Charlie's Funeral

The casket was elaborate. It was shiny and colorful just like the man thought to be inside. Hundreds had shown up. I was surprised by how many people he knew. He was a natural partier. He was hip and cool…charisma seemed to flow through his veins – when he was alive at least. He grew up on a houseboat off the bayou in the deep south where time seemed to stand still. He was a classic southern man raised in the circles of Cajuns and Natives. A great storyteller, a weaver of dreams. Always weaving chaos and fun. He told stories ranging from the lurking mysteries of the Louisiana swamp monster to tales about his friend Geronimo and the black panther movement in southern Louisiana. His character steeped in the unknown; yet always full of excitement would be missed among the living.

He was my fun and charming older half-brother who came to be most unexpectedly. As kids, just because one was half didn’t mean he was anything less. We treated him as whole. He was much older than all of us and had been raised as an only child in a completely different state. My mother had never spoke of having any other children. Right before he came, she sat me and my brothers down and explained how he came to be our brother. She said that she had him when she was much younger and could not care for him. A friend offered to raise him, and she agreed. Mother moved East, married, and began a family -the proper way. It was now time for us to meet our brother. My mother made sure to let us know there would be no other questions. This was the all the information we were entitled to as children.

It was the 70’s when we laid eyes on our older brother, Charlie, it was like seeing a movie star. He wore platform shoes and bellbottoms jeans. He was tall and slender and had a cigarette hanging out his mouth. He was easy going and someone to be respected. He had graduated high school and my mother threw him a party. That was our first time meeting him. Watching my mother’s face, I could tell the meeting was bittersweet. She had a look of anguish and pride as she stared on. He left soon after, for a while.

When he returned, I was much older and so was he. He was my family, although we didn’t grow up together. He came home sick. He always preferred liquor and could handle quite large amounts. It was almost as if he had hit rock bottom upon his return. His quests were always private, and his news was always surprising. We grew close raising my children and allowing Charlie to heal. I was in the process of healing myself, so focusing elsewhere proved to be helpful. Over the years I would find out little bits of information, although things didn’t seem to ever add up---I would always love my brother. We would sit on the porch sipping bourbon and smoking cigarettes reminiscing about childhood and filling each other in on stories we thought were important. We would laugh about the secrets and dysfunction of our family to which I would often proclaim, “Charlie, I was just born into this family…. you don’t get to choose ‘em.” Those were long nights, long nights of love and laughter. He was gruff and loud. He would always prefer his drink straight – never mixed – not even ice. Knowing that he was a captain made him even more mysterious. He would drive barges across the seas to foreign countries. He was smart; he had to have been to hold a job in that regard. He carried a black businessman’s briefcase with a combination lock on it. He wore suits and was always sharp. He had his faults- as everyone did. I understood; he was a sailor at heart. Some would even call him a misogynist. It seemed his thirst for love could not be quenched by one woman alone. Although, he did try. He was very active in the church, and let’s just say- he was not shy of social circles. Charlie had his ways, but from my point of view…he seemed…. powerful.

Yes, Charlie was sharp and very outgoing…But today- He was casket sharp. That is what everyone thought. But we wouldn’t get to see Charlie one last time. His image would have to live on in our forever fading memories.

His casket was adorned in the fanciest flowers and made of beautiful wood. Standing there, staring, frozen…I felt numb. It felt as if we had just met not so long ago. But how did his life end so quickly? How did this come to be? Questions were always present from the beginning…but answers would be scarce.

As time passed and fond memories formed over the years, things changed…they always did. Change was inevitable, no matter how comfortable we are in our current situations.

Drifting into thoughts about him, I remembered he was color blind, and it was difficult for him to see. He struggled to read his mail. Squinting far away, and then up close. He kept a small black notebook filled with important information for his “friends” in different towns and areas. The notebook also held banking information and day to day activities. Appointments and such along with addresses, phone numbers and sometimes even pictures. This book was important to him. It was kept tucked into a pocket inside of the black briefcase. When he was with me, I helped him out. I had the code to his briefcase. I had access to the black notebook.

