Infected

Preface

"Thank you for coming" I say for the fiftieth time this afternoon.

At this point I wasn't sure if I meant what I was saying or if it was the only way to push through the assembly line of service goers.

My father's old friend, Mr. Peterson, clears his throat before giving me his condolences, "I'm so sorry for your loss Lorelei. Your dad was so proud of you and it just breaks our hearts to see him go like this."

His wife is in shambles next to him, like most of the people who were paying respect for my father today. Mr. Peterson looked as if he was on the brink of his own tears but he didn't take his eyes off of my face. He was searching me for any sign of grieving just like everyone else that I'd talked to today. If he wanted to see me cry he was out of luck because my face had remained dry since this entire service was planned a few weeks ago.

I smile softly, perfectly hiding my annoyance at his prying demeanor, "I'm sure he's happy that you came for us."

I hug the couple and they make their way back to the pews, holding each other for emotional and physical support. I repeat the same conversation another dozen times, until the last of the procession sits down in the modest sized church we were in. I run my hands down my dark blouse, already feeling the nerves that came with the next part of the service: the piano piece that I had promised my father that I would play.

My heels echo off the high ceilings, mixing with the soft sounds of crying and muttering from everyone to my right. I walk past the casket, risking a quick glance at the still form that was resting on the soft pillows. There was only so much that the mortician could do to bring some life into my father's pale and sunken features, but I still appreciated the effort. I'd chosen the suit he'd worn for every occasion, but now it looked ill fitting, bunched up around his neck to make him seem like a child.

I take a seat at the grand piano behind the casket, shifting into the perfect position to begin playing. My hands float over the keys that wait patiently for me to press them down to form a melody. For some reason, I don't fulfill their purpose, temporarily frozen by the hushed whisper I hear directly next me, from a woman who I'd anticipated to give her two cents about how today was planned.

"I told her I could've hired a better choice for the music."

Another feminine voice tries to quiet her down, "Mama, hush"

My father's distant yet opinionated sister, Sally, and her daughter, Olivia, were the only one's from his side of the family that had come out for the funeral, and no-one had come from my mother's. Most of the people I'd spoken to today had been old colleagues and members of the various academic groups he'd been a part of. 

Sally didn't dare to visit us when her brother was going through chemotherapy but when she'd heard about his pension payout from the university he'd taught at she miraculously decided to came out of the woodworks and ask me how much I was receiving as his beneficiary. Olivia, who I'd always called Liv just as she would call me Elle, had been just as torn about my dad's death as I'd expected, seeing how he was more of a father to her than the drunken one she'd have to face every time she had to leave our home.

I look at my cousin, the last true family member that I had. She's shaking like a leaf from my aunt's commentary and the fear of telling her to be quiet was enough to bring forth tears. I shake my head and pay attention to the task ahead, adjusting myself again. After this small concerto I would be done with my aunt for as long as I pleased. 

The keys chime through the church as I strike the first notes. Slowly I relax and think about the importance of the music I'd chosen for my father.

This was his favorite song I would play, which was the same as what my mother would hum to help me sleep. She wasn't here but my dad knew the piano would be her symbol, for both of us. I reach the chorus, instinctually breathing to keep pace with the tempo of the music. It was light hearted song and definitely didn't fit the setting but it the only thing that my father was adamant about.

I hear someone shift in the old pews, squeaking around from the distracting sounds of Liv's crying and my aunt's complaining. I knew this had to be as awkward for them as it was for me. Liv's boyfriend, Eric, or at least I think that was his name, was trying to console her while her mother was still oblivious to what her words were doing to the somber mood of my piece.

I'm at the tail end of the sheet music in front of me, finally clearing the most complex notes, which evoke a bright melody. My dad had always felt like this was written to relieve any sad situation. Slow waves of minor keys shifted beautifully into a hopeful crescendo. It ends in a high ring that echoes through the church. My fingers fall from the smooth keys and rest on my lap, clenched into tight fists that leave my knuckles white.

I stay on the bench listening to the funeral director finish off the program through a muffled daze. My father's face flashes over my mind like a projector his smile still as brilliant as the day I saw it last. but now that smile was gone, and the song couldn't fix the pain that it'd left behind, or the people who would miss him until the end of their own fragile lives.

I didn't cry for him. Or for myself. My face remained lifeless and lost the rest of the day, barely forming sentences of gratitude to whoever followed us to the cemetery. My aunt left with harsh criticisms while her daughter sobbed from embarrassment and grief.

We would be leaving soon, starting our careers together as new graduates in a state far away from where we'd grown up. While she was happy and excited to abandon her mother, I could only feel guilt towards my own.

That night I cried myself to sleep, dreaming that one day we would find a family that loved us as much as my parents had. 

~*~

Elle's Piano Piece 

Beethoven - "Waldstein" Piano Sonata No. 21 in C Major, Op. 53 - I

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5q72vXcAW0o