Joe Hartzler

It was Carl’s funeral, Nanny’s husband… er, special friend. My great-grandmother, Nanny… what was her real name? Sheesh, I knew her for… 10 years… is that how old I was when Nanny died? Oh, I am a terrible person. I don’t remember how old I was. Eleven maybe. I remember when my mom got the phone call the night before my birthday, and I got so sad that I didn’t want to have a birthday at all. I ran upstairs and hid in my bed and wouldn’t talk to anyone. Nanny. That was her name. She had a German Shepherd. Anyways, I don’t think they ever really got married, Nanny and Carl. They were both real old and couldn’t go down in the basement anymore. I remember the day I discovered they had a basement at all. No one ever went down there, but it was a nice basement, aside from all the dust and red carpet. I mean, the person who lived there before these old folks, my great this and that, had obviously used that basement. A wreck room maybe.

The first time I ever saw a dead person was at Carl’s funeral. Carl, of course, was the dead person. I had seen death before, like how Nanny couldn’t go down stairs and how my Great Grandpa, John Stash, Nanny’s first husband, had to use crutches all the time because he had arthritis. But this was death in victory, the completed thought. The bucket had been kicked, and so we all gathered around to look at it. I remember almost every detail of that place, the funeral home. A few year’s ago, my uncle’s funeral was at the same funeral home, and I couldn’t believe how I remembered that place, like it was some huge part of my life.

We were playing tag outside in the parking lot after the funeral. I suppose kids are allowed to play tag at a funeral. Sure, it might be frowned on if the adults in attendance started up an impromptu game of tag, but no one minds much if kids aren’t as somber as everyone else. I think everyone was somehow comforted by the idea of us running around tagging each other.

“The kids don’t need to see this, let them play tag. Ah, look, Sarah‘s it again, isn‘t that lovely?”

“I suppose.”

Someone has to remind everyone about life. Well, we were playing tag outside, but I couldn’t get my mind off the orange carpet and high ceilings of the death room. So many flowers in that place, but still a death room — a place where live people can look at dead people. I was a live person.

Feeling itchy in my dress clothes, I orbited my grieving family, trying to match their expressions with my own. I was aware of the casket on the other side of the room, but I was embarrassed to take a good look at my dead uncle… er, person my great grandma lived with. I was afraid to look at dead Carl, like maybe someone would get wise to the idea that I was more curious than I was sad. Heck, old Carl himself might get wise. Not seeing Carl dead was going pretty well, except…

“…is Dead Carl wearing make-up? Oh, sheesh, now I’m really having a hard time not staring. Don’t think about Carl wearing make-up, don’t think about lipstick on Dead Carl, just… who put Dead Carl’s make-up on, anyway? Some guy puts make-up on dead people!? Ew. There he is, there’s the guy that put the make-up on Dead Carl. Gross. No, not gross. Don’t think “gross” at a funeral, Carl’s funeral, think about Carl. There ya go, remember how nice Carl was and how sad it is that he’s dead now. He had all those tools that you got to keep from the garage sale. A little rusty, yes, but still tools. I could build something! A fort. Already have one. A car! Yes, I’ll build a car with Carl’s tools and drive it in his honor. It will be my eulogy to him. There, that’s not gross at all. Dead Carl isn’t gross, it’s sad. It’s sad and not at all gross. And he’s peaceful… in spite of the make-up, he’s at peace.”

Well, about the time that I was getting so itchy in my clothes that I had decided to take them all off, my dad took hold of my hand, and got my older brother too. He ushered us toward that side of the room, the one I’d been taking great measures to avoid.

“No dad, don’t do it. It’s not something you should be curious about, we need to be respectful and not look at the dead person over there. We should play tag. Or build a car in Carl’s honor. Oh, hey, look at those shoes, those are really expensive looking! And there’s another pair of shoes, just as shiny! … You‘re it.”

I felt the room turn to watch us walk up there, even though it was the end of the night, and most people were leaving.

“He’s taking those boys up there to see Carl. He meant so much to those boys.”

“Ahhh, I’m going to see carl in make-up! Ahhh…what’s Carl’s last name. Carl doesn’t have a last name!! Ahh!! ”

Then, my dad stopped directly in front of the coffin. I couldn’t see my brother, but I could feel how quiet he was on the other side of my father. In fact, we were all so quiet. Carl was so quiet. He was wearing make-up and he was so quiet and still that my heart started racing. “I don’t even really know this guy. I mean, I was around this guy all the time, but I don’t know this guy. I don’t think he ever addressed me directly. He thought I was a kid and he couldn’t say “how’s the weather” to me cause kid’s don’t know. Well, I knew plenty good how the weather was, Carl, thank you very much. It was cold. It’s Ohio.

I looked up at my dad, the big red man with calluses on his hands and coarse hair — the man that could dig a hole to china, and carry four kids to bed at once. The man that drove a tractor, and could pick up a horse. He was crying. He was looking at old shriveled up dead Carl wearing make-up, and he was crying. Big wet tears welled in his strong blue eyes, and went rolling down his hard red cheeks. He let go of my hand, and wiped his eyes, cradling his jaw. He swallowed loud, and I could hear the lump in his throat. It was right wear mine was. Then, he sighed and whispered. “Man. Oh…” He swallowed again. I looked back at the body Carl had used. It was so quiet and still and empty. I looked back down at my shoes, they were leather, and I began to sob for the death of a man I barely new.