Fermata
Hi again. I know my last submission was utter shit, so I got rid of it. This one is a little better. Again, not really furry, but... if you don't want to read it, then I won't get upset if you just don't read it. I'm thinking about picking up writing again, because I took a long break from it and I kind of miss it. This is a pretty old piece, but I thought I would put it up anyways. If you feel like leaving feedback, then feel free to. I like hearing from you guys. Even the trolls. They're pretty funny. So, purely for your enjoyment, I give you...
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Fermata
The congregation fell silent as the organ began playing a somber dirge. It seemed to Bert that the dust shaken out of the brass columns settled over the hand-carved pews and the musty, cushioned choir chairs like a blanket of steel. The weight of it pushed every mourner and well-wisher's head down to the ground. Every attendee had a polite pout on their faces, dutifully respecting Connor Connelly's memory.
The only people who seemed to have a shred of dignity in the entire church were the remaining Connelly's. Mr. and Mrs. Connelly were greeting the last stragglers with bright, chipper smiles. Bert chuckled to himself as he turned back around in his seat to face the majestically simple coffin on the pedestal at the front of the church. It was a plain oak casket with rounded edges and brass handles. The only decoration was a small inscription on the edge of the casket facing the congregation. It read:
May the road rise up to meet you,
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
- Anonymous
As Mr. and Mrs. Connelly took their seats the organ music stopped abruptly. In its place a guitar strummed an up-tempo anthem, and a raspy voice began singing "Fuck the pricks and wankers of the world, who needs 'em? Who needs 'em? The pigs in office with fingers curled 'round our throats, who needs 'em? Let's get fucked up, drown this town in our dust. There's better men to be had than your soddy cuss. You're either with us now or you ain't worth the fuss. All you gotta do is hop on the rebel bus." The song went on to mention how the bus ran on pot and love, and would "splatter the blood of any fuckers who stand in the way."
Connor's kind of song... thought Bert as a wide smirk cracked across his face and a twinkle of laughter sparkled in his eyes. He admired the looks of shock and disgust on the faces of mourners sitting in the pews towards the back of the church, and inwardly encouraged and applauded the people in the front who were desperately trying to control their sniggers and giggles.
As the song ended with a loud war cry and a barrage of hard, crooked squeals from the guitar, the first three rows of the church erupted in roar of applause and cheers.
The reverend jumped onto the elevated stage and smiled out at the divided audience. "Hello everyone, and welcome to St. Patrick Church. We gather here today to celebrate the life of our town's favorite little git, Connor Connelly." A chorus of gasps echoed off the rafters, and Mrs. Henderson from down the lane fell out of her chair.
"Hey Mick," said Benny Creel with a soft intensity as he put a potato on the lunch table in front of Connor. "Go back to Ireland."
Connor, in one swift, flowing motion, jumped up from his seat, relieved Benny's feet of the pressure of standing on the ground by lifting him by his shirt collar with one hand, and knocked his front two teeth in with the other. Before the lunch lady even knew anything had happened Connor was safely seated at the table again, peeling the potato with his fingernail and dropping the leftovers onto Benny's unconscious body.
Everyone who had seen the event transpire gave a loud cheer; Benny was well known throughout the school for his less-than-pure antics.
I didn't join in, I just stared in wonder. Connor had never displayed much love for his roots, other than the occasional slang term or ethnic punk song, which I had always figured he had just pretended to like to get attention from everyone else.
When the lunch lady arrived to confront Connor, he didn't even turn around. The potato shavings littered the floor, and Connor's hand was already beginning to swell from the impact with Benny's plump cheek and the hard skull beneath it, but he acted as if nothing had happened.
"What happened here?" demanded the lunch lady.
Connor spoke calmly and innocently. "Nothing ma'am. We were just working on a science project and I guess my friend Benny here must've slipped on my mess. It was a terrible accident, wasn't it, Bert?" he asked as he turned to me.
"Yeah," I said, trying my best to hide my smirk. "He slipped..."
Reverend Thomas, unfazed by all the commotion from the congregation, continued with a cheerful air, "Before we dive into the more boring aspects of this whole shindig, such as sharing sob stories about how wonderful Connor could have been, or confessing publicly how much Connor meant to the community, some of his friends have asked if they can explain a bit about Connor's true nature." There was a sudden scuffling of feet as several boys raced to get to the podium first, all of them grinning with the innocence of a conman in a beggar's clothes.
