Cemetery Street

My eyes waded through the sea of mourners. Across the center aisle, a few pews back I discovered Jenny Wade glaring at me. "What do you see in that little bitch?" she once asked. Her glower repeated the question. "She's a dead end. Can't you see that? She's going to break your heart."

You happy now? I scolded Jenny with arid eyes. Are we even? Do you like seeing my heart broke? I continued in a tearless stare. Shannie didn't break my heart, Count did! Jenny's glare intensified with the organ. Up yours Jenny, said my weakening stare. Quit staring at me! It pleaded. You jealous bitch, stop it! Quit Staring! I turned away. I wished this was her funeral.

"At least she's honest," Count reminded me from somewhere within my heart. "You got to give her that much." One always knew where they stood with Jenny Wade.

The organ lost its bluster. The lingering notes faded into the brownstones. In near unison the congregation sat with a thump. A nervous cough escorted the heavy jowled minister past the altar. From the pulpit he looked approvingly over the packed church.

"I swear he wanted to smile," Shannie said after the service. "He probably never saw his church so crowded. Probably praying for residual memberships - probably wished he passed the plate." When I told her Catholics pass the plate she answered, "Whatever!"

The good reverend began his reading, something from the book of lamentations. His voice boomed, thick and powerful, full of conviction. A short strand of hair dangled from his dying widow's peak, leaning over his high forehead like a broken tree over a cliff. I stared at the reverend, trying to listen. I lacked his conviction. His voice faded, his enunciated words muddled - a victim of my numbness. For all I know the reverend could have been reading from the phone book. I was too busy treading a sea of disbelieve. Count couldn't be dead.

"Count's not dead, is he?" I questioned God. "It's a big joke, right? How about a trade. I'll take Count back and you can have Steve Lucas, Jenny Wade, hell, take my mother too; a three for one deal!" I glanced about, unsure if anyone heard my thoughts.

When I was confident no one heard me, I raised my head. I looked at Count, the sun danced atop his casket. Like the rest of the country it seemed to be celebrating. A war may have been won, I told the dancing sun, but Shannie and I feel vanquished. Shannie glanced up, her bloodshot eyes meeting mine.