All Things Concerning Kings: Part III

This is my least favorite part of the story. I was trying a different writing scheme and it didn't turn out the way I had hyped it up to myself. Either way, hope you partially enjoy.

     This must be what the afterlife looks like; Roland thought to himself, assuming one lead a life clean and humble enough to be granted such a scene for eternity.

                Snow had replaced the ice and hail during the night and now lay as a pristine blanket on the ground.  The clouds had parted and the sun prevailed, shining bright and strong through the freshly cleansed air.  Icicles hanging from tree limbs, gutters and mailboxes caught the light and radiated every bright color of the spectrum like hundreds of prisms.

                Roland’s neighborhood looked pure.  A painting with brush strokes made by some unknown artist with a keen eye for the serene.

                He sat in his room on the edge of the bed next to the kerosene heater he’d brought up from the basement last night, a difficult task with no lights, but a task well worth the effort.  While the rest of the house was a virtual icebox, his room had stayed warm and inviting, and aside from venturing to the kitchen for a kettle, coffee grounds, a jug of water and a coffee cup, Roland had stayed confined in the warmth of his room since last night.

                His bed lay eight feet from a cubby hole window sill that had three 3’x5’ windows with the two side panes angled slightly outward towards the middle pane.  Roland called it a picture window, though he knew it wasn’t, but he loved the view it provided in the early mornings while he was getting ready for work.  He sat there now, waiting for the heater to warm the water in the kettle enough to make a cup of coffee.  It was instant coffee; not exactly the most robust in the world, but it would do for the lack of power.

                Through the window he saw the road crew scraping, salting, and sanding the roads facilitating travel that while not truly safe, would grant the workaholics passage to and from their varied businesses.

                Or passage to a funeral.

                Though a bleak note on an otherwise gorgeous day, the final step in the passing and remembrance of a dear friend would be taking place today.

                Roland looked at the battery powered clock on the nightstand next to his bed and saw that it read 9:37 A.M.  He had a little over six hours before he needed to be at the cemetery, but he also knew Emily’s sister Anna and her husband Anson would pick him up well before 3:00 in the afternoon.  This reminded him that he had yet to return Anna’s call from yesterday.

                “I guess I need to see if the cell phone works” he said to himself “but not right now”.

                He looked at the kettle sitting on top of the heater and saw thin wisps of steam rising from the spout.  He stood up, made a cup of tolerable coffee, stepped to the window and sipped from his cup.

                “No power means no water Em.  How can I say goodbye if I’m not clean?”  He sipped his coffee again.  “And of course you’d tell me that it didn’t matter, you couldn’t smell me anyway and that anyone attending a funeral would hardly be thinking about how poorly the man standing next to them smelled.”  A slight smile spread across his lips at this whimsical memory of how his friend would’ve handled this conversation.

                “But then I would say that people are funny about those kinds of things and you never really know what the person next to you may be thinking about your hygiene.”  He took a gulp of his coffee through smiling lips and stared out the window. 

He wondered what sort of memories her eulogy would bring out.   The endearing kind, always the endearing kind.  It would be either a memory that caused you to smile and chuckle through a tear streaked face, or a memory that stuck yet another pin in the cushion of your heart.

                Pushing aside thoughts of the funeral, Roland fumbled about his room looking for his cell phone.  Upon finding it and turning it on he was surprised to see that he actually had full service.  He dialed Anna’s number and received a voice message telling him that she wasn’t available and would return this call as soon as she could.  Roland left her a message saying that he would in fact need her and Anson to give him a lift to the funeral and simply needed a time frame in which to be ready.

                “Let’s hope her phone is charged Em.”

                For the next two hours Roland had cup after cup of coffee on the edge of his bed.   Lost in his thoughts and the view through the window he almost didn’t hear the knocking on his front door downstairs.  Roland put his cup on the nightstand, slipped on his bedroom shoes and prepared himself for the blast of cold beyond his bedroom.  With the most speed and grace he could manage he opened the door, stepped out, closed it and shuffled downstairs.  As he neared the front door he could hear a muffled voice calling his name.

                “Roland?  Hey, Roland you in there?”  It sounded like Doug Witter from two houses down the street.