Tommy Fritz won the race and tore the handheld microphone from its stand on the podium, almost knocking the reverend into the coffin. The whole crowd of boys filled in behind Tommy, snorting and chortling at the exasperated crowd. "Well, with all due respect and everything like that, we all just figured that you all don't know Connor like we do. I mean, I'll bet most of you think he's a pretty great kid, mowin' people's lawns for free and sellin' popcorn with the boy scouts and all that. Don't get me wrong, Connor was a great guy, probably better than all the rest of us up here combined, but he wasn't great in the sense that you all are thinking. So, with your permission, Mr. and Mrs. Connelly, we kinda wanted to let you all in on the legend behind the man." With a knowing smile, Mrs. Connelly nodded at Tommy, and Tommy gave her a wink. Bert began to feel giddy with the anticipation of the congregation's reaction. Of course, Bert knew the truth just as well as every boy on that stage, but he had agreed to the unwritten creed, just as all of the others had, to help him keep up his "Leave it to Beaver" façade he had spent so long building for the neighbors.
"Well," started Tommy, "I think Mrs. Henderson just popped out to get a drink of water, so we should probably take advantage of her absence to tell The Legend of the Rat-Dog..."
"I'm serious, man! Every week she's got a new dog out on her porch!" Connor exclaimed as he strolled home from the bus stop. The usual gang trudged behind him, Tommy Fritz, Carl Doris, Freddy Jenkins, and me. To be honest, I never really understood why I hung out with them. They were always a lot more trouble than they were worth. But hey, it beats going home and digging around the internet for something to keep your mind off being lonely, right?
_ "So what? It's probably just the same dog and you don't recognize it..." said Tommy._
_ "No way, man. It's definitely a different dog. Last week her dog only had three legs. This morning the dog had all four. There's no way a crippled dog can grow its leg back."_
_ "You probably just couldn't see it. Maybe it was in a shadow or something last week," offered Freddy, trying to keep the peace._
_ "I'm telling you, that dog disappeared and she got a new one! Why would I make shit like this up?" Connor said as he lit a cigarette. He always smoked when he was trying to defend a point._
_ "Ok, fine..." interjected Tommy. "Let's pretend for a second that you're right."_
_ "I am right..."_
_ "Whatever. So she got a new dog. Big deal. The old one probably died. What's your point."_
_ "Yeah, I can't really imagine why she'd want a new one anyways. That rat-dog is pretty heinous lookin'," Freddy chimed in._
_ "My point is exactly that. He died..." Connor trailed off suggestively._
_ "I'm not following you..." said Carl. Tommy and Freddy both shrugged, backing Carl up._
_ Connor turned to me. "What about you, Bert? You got a pretty wild imagination. You get it?"_
_ I was in a pretty foul mood because I had just failed my math test and was contemplating how to break the news to my parents. They were never ones to take bad grades lightly, and my grades had been less than perfect since the beginning of middle school. "I dunno, maybe she ate them..." I said sourly._
_ "What?" said Tommy. "Dude, that's bullshit..."_
_ "Yeah, that's pretty crazy, dude..." piped Freddy._
_ Connor stopped walking. "That's gotta be it!" Everyone turned as if on cue and stared at him. Even I couldn't believe he had said something as stupid as that, and I had put up with his bullshit for a lot longer than anyone else in the group._
_ "Oh, come on, you're not serious, are you?" said Tommy._
_ "Yeah, I am. And I bet I can prove it, too!"_
_ "Oh really? How?" Tommy, whose dad was a cop, had learned very early on how to tell if someone was bluffing. He was the only one of us who could catch Connor at a lie. Connor could spin the most beautiful tale about a dream he had where Marilyn Monroe herself had jumped through his window and laid down in bed next to him, and Tommy would spit in his eye and call out every single one of his tells. He was the reason we stopped having poker nights on weekends._
_ "Follow me." Connor took off down a side street and hopped a fence. We took a hesitative glance at each other, then bolted after him. _
_ When we finally caught up with him, he was crouched behind a bush in Mrs. Henderson's backyard, staring through an open window. "Hold this," he said and hurled his backpack into Tommy's gut._
