Survivors: Popcorn Eulogy

A woman with a ambivalent relationship to her family is asked to read a eulogy for her least favorite aunt.

Survivors: Popcorn Eulogy  

Clair sat back straight, eyes forward. She didn’t need to look at her notes. 

 She felt alone in her rage, and, yet, she didn’t want to be understood. Funerals were not about understanding: they were about survival.

  Large and dysfunctional families depended on lack of understanding. What mattered was meeting obligations. Resenting all of it, but smiling anyway was part of what it meant to be a Jameson.  

Weddings and funerals were the worst. A wedding invitation meant you had to come, no matter how inconvenient, and pretend to have a good time. A funeral, depending on “closeness” to the deceased, had more or less leeway. But instead of performing joy and cheer, you thought about death, grieved, or pretended to grieve. 

  A dull wedding was like stale frosting. It wouldn’t kill you�"unless it was all you ate. Funerals were like cut flowers left rotting in the vase. You never wanted to drink the water, but a quick whiff was tolerable. In short, a dull funeral was a good funeral. 

The worst funerals were the “exciting ones”�"the kind that required you to play a leading role. These were like being cast in a B movie as an extra and then being told last minute that you might have lines. If you wanted to be the center of attention, it was great.  If you didn’t, it was a horror show.

Clair was ambivalent about being cast in a leading role, so today was part nightmare, part farce, part tragedy. Clair was giving the eulogy for her Aunt Margaret. She didn’t think the primary reason was that they had been close in real terms. But then Clair had stayed with her Aunt and Uncle, who had no children of their own, when her parents had gone to Europe to “revitalize” their marriage. 

 If that was close, it didn’t feel close. Clair felt no loss at Margaret’s death. Yet Clair knew how to sooth the grief of other people. 

When Wayne Static, lead singer for her brother, Scott’s, favorite band, Static-X, died, thirteen-year-old Scott had taken it hard. Scott had worn a black armband for weeks and had listened to Pighammer so many times that he could mouth the lyrics word-for-word from the first to last song.

Clair had insisted on naming their new kitten “Static” to try and snap Scott out of it. It could have backfired, but it didn’t. Scott laughed for the first time in months when he watched Static dash across the floor. Static would chase anything, balls, yarn, Christmas ornaments, popcorn. 

Since it had worked with her brother, why not for the whole clan?  If it didn’t work this time, it would be so awful that she might be exempt from ever having to do a eulogy again. But she doubted she would fail. She knew her family too well.

 Clair took a deep breath, walked to the podium, and began, “My Aunt Margaret can be remembered for being opinionated, unyielding, and strict.” Clair’s voice waivered but she recovered, “However, without her I never would have learned to make popcorn on the stove and would, instead,” a word she hit hard, “have been dependent on hot air poppers until the end of time.”

To her relief, Clair heard scattered laughter. She took another deep breath and began the only pleasant story she knew on her aunt. Her other memories involved Margaret following her room-to-room screaming that Clair “wasn’t worth cab fare,” or that she “wasn’t allowed to walk away” while Margaret was “talking to her” (read “screaming at”). Once Margaret had even suggested that Clair kill herself and do her parents a favor.

The laughter had stopped, so Clair continued with her speech, “I’d been staying with Aunt Margaret and Uncle Ted and I had just discovered re-runs of Seinfeld. Aunt Margaret had never watched it the 90s and Uncle Ted had forgotten what it was about. It was one of the episodes that is best NOT to discuss in church.”

The audience tittered. Clair liked the Seinfeld tie-in. Seinfeld critiqued the mainstream, even if it was still a mainstream show. Its offensiveness was then doubly ironic because it was also a classic comedy�"which seemed fitting for the eulogy. She continued, “I’d been trying to get a rise out of Margaret just because I loved the way she puckered up her lips when she was angry.”

Sniffs and sighs from the audience. Clair continued, “So that Uncle Ted could change the channel without commenting on my um . . .  choice, Margaret announced, ‘I’m hungry. Let’s make popcorn.’ In my innocence, I replied, ‘I love popcorn, but I didn't see a popper.’