                “Hang on, be right there!” Roland yelled back.  He unlocked and opened the door and immediately realized it was much warmer outside his house than in.  The man standing on his door mat was indeed Doug Witter.  Doug was in his early seventies but had the wit and energy of a man thirty years younger.  He had a face like a scholar with a neatly shaven beard and moustache, thick black rimmed glasses and smoky hazel eyes that denoted both wisdom and compassion.  His voice was gravely and slightly musical and always reminded Roland of the man’s voice who did the movie advertisements on television.

                “Hey, Doug.  What can I do for you?”

                “Oh nothing Roland” he replied “I actually came to see if I could do something for you.  I figure if your power is out you might like a place to take a shower and warm up.  Marilyn made some cinnamon rolls this morning before she set out for town and there’s too many for me to finish off alone, thought maybe I could interest you in a few with a hot cup of coffee.”

                Roland thought of his less than robust instant coffee in the only warm room upstairs and figured a real cup of coffee in a completely warm house with cinnamon rolls to boot sounded like a deal too good to pass up.

                “How do you have power, Doug?” Roland asked.

                “I bought a little generator a few years back when we had that bad snow storm.  It ain’t much, but it does the job” he said while scratching his bearded cheek.  “Good enough to give us heat and water anyways.”

                “Doug, that sounds great.  How can I thank you?”

                “Bring your own mug.  Marilyn broke all but one yesterday.  Somehow got the towel all the cups were drying on stuck in her waist band, walked off and pulled every last one on the floor.  Only the one didn’t break, it’s got that dumb little saying on the side of it about how the wife is always right and blah, blah, blah.”

                “Purely accidental you think?”  Roland said with a little sarcasm.

                “Jury is still out on that, Roland” Doug replied.

                Roland told Doug to give him enough time to pack a small bag with the things he needed               and he would hear a knock on his door.  With a nod and a “see you then” Doug made his way back home.

                Back in his room, Roland took a suit bag and began collecting the things he needed.  Toiletries and the like, dress socks, watch and wedding ring, cell phone, and of course the suit he would be wearing to the funeral.  With everything packed and ready to go, Roland traded bedroom shoes for boots and left his house.  He had barely made it ten feet from his steps when his cell phone began vibrating in his pocket.  The caller ID told him it was Anna.

                He flipped the phone open and answered “Hello, Anna.”

                “Hey, Roland.”  He thought her voice sounded less strained, less painful.  It sounded like the voice of a woman who had made some peace with the passing of her sister.  “How are you?”

                “I’m fine, considering.  How about you?  Are you holding up any better?”

                “Yeah, I’m better.  It still doesn’t seem real to me, or fair for that matter.  But Em would say that it’s not up to me to decide what’s real or fair and the only responsibility I had was to keep my chin high.”

                “Classic Emily.”

                “Don’t I know” she said with a little chuckle in her voice.  Roland was glad to hear that, glad to know that she would be okay. 

                “Anyway, you need me and Anson to pick you up today?”

                “Yes I do.  I don’t think my car will make it, even if the road is salted.”

                “No problem.  We’ll be there around 1:30, does that sound good?

                “It sounds fine, but I’ll be at Doug Witter’s place.  Do you remember him?”

                “Sweet old man down the street from you?  Yeah, I remember him.  Why there?”

                “My power is out and he has a generator, he offered to let me use his bathroom for a shower.”

                “Ah, okay.  Alright, well we’ll see you around 1:30 then.”

                “Thanks, Anna.”

                “Don’t worry about it.  Anson has been itching to use his new snow tires anyway.”

                Roland laughed.   “Alright, see you then” he said and flipped the phone closed.

                The walk from his house to Doug’s was not as treacherous as he thought it would be.  The snow was wet enough that it packed firmly under his feet and left no reason to fear the ice underneath. 

                Carol would’ve loved this weather he thought, she would’ve forced me into warm clothes and boots, would’ve pulled me out into the snow for hours.

                A few yards from Doug’s house, Roland saw the old man shoveling snow from his walk way and throwing salt down.  Doug’s windows were foggy with condensation, something all the other windows on the street lacked.  The generator was hard at work.  Doug looked up and saw Roland approaching.