_ "Wait! Connor! You can't..." called Carl._
_ "Shut up! Or Mrs.Henderson'll hear and eat you too!" said Tommy, half sarcastically. Carl let out a small whimper and clamped his mouth tightly shut._
_ Connor clambered through the window and turned out of sight. All was quiet, with the exception of Carl's sniveling._
_ "God... Do you think maybe you could cry yourself to sleep somewhere else? You're really buggin' me!" Tommy said as he rolled his eyes._
_ "Chill, Tommy, this is a pretty delicate situation. Let's just cool it, alright?" Freddy interjected. Silence fell over the bush again, and Carl began to rock on his knees in order to assuage his trembling._
_ A few minutes crawled passed and we all began to grow impatient. "What the hell is takin' him? All he's gotta do is open a few closets, maybe go check the basement, and come back out. How long could that possibly take?" said Tommy._
_ "I dunno, maybe he found something?" offered Freddy._
_ "Found something? Like a dead body? Or a boogeyman? Or even... what if he found her teeth!" cried Carl._
_ Even Freddy had to shake his head at this. "Carl... shut up... We're trying to find out if Mrs. Henderson eats dogs, not if she murders people."_
_ "Besides, if he found something he would've come back to tell us," I said._
_ "No, no, I'll bet he's right!" Tommy had a sly grin on his face. "Except I don't think he found a body... or a boogeyman... Nah, I'll bet he found a giant octopus in a huge tank in the basement..." Carl whimpered again and covered his ears with his hands. "...and he wanted to come back up an get us, but the octopus got a tentacle around his leg and lifted him up in the air, and started strangling him. That's why we couldn't hear anything. And then I'll bet the octopus lifted him over his giant mouth full of razor sharp teeth, three rows of 'em, and dropped him in and grinded him up like hamburger meat! Grrrangggranggrangg!!! Just like that!"_
_ Carl continued to rock on his knees, muttering "There's no such thing as giant octopuses, there's no such thing as giant octopuses, there's no such thing as giant octopuses..." as Tommy laughed maniacally._
_ Freddy punched Tommy on the arm. "Knock it off, somebody's gonna find us."_
_ Tommy punched him back twice as hard. "You knock it off or I'll knock your head off."_
_ "You couldn't knock a Barbie's head off!" Freddy retorted as he shoved Tommy._
_ "Oh, yeah?"_
_ "Yeah!" With that Tommy tackled Freddy to the ground and the two began wrestling in the dirt, flinging mulch and dead leaves from last winter onto me and Carl as we watched. The scuffle was a one-sided match, though, and after a few seconds Freddy had Tommy secured in a headlock, kicking his feet wildly in a desperate attempt to break free._
_ Freddy laughed loudly. "I'll hold him down. Practice you're one-two!" he told me as he wrenched Tommy around to face me. I held up my fists and took a few light, friendly jabs at his gut._
_ "Cut it out, you assholes! Let me go!" Just as Tommy broke out Freddy's grip a door slammed in the driveway. We all dropped back down behind the bush and caught a glimpse of Mrs. Henderson pulling groceries out of her trunk._
_ "Shit! We gotta get in there and help him!" said Freddy._
_ "No, forget it! He's on his own now!" Tommy said as he started darting away._
_ "We can't just leave him here!" cried Carl._
_ I didn't say anything. I just made a wild dash for the window and dove through. My knees and my elbows felt like they were on fire, but I gritted my teeth through the pain and tore through the house. I finally found Connor standing in front of an open trash can in the kitchen. I ran up to him and grabbed his arm._
_ "C'mon, we gotta get outta here! Mrs. Henderson's gonna..." I stopped dead when I saw what he was staring at. At the bottom of the trash can was a large pile of miniature, rat-dog sized bones._
"I'm not sure I'll ever figure out how they got outta there, but somehow they slipped out the front door after Mrs. Henderson went back out to grab a second load of groceries," Tommy finished. Bert wasn't entirely sure that the crowd believed the story, but he knew it was true, and so did the boys up on the stage, and that's all that really mattered.
As the funeral went on and each boy told his own story about some crazy situation they had all gotten into way back when, and more times than not it had been Connor's idea.
