Full Couch

Air passed through the vents making the hot August day a bit cooler on the inside at least. About four or five people had gathered at the sign-in book. The family had not yet arrived. Smith Cunliffe had already signed it. He was now at the casket. It was a full couch meaning it showed the entire remains of the dead.

He didn’t even know Millicent Billings. He just knew that his morbid curiosity had brought him to her funeral.

He looked down at the corpse. He had begun a rating system ever since he frequented these occasions. The funeral director(s) did about a seven out of ten with ten being the best. He peered at pictures of her dancing, cooking, and holding her grandchildren. So much vitality captured in photos hid the truth behind the current state of the subject.

He always wore a suit and tie to not stand out much from anyone. Often, Cunliffe avoided meeting the family. His shyness was not the reason. The interaction might lead to his being asked too many questions. Discretion remained his modus operandi.

Once, he had been confronted by an uncle of a deceased young man. His Wilmington, Delaware murder had not been solved. The uncle asked, “Can I help you with something?”

“No,” Cunliffe replied. “I just wanted to pay my respects.”

The uncle looked at him cross, then found his seat. Cunliffe tried his best to weave together tales of how he never knew the person who died. With all of the stories he told, he tried to inject the knowledge he had gleaned from reading the obituary column.

Now, as he stood before Mrs. Billings, he smirked a bit.

“Hi, Cunliffe? Smith Cunliffe?” A woman’s voice fell on his ear.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“Of course, we went to college together. Remember me? I’m Janney Cordova.” Cunliffe laughed lightly. “Of course…Janney. How are you?”

“I was better until I learned that my cousin Milly died.” Janney looked at her cousin’s corpse. Not a tear fell but she did get choked up a bit. She then turned to Smith.

“You must’ve heard me speak about her before after class in my dorm. We could talk for hours. You had to have remembered….”

Smith looked down at his shoes. “Can’t say that I recall. I just saw her name in the paper and that the funeral would be held here.”

“You’re a funeral crasher or something?” she asked, agitation bubbling up in her voice.

“You can call it that. I see it as a way of peeking into the inevitable. I don’t get kicks from it. Don’t get me wrong. But there is something cathartic and in the original sense of the word pathetic about it.”

“Oh. I see,” Janney said.

“Again, I’m not some weirdo looking to see a dead body. I appreciate the togetherness of the families. I appreciate the presentation of the body and everything that goes with it. The pageantry, the solemnity, the respect. I seek out all of those things by frequenting funerals.”

“No, I get it. You’re trying to get a glimpse into a life without having had any connection to the deceased. I can see the honor in that. You’re searching….”

“Searching for what exactly?”

“You’re in search of your own sense of reality. You know we’re all going to go one of these days and you’re confronting that reality. You’re moving boldly through time to discover just how much it means to live. To be in ecstasy and enjoy each single second that is written into our personal storybooks.”

Cunliffe stood straight up and exhaled. “Yes, that is all true. I make it my mission to attend at least ten funerals a month. It is a wonder that people say they’re afraid of the dead. It’s completely ironic. My father always told me ‘it’s not the dead you have to worry about, but the living.’”

“That’s a sage maxim,” she replied. “Are you married? Any kids?”

“No and no.”

“I have two boys. They’re both in high school. Military academy, actually. They couldn’t be granted leave to attend this so I’m here in their stead.”