The Service

He woke up early Saturday as both alarms set the previous night screamed their morning shriek. Knowing his mind would be less then functional after such a negligible amount of sleep, all of the morning steps had been prepared. Breakfast was arranged, coffee was ready to be made with the push of a little blue button, and the clothes for the day were thrown over the chair near next to the closet. An obligation set this early would usually be ignored, but this particular gathering held a good bit of importance in his mind. Mechanically, he made his way through the pre-set motions. Eating, drinking, showering. The finishing touch to the set of preparations was the clothing. Brown shoes capped off a pair of ironed khaki slacks. Atop this was placed a collared black shirt and dark tie which stuck out through the folds of a knee length raincoat. With his tie straightened and shirt tucked in he walked out the door. “It’s never good when I dress like this.”

Turning into the church about fifteen minutes before the designated time, the parking lot was still rather sparse. Once the car was situated in one of the first open parking spots, he sat staring at the old discolored steering wheel before him. After almost deciding to leave and abandon the whole situation, he opened the car door and planted his left foot into the slushy mess which covered sections of the pavement. While walking towards the entrance, a few others passed, none of them known. The crowd was larger then expected when he first entered the main doorway. As soon as he walked in, as he waited to sign his unknown name into the registry, he noticed what he assumed was the mother. She was standing at the entrance of the main room, eyes red, with her remaining son standing next to her blank faced. He had never actually met Luke’s parents. They had been friends in school, him and Luke, but he had been private that way. Luke didn’t like inviting people to his house. He never really knew why. The line of people in front was slowly walking past a display meant to honor. A television repeated a slide show of images, showing scenes from early childhood to early adulthood. He watched the screen for some time, his eyes constantly looking at the floor, and eventually making their way to her, standing there, wiping her red eyes. Following this was a large array of images. Pictures from every scenario imaginable and in the center Luke’s face looked out at the crowd. He had dealt with the news reasonably, but for some reason he couldn’t look at Luke’s face. The eyes in the images were what made his necktie too tight, his clothing too warm. Luke’s eyes were what agitated his own. And all the while his eyes constantly found their way to the floor, and to the woman standing across the room. The woman he was slowly making his way towards. As he reached the end of the display he slowed and pretended to look intently at the pictures in front of him, allowing others to keep moving ahead. Soon he had to move, and slowly he made his was with the rest towards the doorway into the chapel, past the woman. Within a few steps it was his turn to talk, his turn to say something. From his blank mind came, “You don’t know me, but I knew Luke.” He stood there looking at her face, and she said nothing in response. Instead she leaned forward, put her arms around his torso and hugged him. This physical contact was the catalyst. Seeing the face which had known nothing but grief for eight days followed by a simple act of comfort caused a shining wetness to form in his eyes. When the brief contact ended, he bit his lip and made his way to a seat near the back. He didn’t pay attention to much of the service. This time was spent lost in his own thoughts, with an occasional tear sliding from his now red eyes.