The Book of Dan (working title) Part 1

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

Dan took the handshake and managed that kind-of-smile that we've all seen. It's the smile that says "I'm not really happy, but thanks anyway."

This whole thing was too much. This was smothering. And besides, it was just plain stupid. Dan wasn't dead, his sister was. Sure, he "lost" his sister, if one wanted to look at it that way. He supposed one could feel sorry for Dan. But Dan didn't. Dan was angry. He was angry at his sister for dying. He was angry at all these people for showing up to the funeral. He was angry at every asshole who felt the need to tell him that they were "sorry." Don't be, he thought. Don't be sorry for me.

He couldn't help but think how selfish they all were. Were the well-wishes really to make Dan feel better, or to make the wisher feel better? It makes them feel connected to the griever, like they're helping in some way, but it leaves the griever feeling somehow like he owes them something in return, even if it is just a kind-of-smile. He hated feeling obligated. He hated all of this. Most of all he hated any occasion that required him to shave and wear a goddamn necktie.

And this place wasn't helping either. If funeral homes are meant to make you feel more at ease, they miss the mark quite badly. All this stained glass, polished hardwood and fake flower garbage was worse than a big neon sign flashing "DEATH DEATH DEATH."

Jenn was gone. She was really gone. Dan still had to keep saying it to believe it. He still hadn't cried yet. He wasn't sure if he couldn't cry, or if he just didn't want to. Either way, the riverbed that people were expecting was dry so far.

After all the guests arrived they all made their way into the parlor and to their seats to listen to eulogies. Dan's father, Paul, went first. This was the first time he and Dan were in the same room for nearly ten years, and Dan couldn't help but think it was still too soon. He also thought about the door, and how easily he could walk out of it.

"Thank you everyone so much for coming out to remember my daughter today." There was a pause that was a little too long as Paul quickly raised a hand to cover his mouth, as though a violent river rapid might tumble out of it if he wasn't careful.

"I think we can all agree on a few things about Jennifer. We can all agree that her name was Jennifer, or Jenn, but she did not like Jenny. If you called her that once you were wise never to do it again."

Nice one, pops. Start with a joke, get a little teary-eyed chuckle from the crowd. But here it comes, Dan thought. Here comes the bullshit. Lay it on thick, pops.

"Jenn was a caring soul, she would give anyone the shirt off her back, if--"

Dan abruptly stood up, his chair making a terribly loud groan as it slid across the hardwood floor of the funeral home. Paul's speech stopped, as he and his son locked eyes for a painfully long moment. Everyone in the room began to fidget and squirm as they looked back and forth between the two, sensing the drama that was bubbling just under the surface. For a long moment Dan looked as though he might say something. He felt that way too. But in the end he thought better of it, and headed for that door he had noticed earlier.

...more to come.