Umbra

How does one find their way through the dark when the one they loved was the light? (Revised version below original.)

I wasn’t sure this many people would show up at his funeral. He had always been friendly to everyone, but for those that really knew him, he wasn’t anything special. Of course, around other people he’d act like he was made of sunshine, but the second they left, something in his mind went dark. Everything was something to complain about.

            This whole situation is confusing. I don’t know everyone here. There’s his parents, his brother, his buddy from college, a few other relatives. They know how he really is, but it’s respect, you know? All these other people saw him on his good days, at least I thought so. I never really got involved enough to know anyone he worked with because he would never tell me what was going on. I guess that’s what comes with working for the government. Always back and forth to other states, usually for a few hours a day. Still, he was always on the move.

            I stand like a zombie in the receiving line. It’s broken record of “I’m sorry” and “I can’t believe this” with the track catching just for a second of “He loved you” before the cycle starts over again. Warm handshakes and tight hugs are the only things I feel, nothing inside. The sunshine he emulated to everyone else is what I had lived off of for the past seven years. Now that my energy source was gone, there wasn’t really anything I could do.

            They tell me in high school he was a real social butterfly. Always making sure everyone was doing alright, always doing something for someone else. He’s the guy you’d hear about that gave roses to every girl in school on Valentines’ Day. Like I said, he was made of sunshine for a while. I didn’t know him then, though. It wasn’t until college that we met.

            Sophomore year was our first class together. I nonchalantly sat next to him on the first day of our economics class, not really expecting anything other than a study partner. Our professor, I forget his name, was one of those guys that still thought icebreakers were a good idea in college. It worked to my advantage, though. I found out his name, Kevin, and an interesting fact, that he once rescued a cat from a tree. He found out that I liked musicals. I figured I might as well let him know my vice from the beginning. It worked, though, sitting next to him on that first day, because after that we found out we were both into political science, we established a strictly-academic relationship for the next two years.

            Senior year, I had finally had enough of waiting and I asked him on a date. I had no idea if I was his type, and I feared the thought of rejection on both a romantic and friend-zone levels. I was more worried about embarrassment than rejection. And I surely didn’t want to offend him.

            He wasn’t offended in the least. He was actually pleased he didn’t have to take the lead for once. I finally had pride in myself.

            Once I started to get to know him more, the real him, out came the clouds. He was obviously more comfortable around me, so he felt okay to let me know how he really experienced things. He said he has to act so outgoing to make it in the world. It worked in high school, though it wasn’t an act. He said back then he didn’t know how evil the world was, and he was truly happy.

            He lived in chronic melancholia. Never wanted medication, either. He said he might as well see the world for what it is. I guess we both went through the same things, although I just had the ability to drown it out. I wish I could have taught him how.

It’s sad to think about, but I think he would have killed himself given more time. But I’m not sure I want to know how that would have ended. Instead I’m left with reality. Reality is that I’m standing in a funeral parlor, zoned out at the end of a receiving line because Kevin, at 29 years old, was gunned down on his way home from work for being gay.

            Cue eclipse.

***

*********************** Revised version below.************************

***

I wasn’t sure this many people would show up at his funeral. He had always been friendly to everyone, but for those that really knew him, he wasn’t anything special. Of course, around other people he’d act like he was made of sunshine, but the second they left, something in his mind went dark. Everything was something to complain about.

            This whole situation is confusing. I don’t know everyone here. There are his parents and his other relatives, and even though I know them, they’re just about as foreign to me as his coworkers. His father approaches me and hugs me, like he always did, just like I was his own child. His mother, however, treats me like she always had since I moved in with her son- like I don’t exist. His brother and college buddy stand in the corner attempting to laugh away the sorrow than hangs over their heads. They all know what he was really like.

As far as I know, all these other people saw him on his good days. I’m assuming lots of these people are his colleagues, though I wouldn’t know if they were. I never really got involved enough to know anyone he worked with, and he would never tell me what was going on. I guess that’s what comes with working for the government. Always out of town or working late, and never able to tell me anything about it. I guess it kept him busy. That’s what he wanted.

