They had written the obligatory obituary. It was short. A five minute phone call with an unidentified family member, who was, at first, very reluctant to speak to a junior level representative from the newspaper. They answered a few questions, the basic facts, no more than a few sentences long. The entire 'interview' took no longer than five minutes, and ended with “...he was a good worker...very punctual”.
That was the best they could offer. When asked if they could expand and ask a few more questions, the family member hung up. Such was the man's legacy. The burial was not well attended, as was expected, since the word did not go out regarding the event or it's timing which was vague and much too late for the eight or so may otherwise attend. It was more a function of expediency for the undertaker, but at a bargain's rate, who's to complain?
Clara tipped and sipped the milk from a cracked bowl of cereal, slurping the last of it down, but saving enough fluid to allow the crack, one last tear...to drop. It was among the few remaining items she'd encounter, with a quick thrashing through the fridge...the cabinets – the last thing edible, and once it was gone she opted to trash the meager remainder rather than pack it. The cabinets were void, almost empty with only two boxes 'todo' goods worth salvaging, and that includes 'the wormy ones' which she'd “donate to a good cause”.
She was at once saddened that these two meager boxes accounted for the man's existence, but relieved, in truth, it was all she could deal with and it would take too much of her time because at the time, she had much more immediate things to deal with.
The
funeral? It was a most minimal farewell sparsely attended. No one but
her to mind his business, pay the preacher from a meager draw, but
she expedited the ceremony in under a half hour and received her
discount. It mattered.
V
