Left Over

Saying Sayonara (Part 1)

At calling hours, the line trails out the door, like an overgrown snake stuffed haphazardly inside a box far too small. I may have been the only close blood relative Tadashi had left, but I was far from the only family he had. Even a few of my distant, English-speaking Japanese relatives have come all the way down to be here today. Every teacher and coach Tadashi has had, his coworkers from his summer job at the Apple Store, teammates, lab partners, acquaintances; most of the general population of San Fransokyo are all present. The funeral home's employees are all red-faced and sweaty as they try to figure out a way to accommodate all of these guests.

Not only is there an abundance of visitors, but we have been sent so many flowers that we are unsure how to fit everything. It was my idea to place pots all around the funeral home, rather than only gathered around the casket, so that people may admire or be distracted by them as they wait in the extensive line. In fact, I believe I've seen shorter lines to meet Cinderella in Disney World. While I'm sure the wait must be excruciating for the mourners, it can't possibly be more painful than it is for me.

For the first twenty or so people who pass through, I can't think of anything to say. I don't know any of them at all. Eventually I settle on forcing a smile and thanking them for coming. I offer sweaty hand shakes and tell them how much it means to me that they showed up. Many ask how I am. This is a question I really struggle with. There is no word or phrase to explain it, and if there was, I don't think they'd like to hear it. Hearing that another human is in pain makes one uncomfortable. Therefore, I tell them what they'd like to hear. "It's hard, but I'll pull through."
"I'm still really upset about it, but it'll all be okay." I roll with this pattern for a while. It makes things go smoothly and quickly and as painlessly as possible.

Unfortunately, people I know or that Tadashi knew well do eventually make their way to the front. Wasabi, Honey, GoGo, and Fred seem to have carpooled as they all arrive at once. Wordlessly they kneel in front of the casket one at a time, hug Aunt Cass and I firmly, and take their seats in the lines of chairs. It is a relief that they don't try to talk. Even without the emotional burden of another disheartening conversation with them, I become more emotionally unstable. Every "he's in a better place" and "stay strong" starts to seep into my hyper-stuffed brain. Suddenly I am very aware of the presence of my brother's corpse in the room, even despite the fact that I cannot see it. Aunt Cass picks up on this and tells me I can go for a quick drink.

With some color back to my face, I return to find Aunt Cass crying softly as she speaks with a young woman. Perhaps it wasn't wise to leave her alone with all these people- it was overwhelming with both of us taking it together.

"...and I know it will be hard to be down a man in the café, so I can work for you whenever you need help, okay?"

"Thanks, really, but with him off at school, we've gotten used to just the two of us anyway."

"Well..." She sighs and smiles, teary-eyed, and wraps her arms around Aunt Cass's black-clad shoulders. "I wish you the best of luck. I hope things look up soon." She walks away with no regard for me.

"Who was that?" I ask, a little haughtily.

"You'll never believe it- Tadashi's sixth grade girlfriend. She drove an hour to be here. Nice girl," she replies, dabbing at her eyes.

"Ew, Taylor? I remember hating her. Tadashi was too good for her." I scrunch up my nose. Aunt Cass tugs halfheartedly at my ear, refraining from laughter.

"Be nice. And maybe he was too good for her, but he was in sixth grade, and..." She trails off, looks at the man kneeling in prayer, and finishes in a whisper. "...and he was too good for any of this." The cheerful banter halts abruptly. Our gazes slowly turn away from each other and back to the long line of people, necks twisting with great resistance, like stone on stone.