Michael Seidlinger: The Strangest

I like this tree. It has enough shade.

Almost like I’m not even outside since there’s a breeze today. Only 4 of the 31 people are crying, and they aren’t crying in the way where you make a sound. They are sort of sobbing. I don’t know why. The other friend doesn’t leave when he walks up. He keeps talking.

“My condolences. I know he was a close friend of yours … your best friend.”

I look down at my phone.

How many people will remember you when you’re gone?

“He was going through a hard time.”

Know that feeling when you are so self-conscious you have to pretend you’re the one that’s dead?

“I just didn’t think he’d do this …”

Without looking up from the phone, I make conversation, “Do what?”

He sort of stutters, “You — you mean you don’t know?”

What am I supposed to know except how to eat, sleep, and maybe fuck?

I say, “No.”

“He offed himself, dude. Just like that, pull of the trigger.”

Suicide is never the answer.

I delete that almost immediately after posting it.

This guy keeps talking, “And his brains, oh hell … what must it be like to wrap your lips around a shotgun …”

Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.

That one gets a bunch of likes. But I don’t like the sound of it so I delete it too.

The guy then tells me, “But he was a good guy. You two were inseparable. This must be so hard for you …”

Trails off. I’m not really typing anything but I pretend to.

He doesn’t leave.

Someone else, one of the people running the funeral joins us and asks me if I’m ready.

I say “Yes” just so that I don’t have to hear anything else.

“I understand you and Andrew were close.”

People say that they know me but how the hell do you know a person if they haven’t decided to show everyone who they really are?

“Yes.” That sounded decisive.

This person shakes my hand, “Our minds and hearts go out to you. Andrew was a great person.”

Who is great and who is merely adequate?

“Well, then, shall we? Let us show Andrew how much he means to us.”

And then that guy that won’t leave me alone adds, “Yeah, Andrew would have liked it simple and to the point.”

I don’t know what “Andrew” would have liked or disliked, but I do know that I don’t like this.

31 people in a half circle listening to one person delivering some sort of speech.

I don’t fit in here.

I stand with hands gripped to my phone. I listen but it’s not the kind of listening where you hear words. I only hear the man’s voice, and the rise and fall of every sentence he speaks. When he stops, he looks at me.

He leans in and whispers, “Ready when you are.”

I whisper, “Ready?”

“Please, you may deliver the eulogy.”

Is this what “friends” do to friends? Would a great friend force another great friend to stand up in front of 31 people and talk about how great their friend was?

I walk slowly, no eye contact, gaze on the phone.

People are sobbing. I walk to the elevated platform where I’m supposed to speak. Public speaking.

Who really likes public speaking except for those people that really seek validation from others? I don’t want these people looking at me! I don’t know what to say! Shit what do I say?

I delete this quickly, before it can filter out to all of Meurk’s friends and followers. I search for “good eulogies.”

I find one.

I stand there and read it word for word.

Eye contact, always eye contact.The eulogy has directions, saying when to stop and look up. I ignore it.

I don’t fit in here.

This is not me.

I don’t do stuff like this. Something must have happened — must have been something I said — because things start to move quickly.

When I’m done reading the eulogy I read, I look up and see that the people that had looked sad now simply look at me, sort of in disbelief.

It was something I said, I’m sure.

I walk back to where I stood before I had to deliver this speech. The guy continues where he left off, and you get the impression that after a couple minutes everyone forgets.

Ever felt like you wanted to just crawl into a hole somewhere until everyone forgets that you exist so that you can start over?

I don’t post that. I think about saving it to drafts. I don’t.

I think about texting it to someone but who?

Who is there to receive it?

I don’t save it.

I look up and catch someone staring at me.

I clench my jaw.

I don’t fit in here.

That could have gone a whole lot better . How would it have been any better than what it became? A discussion-in-comments begins before I decide to stop following it. Meurks does this a lot: Whole threads evolve without so much as a single follow-up response.

Nothing to blame. Don’t blame me.

No one said anything is reassured.

The funeral is over. I don’t need to see any of these people again. That’s what’s certain, and I can almost call it reassuring. But they go around, reassuring themselves by talking through their sadness. Their reassurance reduces mine. I pull back, looking to be out of plain sight. It’s too late, though.

Someone tells me, “What a wonderful eulogy, Andrew was a really great person.”

They spot me.

And another, “Such a tragedy when life ends so abruptly.”

I nod.

I think I agree with everything they say.

“Yes.”

Sometimes they sniffle, other times they wipe away tears. Some just look sad. But I can see that they look at me differently.

Like I don’t belong here.

Hate when people judge you even though you were put on the spot. A few likes but no comments, no follow-through.

I delete it a bit later.

Do you care?

When Meurks says it, it brings out the trolls.

When I say it, it brings a good number of the 31 people in attendance to a halt, almost too upset to say anything else.

I did say that, yes.

One person believes it’s because I’m the one upset.

No one believes you’re sincere when it sounds wrong.

A comment says, Amen.

I look up from my phone to see the same friend from before, this time with puffy eyes.

He grabs my hand and shakes it. No matter that I don’t shake back. He says, “Great eulogy dude.”

Ever feel so uncomfortable you hate the person and blame that person for the discomfort?

Delete that. It sounds wrong.

He says, “I didn’t think it could hurt this much.”

I reply, “I know,” so that I don’t have to say anything else.

Someone next to him, a woman, asks, “You’re coming along right?” I don’t know what she’s talking about but because I don’t want to have to say something and then her say something back and then say something again, I settle for, “Yes. I am.”

15 of the most awkward social situations … 1’s got to be a funeral.

“Zachary.”

“Zachary!”

I don’t realize that’s my name until a hand is on my shoulder. It’s the guy that spoke the most during the funeral. I realize he’s a priest when I see that he’s wearing all black with that white collar thing.

What do you call the white collar thing priests wear?

Gets a response that’s almost instant. White collar.

What am I going to do with that kind of information?

I hold back, not saying anything to the priest. He thanks me for the eulogy although I can tell that everyone, everyone, knows how badly of a eulogy it was; they just won’t tell me.