Impostor

A Chapter by Vastrane

I don't belong at this funeral.

I wonder how much weather reports tie into funeral planning? I get it, though, I get why they would want the rain. It’s like the whole earth is crying for those you lost, the tears of the earth to wipe away our own. It’s a nice thought, but as I sat around all those people dressed in black, not even the sky could manage a single tear.

They all kept looking at me. It’s a funeral, I’d think their attention would be preoccupied somewhere else. I don’t know who that would make feel better… those looks of pity. Maybe I was just biased. Maybe pity is truly soothing to those who lost someone, but I didn’t lose anyone. I guess that isn’t entirely true. I lost my father. Rather, he lost his life. Maybe I’m only annoyed by the looks of pity, and the people all dressed in black, and the mournful monologues because I felt like an impostor, sitting among those who cared. I don’t mean to sound callous, but it’s hard to care much about someone you’ve never met… who’s face you’ve never seen.

“Today, we’ve lost a great member of this community... a source of light to all who’s ever had the privilege of knowing him. They say you can never truly measure a man from his accomplishments, but even so, all he’s done solidifies his greatness… all the people he’s helped, and all the lives he’s made better.”

The words rang through my mind as I attempted to decode whatever information this was trying to convey. He’s about to be six feet under, and still they won’t tell me a goddamn thing about the man I’m supposed to feel sorry for. The empty words sounded as emotionally detached as I was. F**k, did anyone care about this man?

As the talking drew to a close, I stood from my chair, approaching the coffin of the man who made me. I rested my hand on the wooden exterior, the shade of the afternoon making it cool to the touch. Despite my complete and utter lack of connection to the body inside, I couldn’t help but feel… sad. After all, I was the broken one here. Those looking at me, feeling pity for the pain I was supposed to be feeling… Those people are the normal ones. Those people are doing what they’re supposed to do. I’m the broken one, the one lacking any connection to someone so essential to my very existence. That was what I was sad for: the hopelessness, the fate now sealed in stone. The connection of love I was supposed to feel, it was gone forever now. It had been snuffed out, same as my father.

I looked back at the people behind me, all gazing upon me and the body. They looked peaceful upon me. This is where I was supposed to make my peace? Standing in front of a stranger, eyed down by a crowd of people I barely knew any better? I slid my hand down to the edge of the coffin, sticking my fingers down under the lid. I glanced back again, as the sound of a crowd of people standing from their chairs echoed behind me. The peace had left their eyes, as their chorus of faces all echoed the stern message, “don’t do it, don’t open the coffin.”

Was there even anything in there? Had I even had a father to begin with? Presented with the nothingness that was my relationship with my own father, and the sternness of the people not wanting me to see him, all the thoughts of confusion and sadness spiraled around in my head. I paused, leaving my fingers tucked into the coffin, half turning around to face the people. I took in a deep breath, knowing what I had to do.

“What? What do you want from me?”

They didn’t answer, their faces unchaining in their disdain,

“Who was my father?”

“A great man.” One said back.

“A great man.” Came another.

“A great man.” Another.

I stood looking at their uniform faces, bouncing from man, to woman, to child. I looked into their eyes, desperately trying to find what they were truly trying to say to me. That’s the first time I noticed it, the perfection of their glances. Not an eye had been made red, no makeup had been smudged. Nobody had shed a tear for the man in the casket. The closest thing to sadness I had seen being the pity they had shown me.

The door of the coffin creaked as I pulled it further open, their faces getting ever more angry. It was heavier than I expected, struggling against me as I propped it open. With one grand swing, I threw it back, the wood banging against itself. Finally, I was able to look down. Finally I was able to see who he was, who the man in the casket was. My mind scrambled even further at the look of it, trying to understand. As it all began to come together, my heart dropped. My eyes scanned every inch of the face, trying to look at something I had missed that would prove me wrong. The eyes, the nose, the hair, the face… I couldn’t be mistaken. There was no father to be seen. The dread that came with staring at my own dead face let the crowd behind me slip my mind, their hands grabbing at me.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” They shrieked, pushing me forward, slamming me against the coffin.