Friends Down Low (ONC2022)

Chapter 1 - Closed Casket

Thirty-five chairs.

Five rows of seven each, lined up to face the coffin.

All empty.

The only thing more profound than the silence was the oppressive loneliness. It made me imagine no one showing up for my funeral, whenever that day may come. No one loving me enough to attend, let alone weep over me. No one even disliking me enough to show up only to gloat. No one cared, one way or another. I found it depressing—this universal apathy that enveloped the life of my departed uncle, Simon Tuttle.

My sympathy, however, was as paper-thin as it was short-lived. I hadn't seen my uncle in almost twenty years. The only reason I attended at all, was that my mother had passed on several years prior, and I knew that she would have wanted me to pay respects on her behalf, despite the distance between the siblings. Although, now I wondered what the point was. There would be no passing of respect between the dead—just me standing next to the closed casket of a man I barely knew.

The coffin was of the Old West Toe-Pincher design—narrow at the feet and boxy at the top, similar to the ones that dead outlaws would be propped up in for grainy black and white photos. The wood swirled with orange and red stain, almost as if it had been smeared with blood and left to dry, and subsequently fade, in the sun. On the side, securing the lid shut, was a golden hinge. I hadn't been to many funerals, but it struck me as an odd, if artistic, design.

"Hi."

I jumped at the sudden breaking of the silence and spun to see a young woman standing in the doorway. She wore a long black dress and heels, but both her bare arms displayed sleeves of colorful tattoos. "Hello."

"You're Finnigan Walsh?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"You signed the guest book in the lobby. Sorry that I missed you coming in and didn't greet you properly. I'm Amelia Bancroft." She extended a hand.

I shook it as I remembered the significance of her name. "You sent me the letter informing me of Uncle Simon's death, right?"

"I did."

"So, you work here?"

"Director."

"No kidding. You seem kind of young to be running a funeral home."

She smiled. "I get that a lot." She looked to the coffin. "I just wanted to thank you for coming. Your uncle thought highly of you. He asked me to write to you immediately in the event of his passing."

This information surprised me. The man hadn't known me at all. "I wonder why he didn't bother to reach out before?"

"Simon was a bit of a recluse. Very private." She made a panoramic turn of the empty room as if to illustrate her point. "Maybe that's why he reached out to you—to have at least one blood relative here to see him off."

That statement made more sense than believing Uncle Simon had some sort of long-lost affection for me. Then it struck me that if I was the only relative involved... "Who's handling the arrangements?"

"Your uncle preplanned everything. All he asked was that you attend the viewing and the funeral."

"Preplanned? Was he sick? Is that why the casket is closed? Did he look...bad?" I'd been curious about the sealed coffin since I'd walked in.

"Not at all. He looked great for his age. Very handsome. As to what he passed away from, I honestly don't know. Simon seemed to know he had very little time left, but he specifically requested no autopsy and a closed casket."

"That's weird." My gaze drifted back to the coffin. "Is that weird? It's weird, right?"

Amelia gave me a sad smile. It seemed like a well-rehearsed expression used for the benefit of mourners. "I just wanted to express my condolences. I'll let you pay your respects. Your uncle left an envelope for me to give you at the conclusion of the viewing period." She gave a bow of her head towards the coffin and left the room.