            I stand like a zombie in the receiving line. It’s broken record of “I’m sorry” and “I can’t believe this” with the track catching just for a second of “He loved you” before the cycle starts over again. Warm handshakes and tight hugs are the only things I feel, nothing inside. The sunshine he emulated to everyone else is what I had lived off of for the past seven years. Now that my energy source is gone, there isn’t really anything I can do.

            They tell me in high school he was a real social butterfly. Always making sure everyone was doing alright, always doing something for someone else. He’s the guy you’d hear about that gave roses to every girl in school on Valentines’ Day. Like I said, he was made of sunshine for a while. I didn’t know him then, though. It wasn’t until college that we met.

            Sophomore year was our first class together. I nonchalantly sat next to him on the first day of our economics class, not really expecting anything other than a study partner. Our professor, I forget his name, was one of those guys that still thought icebreakers were a good idea in college. It worked to my advantage, though. I found out his name, Kevin, and an interesting fact, that he was nearly brought home by the wrong parents when he was born. He found out that I was student body president at my high school. It worked, though, sitting next to him on that first day, because after that we found out we were both into political science, we established a strictly-academic relationship for the next two years.

            I had finally had enough of waiting and I asked him on a date come senior year. I had no idea if I was his type, and I feared the thought of rejection on both romantic and friend-zone levels. But I was more worried about embarrassment than rejection. And I definitely didn’t want to offend him.

            He wasn’t offended in the least. He was actually pleased he didn’t have to take the lead for once. I finally had pride in myself.

            Once I started to get to know him more, the real him, out came the clouds. He was obviously more comfortable around me, so he felt okay to let me know how he really experienced things. He said he had to act so outgoing to make it in the world. “It worked in high school,” he’d said, though that wasn’t an act. “It worked then, it should work now, right?” He carried this cheery disposition into college, but he lived in chronic melancholia. One Monday morning, he refused to get out of bed. It took three days before he even got up to eat. He told his boss that he had to stay with his sick mom in the hospital, like nothing had happened. Even after that, he never wanted medication. He said he might as well see the world for what it is.

I guess we both went through the same things, although I just had the ability to drown it out. I wish I could have taught him how. But instead I’m left with reality. Reality is that I’m standing in a funeral parlor, zoned out at the end of a receiving line because Kevin, at 29 years old, was gunned down on his way home from work for being gay.

            Cue eclipse.

 

Author's Note

Any and all comments and critiques welcome, good or bad. I'd love feedback on the revision.

Reviews

Nice little story. Its sad, but not so sad as to bring me to tears, as the tone is quite matter-of-fact. The only thing I don't like is that its unclear whether the narrator is male or female. While I kind of got the impression that its meant to be that way, it would be nice if that was cleared up at the end or something. Unless, of course, I've missed something...

[MoriartyMesa]

As the effect of a frying pan to the skull would cause someone to fall, so does the work. I enjoyed this on a strange level others might miss. But it reminded me of Sunday Bloody Sunday in its own way.

[Star Wolf]

Very compelling short story. Very good writing, had me hooked until the very sad and surprising ending.

[An owl on the moon]

A powerful, take your breath away account that is filled with an overwhelming sense of beauty and pain... a life so giving that was brutally ended... May we all learn to see the wonders of each other and to embrace life before anyone else has to suffer...

[Another Relic]

Really good story with a surprise ending. No one knows what to say at a funeral. I don't anyway, but thankfully I don't have to go to many. I assumed the narrator was female sinse you're writing it.

The overall feeling is that after finding out he was gay it made her aware in a most unpleasant manner his secret he never told her. She must have thought she knew him pretty well too. To add the cause of his death as a murder for who he was makes the story that much more dramatic. Good writing and good formatting. Good luck with your future stories.

[Tate Morgan]

i WENT THROUGH THIS VERY THING AT MY SON IN LAWS FUNERAL LAST MONTHS 700 PEOPLE TOOK 6.5 HRS TO PASS AND LIKE YOU SAY THEY ALL SAY THE SAME THINGS

[Fernando91]

masterfully written, kept me hooked on since the beginning. You conveyed the narrator´s feelings in such a way that really made him relatable. The character Kevin, was also relatable(to me anyway. Btw I´m not gay though) but I really liked this. Keep it up!