The Thought Processes
He tried to pick up his feet and move but, was stuck in place.
No obstruction was around him nor any sort of blockade to stop him from proceeding leaving a mass question of wonder of “what was truly blocking him?”
He looks around the venue and the other people nearby. The friends and family alike that had gathered there on that somber day paying their respects to the same person he was looking upon now. His answer. His reason of being stuck there in place almost as if he was stuck in time looking, upon the opened casket with a heavy heart.
Tears had started to roll down his cheeks as he was reminded once more of that famous answer to his question remising, over the good times of the departed and the personal value of how they will never be made again. I suppose that was a too natural thing to do in these moments as, a lot deal with death way differently than most from culture to culture. What makes it hurt though is the roles of the person who had died is what stings the most.
The Roles that play pivotal parts to people’s life stories that would make and break someone.
As such case when it comes to this statue, gazing upon his grandmother asleep in the “forever bed” that was chosen by his father and uncle and the mention of his beloved cousin “Amy.” A cousin he has had a rough history with but, as time would be the perfect healer to a lot of the inner demonic adolescent things, we all, fall victim to-he simply tolerates her.
He looks into the forever closed eyes and the forever closed lips with the signature decorated red lipstick they had put on her. Her golden glasses under the current lighting made her look like a goddess being reborn into her next life-this brought him peace (in a sense) as when she was fully living, she indeed had a rough go of keeping her divine character intact. It was not her fault at all due to “Time” once again coming in showing its other side.
From Healer.
To Hurt Dealer.
Tears. The customary decoration again to go along with the reason of being so still. Remembering the memories inside his mind of her when he was little when she comforted him from nightmares he would awake from, to the favorite dinners she used to always cater to him directly with her old worn-out hands braving, the heat of the creation. Her role in his life was a best-friend, as well as Grandmother. A serious table to balance upon but, to his benefit of peace he was feeling he was glad she lasted 90 years. As he was 34.
A slight commotion from behind him made him turn back dramatically.
As from the stir of people his heart sank like an anchor as he saw a group of people restrain a drunken best friend of his.
A best friend that knew his family and especially the deceased grandmother all to well.
The statue finally moved and ran through the barricades to reach him.
“Hey hey...relax he is fine. He is fine” the go-to lines he was saying to the defensive linemen who looked at him then back at the disorderly man who looked at the bodyguards himself. Giving the impression of a stalemate for the implication of the setting.
Everyone steps back and disperse accordingly.
The two men were now alone as they looked at each other with hurt eyes.
“Is she-she in there?”
“Kevin-you got to go man your plastered”
“Brandon I am not leaving. (sniffs) your grandma has done Soo much for me then my own family. She was better than my own mom...”
The last word echoed through the front foyer of the funeral home that grabbed the surrounding eyes attention. Some from shock others that seemed to have heard “Kevins” drunken hurt the absolute wrong way. As from the civility that was surrounding the two best friends four individuals had stepped out of the crowds to confront the drunkard.
Placing Brandon in a predicament seeing that the four people was in fact his siblings and father.
Who he and himself alone had attracted the attention of the arrangement like a balloon going to space.
“Kevin Maynard- what in the hell are you doing here?”
“Mr. Stentor. I am sorry I just wanted to be here I do not mean any harm. I”
“Stop talking. Just stop my mother died, ok? My older brother and niece are in the next room and frankly I do not need any of this shit”
He then looked over to his middle child with disgust and zero understanding.
“We are going to talk later...”
As it seemed he was hinting of a bigger story and bigger reason at play that he did not want to discuss fully now. Leaving the room post haste with a slow teary smile retreating to his family in morning. Leaving his older brothers surrounding Kevin and their little brother Brandon.
Brandon took a deep inhale accordingly to the body language his three gargantuan brothers was giving. As it was his destined luck to befriend the one person that all three of his siblings equally hated together for most of his life.
Now, fueled by even greater purpose of hate and anger. As from the center (where Brandons oldest brother was.) “Big Barry Stentor” cracked his knuckles in the act that was to come.
Brandon stepped in front of Kevin who sensed it to, as he tried to brace himself to defend himself (when it was necessary)
“Barry come on. Brett talk to him please...”
“Naw I am good. This dude going to need humbling”
The next older brother starts to follow suit.
Brandons only hope was the youngest of his older brothers Bradly.
He looked silent and still like a shadow in the overbearing tree. The tree that was Both Big Barry and Bretts shadow.
“BRAD...COME ON!!!”
But upon that last few words spoken. The fight had commenced.
