When Bill sees Natalie parking across the street, he opens his car door to the cold backhanded slap of winter. “Fucking freezing“ he mumbles to himself. He steps onto the asphalt of the parking lot, pulls a pack of Marlboros from his coat pocket, and smacks it against his palm like he’s in a Tarantino flick.
Through the smoke, he studies the gathering mourners in long black coats and winter scarves, their low conversations demonstrated only by bursts of breath that quickly dissipate in the crisp January air.
He looks up at the sky. “Solid turnout, Matty … respectable for sure.”
Strategically hovering on the outskirts of the steadily growing crowd, Bill plots his entrance to coincide with Natalie’s. It’s been three years since he left her un-kissed on her parent’s doorstep, clutching that night’s carnival winnings, a plush multi-colored parrot, sobbing uncontrollably.
Several months later, Bill understood the horrible mistake he had made. He tried to win Natalie back for the next year and a half, but she refused to let him back into her life.
Matt’s death shook Bill to his core, and yet, almost immediately, his thoughts turned to Natalie. Ashamed, he wondered what it would be like to see her at the wake. Matt would have found his chagrin darkly amusing, the type of reaction that would have led to an entire afternoon of delving into the complexities of the human condition and intricacies of love, death, opportunity, and loss.
Bill imagined how that scenario would have unfolded. He would have said, that’s what love does to a person and Matt would have nodded, lit cigarette in hand, a wry smile on his face, and replied with one of his Mattyisms:
Love is a fork in the garbage disposal.
Bill takes one last drag, tosses the half-smoked Marlboro to the ground, and grinds it out with the toe of his shoe. He heads slowly towards the line forming at the funeral home entrance while watching Natalie cross the street in his peripheral vision.
Nat steps onto the sidewalk gracefully, and Bill falls into step alongside.
“Hey,“ he says, slowing in hopes of an embrace.
“Hey,“ Natalie says, her voice cool.
“Hey,” he says again, dumbly mesmerized by the combination of her bright beauty and profound sadness.
Natalie catches Bill in mid-stare. “Are you okay?”
Bill sputters. “Huh? Oh. Sorry. Yeah, I’m okay. You?“
“Actually, I’m the opposite of okay,” she says quietly.
“That’s true, you’re a knockout,” Bill says and almost immediately regrets his attempt to lighten the mood.
“Excuse me?” Now she stops, rounding on him.
Bill holds up his hands defensively. “The opposite of OK – KO – Knock Out.”
“Seriously? You’re hitting on me right now? Here?” Natalie shakes her head, but there’s a hint of amusement beneath her veneer of sadness.
They fall into the line of mourners, shuffling along a few steps at a time.
“How are your folks?” Bill asks sheepishly, hoping to at least get back to an informal conversation.
“They’re fine; I’ll tell them you asked.” Her sarcasm shatters Bill’s hope like a bullet through candied glass.
By the time Bill and Natalie step into the funeral home, an awkward silence has set up camp. For the next 30 minutes, it’s mostly just quiet nods to other attendees until they find themselves next in line to pay their respects.
As the couple in front of Bill finishes their prayers, Bill quietly panics. Should he accompany Nat to the coffin or hang back and respect her privacy? The couple stands, and the man and woman each briefly place a hand on Matt’s casket before proceeding to the receiving line.
Natalie looks at Bill, but he’s unsure what it means. He offers his hand, which she takes gently, and they approach Matt’s casket together.
They can feel the stares from around the room. Their break-up three years ago was big news to their small community, so this public reconciliation (if that’s what it is) generated some buzz.
Though Bill had imagined Matt’s wake as an opportunity to reconnect with Nat, he hadn’t envisioned what would happen afterwards. It would all depend on how Natalie responded, and up to this point, it had been primarily awkward silence. He didn’t know how to get a beat on what she was feeling.
As soon as they kneel, Bill bows his head and whispers, “Listen, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking about that night.”
“Suzy,” Natalie mutters flatly, head also bowed.
“What?” Full of confusion, he risks a sidelong glance.
“You said you didn’t know what you were thinking about. Fucking Suzy is what you were thinking about – literally. I figured it out when you started dating her the week after you dumped me.”
Bill swallows, another Mattyism springing into his mind like a jack in the box: The truth has a way of shooting you down and shutting you up.
Matt would have enjoyed this exchange for several reasons: He would have loved that instead of praying at his casket (Matt was a devout atheist) they were trying to work out their shit. And he would have reveled in knowing his wake provided Bill and Nat a venue for reconciliation (if that’s what this is). As he’d been fond of saying, Wakes are for the living.
“You’re right, Nat, and I’m sorry I ambushed you today. I’m lost without you. I’m just stumbling through this.”
After a few more quiet seconds, they both turn to look at a framed picture on the table behind Matt’s casket. Taken at a high school graduation party, Matt is center in the picture. But just over Matt’s right shoulder: Bill and Natalie. They’re holding hands, Nat is smiling at Bill, and they all look at ease and happy.
“That was us,” Nat says, pointing to the picture. Tears fall down Bill’s cheeks as he registers everything he’s lost.
Matt was right; wakes are for the living.
Bill and Natalie stand up together. Bill’s hand brushes the back Natalie’s hand, and she pulls away reflexively, looking at him deeply and shaking her head.
They move through the receiving line of hugs, tears, and warm laughter before going their separate ways.
bendingtheneedle 