The Funeral

Everyone knew me. Or at least they thought they did. They saw me as a happy man, living alone, focusing first on school, then on career. I was the family's golden boy, and I spent my life as so many others before me have done; waiting.

I waited till I came out of my mother. I waited till I was old enough to go to school, then I waited for school to be over. I waited for friends to arrive, I waited for friends to leave, I waited for the perfect woman, I waited to get a good job, I waited in queue to buy things whose release-date I had been waiting on. I waited on films to start in cinemas, I waited for the commercial to be over, I waited for my sister to go to sleep, I waited till the bell chimed, school was over and we got to go home. My whole life I spent waiting; for job promotions, for release dates, for things I had no idea would even happen. I waited in line to get my paychecks, then I waited in line to buy food, then waited for it to cook. I waited for things to arrive in the mail, for the movie to end, for something else to begin. That's what people do; they wait. It doesn't matter what kind of person we are; we always wait. Writers wait for inspiration, construction workers wait for the materials, office clerks wait for the papers they need. The majority of our time here on Earth isn't spent sleeping as many seem to think; it's spent waiting.

When I was 25 years old, my brother got himself a fine and pretty woman. Her name was Valerie, and she was absolutely stunning. My brother had previously found many beautiful woman, but he had never been able to keep them. I had no idea what it was he did to them that made them want to leave, and I still don't. All I know is that he didn't beat them or anything - it was more the way he was. Being a writer, he was never quite "there", if you know what I mean. Always absent, but still sitting right in front of you - when he first became fixated on an idea, he could spend entire weeks just thinking about it before he even wrote it down. And when he finally started writing, he would be gone, never even leaving his room for months. When he was finished with a book, he took two months of vacation, found himself a lady and put his mind at ease until he became fixated on another idea. His name was Robert, and this was his cycle of life.

Robert was 3 years younger than me, meaning that he was 22 when this fine and pretty woman named Valerie stepped into his life. By then he had already written five fine novels, none of them yet published. He was working on his sixth when he had to pop down to the shop for some milk. There, in the store, he met Valerie, the only woman, or other being, that made him take a pause in the middle of writing a novel. She was extraordinary, and he came home with her that instant. They spent weeks with just hugs and kisses, not taking it longer than they needed to; they were young, and they had all the time in the world.

I met Valerie at Robert's 23rd birthday. He had finally been able to publish his first book, and it had been widely praised by critics and sold in massive amounts. "A preposterous, yet unimaginable debut. Robert Erville's imagination is like none others, and his tale about sorcery vs. technology in an alternate universe is simply stunning. Characters and plot lines are easily spun, and the story brings the reader all over Erville's universe. Magnificent." read the Times' review of THE SORCERER'S LEAGUE Vol. 1. This occasion was a birthday party and a publication party at the same time. It was also the first time I met Valerie, and the first occasion I was ready for the funeral.

As I previously said, everyone at this party thought they knew me. I was the golden boy, the career-man, living happily alone. And perhaps, until this moment, I was this boy. But then, everything changed. I started being depressed. I had no idea why, but I took medications to deal with it. The doctor said it was normal, that it was nothing to worry about. Still, I worried. A lot.

After a lot of pills and thoughts, I finally traced myself to where it all started; Robert's birthday party. Immediately after, I understood two things; why I was depressed, and that no one really knew me. It was a horrible relief, understanding that your whole life is fairly empty. I understood that no one besides myself knew what it was like to be me. Sure, they had thoughts about it, but no one really knew the real me. I was manipulative, sure, but no one beside my colleagues knew that. I was able to wait horribly long if I knew something good would come out of it. And as I finally pulled myself out of depression, I understood what I had to do; wait. A very long time, probably, but that was all I had to do. I had to wait, and never anyone really know me except one; Valerie. I would be her closest friend, the one she could relate to, the one she could trust with her darkest secrets and her deepest fears, and I had to be strong for her. I had to be manipulative, make her trust me, and I always had to be ready for the funeral. Because when that finally happened, I had to make her view of me change. It would be hard, sure, but I would manage to pull it off in the end. I had an awful lot of time to ready myself. I had to make her know me, and then understand that she'd known me all wrong. And then I needed for her to open for the possibility. We had to be the truest of friends, and still know each other all wrong. It would be hard to know her. And I always needed to keep an eye out for that funeral. Because by then, it would all be too late, and I'd wonder if this ever was a thought, a plan. But deep inside of me, I would know the truth. I would know that I had only showed up at the funeral to hold her arm, and I had waited for that funeral at every occasion since Robert's 23rd birthday. "It would be hard to pull off", I thought to myself as I laid there on the bed, pulling myself out of depression and plunging further into madness.