Member-only story
Moving On
But where? I guess I’ll know soon enough
I’m in a large, sterile room—not like a hospital but sterile as in the absence of anything. There are square, shiny black tiles on the floor, and what looks like substantial stainless steel cabinets without handles line the walls.
Two minutes later, a great door opens. Beyond it are a handful of people, a pulpit, and a coffin. The coffin is on a stainless steel gurney before the pulpit.
A priest is standing behind the pulpit. He is looking down at the coffin. He speaks impersonal words so often that they have lost meaning to him. He doesn’t hide this very well.
The few people in attendance appear relaxed. It is as if they have pockets containing different expressions or emotions. Depending on the situation, they reach into the appropriate pocket and pull out their mask.
Today’s expressions seemed marked with sadness, but as I look closer, I see hints that someone has a mask more of fear than sadness. Or maybe I see an unavoidable reality slipping out from behind the masks.
The priest finishes, and another man steps up to the pulpit. I recognize
him as my dead father. Well, this should be interesting. He looks down, apparently in sorrow, but when he looks up and opens his eyes, I see nothing there — empty sockets, personal black…