                “Go on in and make yourself at home.  The kitchen is right through the door and I already have a plate sitting out for you.  Coffee is next to the stove, you got your mug?”

                Roland held his solid blue mug up for Doug to see.  “It doesn’t have any clever phrases on it.”

                “Clever?”  Doug grumbled.  “Pity, that” he said and went back to his shoveling.

                Roland smiled and stepped into the Witter’s house.  He was instantly greeted by the aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls and coffee.  In another room he could hear a radio playing oldies, it sounded like the Platters.  Roland put his bag down, picked up the plate from the table and walked over to the oven.  Sure enough, Marilyn had made enough cinnamon rolls to feed a family.  After ingesting nothing but coffee since 4:00 P.M. yesterday, Roland felt hungry enough to eat the whole pan, but settled for the three with the most icing on them.  After he filled his plate and his cup he sat down at the table and was shortly followed by Doug who got three cinnamon rolls of his own.  The two men sat in silence for a moment before Doug finally spoke.

                “Good rolls?” he asked.

                “Marilyn has outdone herself, Doug” Roland replied.

                “The woman can bake her a*s off.  Can’t do much with a steak or meatloaf though.”  They both laughed.

                In the other room, the Platters gave way to Lionel Richie’s “Easy like Sunday Morning”.  Roland smiled and gave a little chuckle.

                “There ain’t nothin’ easy about Sunday mornings” Roland said.

                Doug took a sip of coffee and arched a questioning eyebrow and said “What?  What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “It was something a good friend of mine said when we were in college.  His name was Jason Burlow.”  Roland paused at the thought of giving Jason’s full name.  It had been a long time since he thought about his friend and Roland found it fitting that this should be the memory he had. 

“We used to sit in the commons where all the students would gather after classes.  We’d  just sit in there for hours talking and goofing off, listening to music.  Sometimes we didn’t even listen to the music; it was just nice to know it was playing.  One day, Jason, Emily, and I were sitting together waiting for the next class and this song started playing.”

                “What song?  The one that’s playing now?”  Doug asked. 

                “Yeah, this one.  We we’re just sitting there relaxing, not really talking to one another, when this song came on.  When the chorus came around Jason just blurted out ‘there ain’t nothin’ easy about Sunday mornings.”  Roland chuckled to himself again.  “We must’ve sat there for five minutes waiting for Jason to finish his thought, but he never offered an explanation for what he said.  Finally Emily asked him what he meant.  Jason told us that there’s nothing easy about Sunday mornings because Saturday nights were so fun, so much to do, so much alcohol to drink and so many girls to meet.  Then after all of that, you have to get up early on Sunday in hopes that attending church would be enough to make up for the river of sin you swam in the night before.”

                “Jason a religious man, is he?”  Doug asked skeptically.

                “Not so much religious as traditional.  His parents were big bible thumpers, but Jason was born with an open mind and a heart that wanted to experience life outside of a church.  But no matter how old he got or how many bottles he saw the bottom of, he couldn’t escape the routine of church every Sunday morning.”

                “Sounds like a hypocrite to me.  I’ve known quite a few of those in my time.”  Doug said with distaste in his voice.

                Roland thought about it for a moment before he continued.  “You know, I said the same thing to him once.  He told me something that changed my opinion about a lot of things.  ‘There’s nothin’ hypocritical about being human, Roland’ he said to me ‘God gave men a sense of wonder and immense curiosity.  And gave us free will to boot.  Salvation doesn’t mean much if you don’t earn it and not using free will seems like a slap to God’s face if you ask me.”  Roland sat for a moment drinking his coffee, thinking about what his friend had said to him all those years ago.  “After that, Doug, everything was clear to me.  Every aspect of life seemed renewed.  It was almost like I had found purpose I guess you could say.              

                “And what was that purpose?”  Doug asked, a smile in his voice.

                “To be alive” Roland replied.  There was a sound of wonder in his voice and a thoughtful, crooked smile on his face.  Roland stared off, the memory of what Jason had said lingering a moment longer before he returned his attention to Doug.  Doug looked like he was contemplating what Roland had just told him, trying to decide if he still thought it hypocritical, or if he now saw it as sensible.

