometimes he would have the bleary eyes, you know. Broke my heart.”
“I saw that on the news program once. About the eyes. With marijuana.” The red-haired woman didn’t say anything about buying a dime bag two weeks ago.
“Well, there was some strange cars come out to our place a few times, too. I told Frank we should ask him about it, but he thought we shouldn't get involved.”
“But if he was in trouble why wouldn’t you?”
The little girl ran back into the room slapping her patent leather shoes deliberately on the carpet. She ran past the flowers along the left wall until she came to a group of men in black and blue suits. She found her father and jumped up into his arms. Her brother stopped short, abandoning pursuit. The little girl rubbed her eyes to stop crying and wriggled up to the top of her father's shoulder. Defiantly, she stuck out her little pink tongue at her brother as the father patted her ruffled rear end. The brother receded.
“Well, Frank seemed to think it was just a phase and that he should work it out himself. And he did.”
The little girl wriggled out of her father's arms. He set her down without notice and continued his conversation. The little girl ran off to find her brother on the other side of the room. When she did, she pushed him hard from behind.
“He’s down in college now. He’s studying some kind of business. Seems to like it enough and doing real good, too. He got a D in economics, but he never was as good as his brother in math, so that figures. Otherwise his grades are real good. He’s not stupid, you know. Not at all. Look at Marion. She looks frozen almost, doesn’t she?”
“She was looking forward to seeing that boy's college years. She never got to go.”
“How could a child do that to his mother? I couldn't go on living if one of my boys, or even Frank, passed on.”
“Frank’s not going anywhere.”
“No. I guess not.”
The women were facing each other in the line, talking more quietly now about the specifics. It wasn't right, and they knew it. The red-haired woman was facing the coffin with her arms crossed across her chest again. The fat woman looked over the red-haired woman’s shoulder with an eye on the back door.
“A shotgun? Really? I didn't know that. I thought his brother lived in Utah somewhere.”
“He does. Well. Wyoming. But he left his gun at home. His grandfather gave it to him when he turned sixteen. He wanted it to stay nice. It's an antique. Frank was real impressed when I told him what it was, but I forget now.”
“That's one thing that I made Jim listen to. I said, 'No guns in the house.' You can see what can happen.”
The fat woman saw a group of tall teenage boys come through the door together. She watched them all sign the guest book and mill around together. Presumably, they were five of the six starters from the high school basketball team. She recognized one of them as the younger brother of one of her son's friends. They looked so defeated. She couldn't watch. Young men are not supposed to be defeated. She moved herself around in line with the red-haired woman, and they faced the coffin side by side. There were still several people in front of them to greet the mother and pay their respects at the coffin. The fat woman was nervous. “Well, he did it out in the back barn.”
“He was probably afraid Marion would crucify him herself if he got blood on that precious white carpet of hers.”
“Oh, you are awful.” Their conversation gained momentum. Together, with little words, they kept death at bay. It was hard work. They gave it their full attention, unconsciously.
“You’d never laugh as hard if you'd seen Michael when Marion told him to take off his shoes when we went over there to play bridge last fall. I laughed out loud. I have never seen that man without shoes in all the years we've been married. And here's Marion with that little flippant hair of hers telling my husband to take off his shoes.:
“Did he?”
“Of course! He had to. But we stopped playing bridge after that, except on holidays with my mom and dad.”
“Oh, Lord. That is funny. With some of Frank's socks I would be embarrassed to have him take his shoes off.” The people in front of the woman moved forward. They did not. The people behind them moved in closer. The women inched forward with the tiniest high-heeled steps.
“Oh, I know it. Especially walking on that white carpet she's got. It is pretty.”
“Well, white carpet or not I would still rather have my son alive. Did you hear anything about why he did it?”
“Just bits and pieces. One of the kids had a friend who actually read the note he left.”
“I didn't hear there was a note.”
“Well, there was, and apparently it was about how he couldn't stand to watch his dreams become his friend's realities or something like that. All those years of dreaming big to watch other kids be able to pick up that stuff like it was nothing.”
“Strange. How tall was he anyway?”
“Oh, I don't know; something like six-four. I'm not really sure. Michael would know.”
“That basketball scholarship was only for tuition, and at a school that size, the cost of the dorm room and the books is more than twice what my youngest son pays for community college up north.”
The fat woman had remembered the five boys. She glanced back at them in the line without really turning her head. Two of them were laughing and pushing against each other. The other three stood in a triangle with their feet and shoulders in line. All three left their hands forgotten behind them. They waited patiently as if the national anthem was about to start. Her eyes filled with fat tears and she replied with a a shaky voice, “Oh. How is he doing? Community college, you say?” She cleared her throat and coughed into a torn-up tissue.
“Pretty good. He has that girlfriend of his, still, and they are living together now. Michael is not at all pleased, but she's on the Pill so she shouldn't be getting pregnant anytime soon. So I just keep my mouth shut and pray as much as I can.” She wanted a cigarette.
“Oh. Well, bless your heart. I know I have been praying for Marion ever since I heard about this. So he wasn't going to take the scholarship then?”
“No. He would have had to work for his father, contracting.”
“That's not so bad. Both my oldest boys did that for a few summers and made quite a bit of money.” She was crying now.
The red-haired woman opened her purse and dug through it for a Kleenex. She did not look at the fat woman. “You know how they are at that age. Nothing is good enough. And plus remember that it wasn't just for a summer. This would h
ave been a more permanent situation. He was just too proud for his own good.” She pulled a wrinkled tissue out of a plastic package and handed it to the fat woman. “You should take what you are given and be thankful, if you ask me. I did, and I have been.”
“I suppose. Still—”
“Oh well, I agree. It certainly is not cause to shoot yourself in the roof of the mouth.” Too loud; way too loud. The people around them in line shifted uncomfortably. “He worked so hard to get away. His family still didn't have the money.”
“His father must be devastated.” She pushed her eyeliner back in place.
“Well, sure. My God, that boy was his life. There was just the two boys, you know, and with the one off in Wyoming. I think they have other children, but just the two boys. That construction business has been going downhill ever since he started it, and I am sure this thing isn't going to do much for it.”
“Maybe people will feel sorry for him and start coming.”
“Well sure, at first, but then it will drop away to less than before.” The arms were crossed over her chest again. The bra strap was almost to her elbow. Too many eyes were watching from behind her to fix it now. She really wanted a cigarette.
“I guess you're right. What kind of business is it, now?”
“He's a contractor. Builds farm buildings. Sheds, or whatever else.”
The fat woman sensed irritation. “Oh. Right. Silly me. I still can't get over how long this receiving line