Tears of a Clown

I make plans to meet Julie for the viewing. We get there as it is starting. There is already no place to park in the funeral home lot and we are cruising the side streets and main drags for two spots reasonably near each other. As if it matters where we park.

The entire free world has poured into the funeral home to pay their respects. Julie and I recognize an occasional face, but there are hundreds and hundreds of moist, drawn, saddened faces that pass us as we make our way through the lines that snakes this way and that through every room in the home. I remember when we buried Toni's Dad. The viewing was here , too. And I remember there was wine. I am secretly wondering if a glass of something soothing will be politely placed into my hand by an austere gentlemen with a serious but kind face. And wondering if I can scam Julie's too since she doesn't drink. Her nerves will have to fend for themselves.

And Jukie and I begin to catch up on all the mayhem that has come to pass since we last saw each other, which may have actually been at Toni's Dad's viewing. I had been with J. then. I whole relationship has come and gone since then. Geez. I better become a better pen pal.

Jukie and I catch up on the usual top topics. What's going on at work (nothing good). How the kids are (a little of this and a little of that and a few adorable photos). Updates on the rest of the family inclusive of sibs and pets. (Where to begin?) And then turn to small talk. Memories mostly. Which turns to funny stories (Did I mention Julie is our crazy friend?) and eventually escalates into full on irreverence.

She reminds me of the time I got caught at a sales meeting having sketched a none-too-flattering pen and ink drawing, complete with shading effects, of our Service Manager's very unfortunately shaped legs protruding from an equally unflattering skirt, crossed at their thick, shapeless ankles under the board table.

I ask her to clarify for me if she actually did what she said she'd do when she found out her live-in boyfriend was cheating on her or if I'd just made that up.  She says, no, she did indeed get out her sewing machine and sew over, hundreds of times, a random shirt sleeve, or pant pocket, or suit jacket sleeve lining, or pant leg (invisibly at the cuff of course) before chucking all of his precious things onto the lawn and changing the locks. The sewing was intended to be the reminder that just kept popping up for years to come.

At one point I am laughing so hard I need to sit down on one of the high backed velvet chairs intended for those who are overcome with grief, just to keep from peeing.

We are getting an occasional hairy eyeball from the overwhelmed in the crowd and when we get to the flowers and the casket, dim the lights on the comedy show.

The messages from the friends and family on the arrangements are lovely. Layla's casket is closed. Evidently she had once said she did not want to be remembered dead. Instead, next to the casket, as we approach Niles, is the beautiful black and white photo Lyla had sent to Toni the night before she'd died. Smiling beautifully, dancing at a wedding, a much better parting image.

We somehow make it through the line of bereaved - Niles, Toni's Mom, The children and grands, to Toni. She'd heard the ruckus we had been making. She said it made her smile for the first time in days. Lyla would have wanted to hear that there was laughter at her wake.

Julie and I go out to a local place for beer (me) and coffee (her) and resume or story telling. We are again the loudest people in the place. We have caught up completely, as old friends do, and are ready, we think, to face the funeral.