“Margaret laughed and said, ‘I make it the old fashioned way."’ Clair paused to look at the faces around her. She noted they were attentive. She nodded, “Yes, we had just drawn our battle lines and were preparing to engage.” Clair thought she felt the church as a whole do an intake of breath.

“I sallied, ‘But a popper is so much easier.’

"Margaret replied, ‘It isn't that much easier, and it is so much better cooked in oil and with butter and salt.’

"I fired one last missal, ‘Have you ever used a hot air popper? I swear it tastes great, and you can add butter, salt, or whatever after its popped.’

"Margaret was, of course, immovable,” Clair paused and received the expected chuckles, “but when was Margaret ever ‘moveable’ in anything?” To her relief, this generated not only laughter but a few guffaws. 

“Uncle Ted wasn’t any help either,” she said with her eyes held wide. “He just said, ‘You'll like it, Clair. It's really good. Margaret makes the best popcorn.’ As I was all of fifteen, I learned absolutely nothing�"even after ten minutes of careful instruction, and was counting on not being asked ‘to demonstrate’ this supposed new knowledge.”

Both laughter and snuffles. Clair exaggerated the pitch of her voice when she said, “Of course, I was mistaken.” Sounds of tutting, as well as sighs. “A few nights later it was just Margaret and me in the house. Margaret turned to me with her biggest smile and said, ‘I'm feeling like popcorn. How about you?’”

“I’d forgotten that Margaret meant stove cooked popcorn, so I said, ‘Yes.’ And then Margaret gave me the punchline, ‘Good! You can make it. You remember how I showed you?’

“I tried to get out of it, but Margaret would have none of it. If I’m not mistaken her exact words were, ‘Nonsense, you can learn how to make popcorn on the stove. It’s ridiculous that you can't do it at fifteen.”’

“Of course, being fifteen, I continued to promote the hot air popper, but without success. I was left alone in the kitchen with oil, popcorn, salt, and a stove. And what did I do?”

More laughter, and then Clair thought she heard what sounded like “chose the wrong pan,” so she went with it. Nodding her head, Clair said, “Yes, that’s right, I chose the wrong pan. Then Margaret came in to burned popcorn and an overflowing pan which caused more than that amusing pucker of her mouth.

“I apologized, but guess how many times we had to repeat me burning pans and popcorn going everywhere?” 

Laughter. Again, Clair nodded. “That’s right, three more times. I refused to learn and Margaret refused to give up teaching me. 

“Then one day Margaret interrupted my studying of the American Civil War with, ‘I have something for you. I think you're going to like it.’

“It was a hot air popper.” Clair paused for the punchline, “Yes, I scored the one and only time that ANYONE got Margaret to give in, but victories and losses are meant to be shared.”

Then Clair took a large bag that she had placed under the podium before the service began and untwisted its tie, reached in and grabbed a fistful of the fluffy light yellow mass. She raised it in a combination salute and toast, “Here’s to you Margaret. I even popped it on the stove myself.” Clair wondered if this was too corny. Then as she was contemplating her private pun, the church burst into a combination of cheers, applause, sniffling, sobs, and laughter. 

She took a deep breath. Her intuition had been right. It had worked. But then her family was crazy.  

Author's Note

I'm trying to develop a female FBI agent. It isn't stated in the story but she has the genetic profile that makes her less likely to feel fear. Fire fighters and sociopaths share this. She has empathy but she doesn't experience grief the same way as "normal" people do. Is she still a compelling character?

Reviews

[HorroroftheMind]

Building a character from nothing is one of the hardest things to do in writing. Building a character like the one in your note is very tricky because if done wrong it's extremely wrong but if done right then they're a very interesting character. Clair's eulogy shows that even if she isn't hurt by the passing of her aunt she still understands that many people are and she knows what that feels like. A strong character like this is always compelling in stories with tragic moments. I'd say take her and develop her story.