Flowers

The smell of flowers filled the cramped room.  Disgusting.  I’ll never understand why people love the scent; I can hardly stand just one.  I slipped my way through family members and friends, huddled around each other and whispering quietly.  Each group silenced as I pressed through them, with the occasional supportive hand placed on my shoulder or a polite “sorry,” as if they had actually done something to be in my way.  They always worried about me.  I pushed open the door with my side, not stopping to make sure the squeaky door uncomfortably slid back into place.  I headed out into the lobby and dropped onto a dusty armchair.  I traced the lines of the old fashioned paisley fabric of the cushion for a few moments before slamming my fist against my leg.  Complete silence surrounded me, as a few pairs of eyes watched me from the crack of the door.   I turned my head slowly in its direction, and the door slipped back, closing me off from the hordes of people waiting to ask how I was doing.

I could still smell it though.  Bundles of flowers lined the walls out here too�"this is so unnecessary.  I put my face in my hands, trying to block out smell.  I stood up and paced around the room.  The man behind the desk watched me.  He was barely a man, clean-shaven, not a year or two older than me�"twenty-three, I’d guess.  He watched me, and I watched him.  The door creaked open again, and he looked back to the computer.  I turned away. 

“Do you want to come back inside?” Uncle Rob asked.

“Does it look like I want to?” 

The door clicked shut behind me.

I’m fine.

It’s just a f*****g funeral.

I sat down on the antique rug in the middle of the room, and stared at my fingernails.  I should stop biting them.  Some passed by on their way to the rest room, shooting me a concerned glance before deciding to leave me alone.  It was better that way. 

I remained there until they had all gone home.  They all asked if I needed a ride, I always declined, less than politely.  I was alone in the lobby, with my new friend.  His name tag said Isaac.  I still hadn’t spoken to him.  I stood up and approached the door.  I looked back at the boy at the desk, looking for permission.  He nodded and I pulled the door open and walked in as it squealed shut. 

The only things I could hear were my heartbeat, my breathing, and my shoes stepping along the carpet.  I stopped in the back of the room, staring at the coffin.  I sat down in the last row of seats, and closed my eyes. 

Hours passed.  I never wanted to smell another flower again.  When I opened my eyes, the boy was standing in the doorway�"he must’ve opened the door pretty quietly.  I looked up at him.

            “I should�"you should�"It’s the�"“

            “Sorry, I’ll go.”  I left the room without looking back at the body.

It was the only time I had ever seen my father in a suit.