As Freddy finished the last story, and took a long, deep bow as the audience chuckled, the reverend reclaimed the microphone from the errant youths and sent them back to their seats. "Now, before Connor's parents wrap things up, we have one more young man who would like to tell you about his bond with young Mr. Connelly. Bert, would you come up to the podium, please?"
Bert could feel the weight of the entire congregation's eyes on his back as he slowly clogged his way down the aisle. He was more solemn than the other boys had been when they had taken their turn to speak, but he always had been, choosing rather to save his words for when they would truly be appreciated.
I never had to talk around Connor. Sometimes we would just go out to the car and drive around in silence for hours at a time. He was the only one who really got that. Yeah, he thought it was funny sometimes to push me for an answer when he knew I didn't want to give it, but he never made me tell. He would just accept my silence and let it flow through him. He usually found out what he wanted to know that way anyways.
_ After he went to the hospital he started acting more like me, and for once I could finally return the favor._
_ For a few months Connor was all over the place, medically speaking. One week he would be so tired all the time that he would sleep most of the day away, waking up only to eat and go to the bathroom, and the next he would practically jump up in his bed whenever anyone walked into the room, bubbling with life and excitement. There was even a full month when he seemed back to his old self. The December before he died he was on his feet every morning, suited up and ready to go when I got to his room. We would go outside and sled down the hill outside the hospital on metal cafeteria trays, or build forts and have snowball wars which lasted for hours, or just laid in our freshly made snow angels and let the floating snow drift down and cover us. That Christmas he gave our entire neighborhood the best gift he'd ever given anyone. He came home. We all went out to carol that night to celebrate, and although none of us had very good singing voices, we sang louder than our fathers did at the bars on St. Patrick 's Day._
_ But with the new year came the end of Connor's good health. After that Christmas he didn't get out of bed again. The longer he stayed in his room at the hospital, the less he talked._
_ I remember, one time when I went to visit him, I didn't have to say anything the entire time I was there. He just laid in bed, propped up, and stared at the wall. When I got there the nurse told me he wouldn't take any of the food they were giving him, and if he didn't eat something soon they were gonna start feeding him through a tube. I just nodded, went in the room and got in the bed with him._
_ We stayed like that for hours. He leaned his head on me, and I could feel everything he was saying flow through me like a breeze. He was scared, and his silent plea for help swirled around in my head the entire time I sat there. I wanted to tell him that it was gonna be alright. I wanted to tell him that in a few days we we're gonna go back down to the creek and play chicken with the guys. I wanted to tell him we were gonna go to our first college party together, all he had to do was take a weekend trip up to school with me. I just kissed his bald head instead. It was all out of our reach, and there was no point making a promise I couldn't keep._
_ I grabbed a chicken finger from the tray on the night stand and took a bite. Then I offered it to him. He took it reluctantly, and we ate in silence. Neither of us said a word the entire night, but we talked until the dawn streaked through the blinds._
Bert sweat a little as he unfolded the paper he had been clutching in his pocket the entire afternoon. "I...I think..." he stuttered. He was so choked up that he couldn't speak. This was exactly what Connor hadn't wanted... people crying at his funeral. Bert pulled himself together and tried again.
"I... I think that most of you have figured out by now that Connor was a pretty free spirit. He did what he wanted to, and nobody could tell him that he couldn't do it, which is why he asked me to set this whole thing up exactly like he wanted it to be. He said he didn't want to leave people with the wrong impression of him. And who better to tell the entire town his deep dark secrets than his big brother, right?" The crowd chuckled and Bert took a deep breath.
"He also said he really wanted to leave a note to the entire town with directions to a hidden chest of buried treasure, but I told him that was probably a little too far overboard." He got another chuckle.
"So instead he left a note that he asked me to read to all of you here..." Bert sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his brand new suit, not caring how much his parents had paid for it.
"Hey, everybody..." he began. "So it finally happened. I kicked the fuckin' bucket... what a drag, right? Oh well... Something had to put me back in my place eventually. I mean, I'd rather go out fighting than just puss out and roll over. Hell, I took on the toughest disease out there and almost won a couple of times. How many people can say that? That makes me like Superman. Pretty cool, huh?" Bert looked out at the crowd. Everyone was smiling back at him, even little Mrs. Henderson, who had walked back into the sanctuary about halfway through Tommy's story and had seemed more than a little displeased that he had chosen that particular story to tell.
