Nairobi Dreaming - Complete!

Chapter 25: Burning Money

We pick up Caterina directly from the airport. She does not look like she took a red eye to get here. Her skin is dewy-perfect, her honey-blonde hair pulled back into a sleek chignon. I want to ask how she did it but the thought dissolves. I find driving takes up most of my limited headspace. The rest of it is all filled with dark, gaping wonder at what we are about to do.

Kay shouldn't be dead. She was too young. It was too sudden. It was totally avoidable.

We chatter a lot along the way there. We say fragments and versions of these things. We also talk about banalities. The food on the plane. The fact that Caterina's plane landed ahead of schedule.

Death is strange this way. In the curated movie version of life characters never have time to talk about these boring everyday realities on their way to a funeral. You get the impression, watching them, that when someone dies everything else fades away instead of persisting, stubbornly, in the foreground. You never get to see the mandatory small talk or watch the character numbly brush their teeth and then take a shit. Instead, you are treated to blue tinted filters, an appropriately rainy day and poignant grief condensed into a few convenient minutes.

You get to feel sad, but just briefly. Just long enough to know you can feel that way, that you are alive, but not a bit more. You do not experience anything that could turn into numb, repetitive reality. Nothing that you might have to endure for hours, days, weeks, months, years. You get up off the couch, you leave the theatre and it is over.

Reality resumes.

It isn't rainy today and I really wish it was. In fact, there isn't a cloud in the sky. It is blindingly, painfully sunny.

When we get to the funeral home the walls reflect the sun in a way that makes me squint, even with sunglasses on. It is like getting hit in the eyes with a laser beam. But then I adjust and what I see is a white wood panelled house with narrow columns, a slate gray roof and very manicured hedges. It is quaint and its large parking lot is completely packed.

James rubs my back, leans forward to look at me in the eyes. "You okay?" He asks.

I shrug. "Not really."

"Right," He says. Caterina says something too, something sweet and gentle but I don't really hear it. I am folding into myself and though I know it is happening I don't really stop it.

The problem persists when I get inside. The funeral home is packed. I see a lot of familiar faces but I don't feel inclined to say hello. This includes John, Kay's ex-boyfriend, a preppy steely gray eyed sporty type who likes to tie sweaters over his shoulders. Today, he is wearing a black suit and tie. There are dark slashes under his eyes and his thick hair, normally contained by an over application of styling products, is messy. He sees me, starts to wave, but then stops. I remember that car ride with James and Kwame where Kay said he punched her in the face during their fight. I realize I forgot how big he was. He's well over six feet, broad shouldered, muscular, with hands like baseball gloves. I assume I am giving him some kind of look, the kind that says I'm not interested in mourning together because after he stops his wave he turns around, his back to me and wraps an arm around the waist of a tiny blonde.

I am only surprised for a second and then I put him in the context of my memories.

When Kay first met him she was dating someone else and I recall she described him as "trading up". He was better looking and richer than the previous man but his personality was, in my opinion, less well formed. I knew he liked participating in sports, watching sports, taking nutritional supplements and working in finance but that was about it. Whenever people, including Kay, talked about anything else his eyes would glaze over.