Charlie would stay nowhere for long. Soon, he recovered and returned to work full time. Our late-night laughs lessened. He would be gone for months at a time, but he always came back. When he returned, we partied. It was the good ole days for us. Until one day, he said he would be staying in the islands for a while. He had met a woman. This was only months before I find myself here. Before I find myself knowing that I would not see Charlie again. It had been almost a year since he returned.

Looking across the procession, I see my mother. The emotion on her face I cannot read, but I feel her pain. Life had always seemed to throw curve balls her way. I felt pity for her. I had to let her agony rest.

As of yesterday evening, Charlie’s body had yet to come in. The body had been delayed again. I knew about Charlie’s son, Rob, but not everyone in the family knew about him being a father so young. It was kept quiet, and the child’s mother moved him far away. It hurt Charlie that he wasn’t given the chance to parent. Funny how same things happen in generations within a family. Rob was a young adult now. He was on his way to the South to attend the funeral. The body had still not come in. The funeral was Saturday – tomorrow afternoon. My mother spoke to the director of the funeral home and decided to go along with the funeral, a closed casket funeral – due to there being a lack of a body apparently due to customs. We were not sure what to expect because we knew no one who ever needed to get a body from customs. As it was, Charlie died on the seas of the Mediterranean due to a fatal heart attack. He left behind, an adult son – Rob; and an unborn son with a new wife – Maria. This part was new news to everyone except my mom, brothers, and myself. No one knew of this marriage yet. The new couple wanted to have another ceremony here. Because Charlie’s marriage was so fresh, the paperwork had not been finalized just yet, so his belongings were mailed to the last known address, which was my home. All of his things arrived the week before the funeral. I see the tattered briefcase as soon as it came in. Grand artifacts, plenty of laptops and computers arrived in boxes all by mail. Late one night, I finally opened the briefcase. Inside was the black notebook along with a large wad of cash stuffed into a crown royal velvet bag. There were papers. Papers stating Rob as the sole beneficiary. I looked at it. I stared at it. I imagined my brother’s hands rummaging through his belongings. I hoped he didn’t feel despair. I hope he knew we loved him.

Later on, I unfolded the wad of money. It was so much. There were large bills, small bills, old crumply bills and crisp new ones. All in the amount of $20,000 big ones. It looked as if he had been stashing money overtime. Opening the pages of his black notebook, I see his scribbled writing on several pages. On the last page I see my name. Thinking that perhaps he had left me a note, I read on only to find one word—thanks. My quick wit led me to believe that perhaps Charlie meant this for me. I said nothing and removed the notebook along with the money from the briefcase.

Maria and Rob met at my home after the service for the first time. We all visited and shared stories. I showed Rob all of his father’s belongings. The next day while most people were preparing to hit the road, I got a call from the funeral home telling me that Charlie’s remains had come in. I made plans to identify the body and so on first thing in the morning. Rob came over and I explained to him what happened. Rob took all of Charlie’s belongings that night. We planned to meet up at the funeral home in the morning.

As I walked into the funeral home, I was met by puzzled looks from staff. Shrugging it off, I stated my reason for coming. Rob was not there, and I was told that he had come and signed papers stating the only person allowed to see Charlie’s remains would be Maria, and he left. I was told I would need to leave. As I left, I wondered why the sudden change of attitude. What did all this mean? I immediately drove to Rob’s hotel. I called his phone. No answer at the hotel, no answer on the phone. I tried Maria. Same thing. They had both taken a plane back home this morning. I was wondering what was going on. Weeks would turn into months, and months into years. I would never hear from them again.

I have wondered if Rob and Charlie’s wife had gotten the beneficiary information sorted out. I have often thought about that empty casket, wondering if Charlie was clever enough to pull off a scheme that would make him disappear. I have even thought I seen Charlie one day. Watching my sad attempt to mow my own yard. As I gazed across the highway for a while, the car - suddenly driving off in the opposite direction. Could that have been Charlie? I am not the only one in the family who claims they seen him. It was in the same year too. Whether Charlie is still alive or not, I know in his heart he did everything out of love. I felt as if he left me that money on purpose. At times, I think I feel his spirit – hoping to see him again one day – and knowing in my heart that I would not get to see that grand bro of mine telling his stories and captivating the people around him. May his energy live on.