"Well, I'm proud of it at least," Bert continued. "I just wanted to say that I'm real sorry for anything I've done to anyone in town over the years. No hard feelings, 'kay?" The crowd chuckled again. The division between close friends and mourners was completely diminished. Bert had to hand it to Connor. He really knew how to bring people together.
"Tommy, Carl, Freddy... I never would'a made it through third grade without you guys. We had some crazy adventures... don't you guys stop all the fun on my account, you got that?" Bert saw Tommy, Freddy, and Carl all nod in unison.
"Mom and Dad, I love you guys more than I could ever tell you, and I don't think I told you often enough. I know we didn't get along all the time, but you really showed me how to be who I am...or was, I guess. I love you. And Bert..."
Bert's throat closed up. Connor had told him explicitly not to read this until the actual funeral, and he had honored that wish. He had expected a small mention alongside his parents, but not this. This was almost too much for him to handle. He wasn't sure he could finish reading it.
He took a long, hard swallow, cleared his throat and tried to continue. His voice quivered, but he kept reading. "...you're my best friend, and you always will be. No matter what you were there for me, and I don't think I thanked you properly. So thank you. And don't ever change. You took good care of me. Now take good care of Mom and Dad, they're gonna need it for a while. I love you."
His words echoed through the church, and Bert watched as they carried away the last bit of his brother with them, singing out a glorious, faint melody as they floated up to heaven.
_ Last night I had a dream that I was lying on the roof of our tiny pink beach house on stilts. I was just staring up at the stars and letting the salty breeze sweep over my sunburned chest._
_ Music started playing downstairs, one of Connor's favorite songs, one of the few songs we both could actually agree on. I thought about how he would always perk up when this song came on, and we would both look at each other and start singing in unison, rocking out on invisible microphones and air guitars. I smiled._
_ I sat up and turned to look at Connor, whose skin was just as red as mine was. His head was bobbing in time with the music, and his eyes were closed. As the guitar strummed out a simple flow of chords, the knot I had felt in my gut during the funeral worked itself out and was replaced with a content happiness._
_ Realizing that he was being watched, Connor opened his eyes and sat up. He looked at me inquisitively. I wanted to say something. I wanted to say anything. Instead I just looked at him and nodded towards the beach. He smiled back at me and hopped from the roof down to the deck. I followed him and we strolled down to the shore._
_ The sand was cool between our toes and the moon, full and larger than I had ever seen before, guarded us with the maternal pride of a newly bred mother, shrouding us in a brilliant blue spotlight. We silently trod at the edge of the calmly shifting water with our hands in our pockets and our hair flittering in the breeze._
_ We came to an old dock, worn from years of erosion and gusty winds, but still sturdy, proud and inviting. It had been our favorite spot as boys; we would collect shells on our way to the pier and try to skip them over the waves as they crashed into the support beams. We sat on the edge of the pier to stick our feet as close as we could to the water._
_ Suddenly the breeze stopped blowing and the water stilled itself. I looked back towards the sand and noticed that every light in every house was out. There weren't any dogs barking, no crashing waves, even the salty smell of the sea seemed to hang in the air where it was. It was as if the whole world had stopped to see what would happen next. I turned to Connor, puzzled, and noticed that he was glowing. The same radiant blue light the moon was shining on us was pouring back out from his body. He looked at me, smiled and nodded. I just sat and stared, dumbstruck. Connor leapt down from the dock and landed on the water, levitating just above it, but standing as though he was on solid ground. The moon had illuminated a path out to sea, and Connor began to walk along it. I wanted to reach out after him, or call out his name, or do anything to grab his attention, to make him stay, but I was frozen in limbo with the rest of the world. As Connor walked out to sea, he turned back and gave me one final, relaxed, beautiful, lonely, determined, loving backward glance and a wave. He didn't say a word, but I could understand what he was saying. He was saying that everything was going to be alright. As he continued his journey, the faint clouds that were snuggled up next to the enormous moon began to light up with tiny sparks. Soon they began to take on more solid shapes, geometric forms outlining skyscrapers and buildings with architecture unimaginable to the world I lived in. Connor walked right into the middle of the cloud city and disappeared._
_ With a giant, heaving sigh of relief, the world resumed its activity and left me to stare into the brilliantly dazzling clouds, smiling._