Selcouth Love

2. Jack

     Funerals always seemed so tedious when I overheard people at school talk about them, but as I sat silently among the crowd of flowers dancing, all of it seemed so positive and lively. All of the guests wore flowers, whether it was a floral dress or just a simple rose in a suit jacket pocket. A smile was worn by everyone as well, and even though they were most likely not genuine, they appeared truly sincere. I couldn't hold a smile for more than a few seconds, though. I just couldn't complete the difficult feat when I felt this mourn driving deeper into my heart with each second. 

This joyful event was all planned out by my father before his death. He had once told my mother and me that once he died, he wanted a fun funeral with flowers and laughter. We always found this odd, of course, only because it didn't follow the bland rules of normal funerals. My father wanted everybody to be happy, though, not for his death, but for the unadorned fact that happiness was better than sadness. "Why stand for hours grieving over the death of a loved one when you can easily find the positive place in your heart and celebrate that they enjoyed their well-lived life?" he would question with the same wrinkle in his forehead, or furrow of his brows.

If I somehow, during the life of my adored father, had a chance to change anything about him, I would not. His kindness outshone every constellation in the entire universe, and his personality was compelling. 

Now he was gone, my flower companion, stolen away from my childish grasp and taken by a force unbeatable by myself. And that is why I couldn't bring myself to form even a sliver of a smile. I was letting down my father by frowning. I knew that wherever he was, he wished more than ever that I would slap a smile on my face and join the celebration which took place in front of me. 

"I'm sorry," the hushed apology escaped from my mouth. 

My glassy eyes skimmed the crowd over for what seemed like the fiftieth time, and something in the corner of the large building caught my eye. My grandpa, my father's dad, was sitting lonesome in the corner with a melancholy look glued to his face. The bright blue Forget-me-not seemed to be drooping out of his pocket, withering under the old man's doleful air. I brought myself to the act of desperately trying to form a smile again, just so I could show it to my grandpa and maybe cheer him up. However many times I tried though, a mourning force would leave my mouth in a frown. My grandpa and I had never been close, only visiting and speaking to one another rarely, but maybe this gave us a chance to get to know each other more. When I got off of my chair it felt as if I hovered away from it, discreetly floating around the crowd and making my way to grandpa. As I approached, he didn't seem to notice me, and only kept his vision plastered to the polished, tile floor. 

"Grandpa," I muttered and took my place on a seat close to him. "Why don't you go out and dance with everyone else?"

He sighed and gruffly cleared his throat, bringing his wrinkled fist up to his lips to cough. "Emma," he pursed his lips and I noticed that he was still staring at the floor. "Don't act like I don't know how long you've been sitting over there all alone."

A chuckle managed to escape my lips, "you're right, I'm sorry." For the first time in weeks, I actually had a smile on my face.

"I'm glad to see you smiling, it makes me happy that there's still a little Terry left in you." He tossed me one of those famous smiles I knew he had hidden inside of him, crossing his fingers and leaning onto his knees. "You know, I never thought any of my many children would die before their old man did, but here I am witnessing it right before my eyes."

His smile was gone, and I bit my lip. My smile didn't even take a second to fade. I had been hoping he wouldn't bring up the death of my father, considering I already had it haunting me all day and night. But I couldn't blame him for saying what he did, after all, my father was his son.