                “Roland, I suppose that makes about the most sense of anything I’ve ever heard” he said between bites of cinnamon roll.  “Everything I’ve ever heard about God made Him sound kind of boring and overbearing, but thinking about it in that light, makes Him sound a little more benevolent I guess.”

                “Yeah, Jason was always good at making people see things differently.”  Roland replied.

                “I think I’d like to meet him one day, Roland.”

                “And he would’ve loved to meet you, he was a people person, but Jason passed on a few years back.”

                “Oh, Roland, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean….”  Doug trailed off, looking for the words, but failing.

                Roland smiled at him and said “No, don’t be.  Jason lived more fully than most people I know.  He’d think feeling sorry for him as an insult to his memory.  His funeral was more of a party than anything.  Everyone there had a story about him, funny stories and thoughtful stories.  That was just the way he would’ve wanted it.”  Roland smiled his crooked smile again and finished his last cinnamon roll.

                “Have some more, Roland.  There’s plenty in the pan.”

                “Oh, no thanks.  I should be getting ready; a friend of mine should be by shortly to pick me up.  I’d better get a shower and shave before she gets here.”

                “A friend you say?  And just what are you and said friend doing?”  Doug said playfully.

                Roland laughed.  “No no, nothing like that.  She’s the sister of one of my old friends.  You remember the woman from the story I told you?  Emily?  It’s her little sister.  And she’s married” Roland said, the humor still in his voice.

                “Oh, I see.  Well what’re you two going to do in this weather?”

                “We’re going to Emily’s funeral.”

                “Jesus, Roland, I’m sorry to hear.  I just can’t seem to get one foot in front of the other.”

                “It’s fine, Doug.  She’s actually one of the few people who’re better off.  She had been fighting diabetes nearly her whole life.  I’ve had my cries and I know she’d be utterly offended at my tears.”

                Doug sat with a shocked look on his face.  “Roland, your wife and father, your two best friends.  Men have died of a broken heart over less.”

                “Everyone in my life has blessed me in one way or another, Doug.  That’s how I make it through.  Oh sure, I miss them all and think about every one of them every day, but without them, I wouldn’t be who I am.  I have to remember what we shared while they were alive.  I have to remember that mourning all the time would be to throw away all the blessings they gave me.”

                For a moment, it seemed to Doug that the two men had switched places.  It felt as though Doug was the younger of the two, the lesser experienced, and that Roland had assumed the role of wise mentor.

                “You’re the best man I know, Roland.”  Doug said.

                Roland was caught by this.  “Well thank you, though I don’t think so.  We all look at things different, that’s all.”

                Doug considered this before replying “Yeah, I suppose we do.”  They both sat there a while longer, finishing the coffee in their cups before Doug spoke again. 

                “Well, go on and get yourself clean.  Marilyn’ll be home soon and I know she’d like to see you before you leave.”

                “Okay.  Thanks again, Doug.  I really appreciate this.”

                “Oh, don’t say another word about it.  I know you’d have done the same for me.”

                Roland left the table and took his shower.   He looked at himself in the mirror when he was done.  Shaved and suited in an all black three piece suit with a lavender colored tie.  Lavender had been Emily’s favorite color and she had always said Roland could wear a suit like no other man.

                “Hope I’m presentable for you, Em.”  He said.

                After he had collected his things and simultaneously greeted and said farewell to Marilyn, he shook Doug’s hand and thanked him again.  He gave them a final wave and stepped outside back into the cold.  On the sidewalk, he thought about the conversation that he and Doug had at the table.  He had been blessed.  More than anyone else he knew.  The thought brought a tear to his eye.  He quickly wiped it away and composed himself; his tears were the last thing Anna needed to see.

                Just as his finger caught the tear, Anson’s big Ford F-150 came around the curve.

                “Alright, Emily, let’s get this over with and be on about our business, yeah? “

                Roland put on his best smile as Anna and Anson slowed to a stop next to him.  They said there hello’s and left for the cemetery.

               

Author's Note

It's imperative to tear this entry to shreds.