Nobody Mourned Chuck Beauford

(This story contains sensitive content, containing mentions of substance abuse, mental health issues, and a creepy man)

On an ugly, hot morning, in an ugly town, on an ugly stretch of desert, a funeral director welcomed in a family who had lost an ugly man.

The funeral director opened the coffin. He folded his arms behind his back and announced to the small crowd, “You can now say your goodbyes to,” he glanced at the card by the coffin and cleared his throat, “Chuck Beauford.” He bowed his head and made his departure.

Chuck’s wife eyed the coffin surrounded by her five children, all fathered by men who were not Chuck - a fact Chuck knew, but was too indifferent to his wife to address.

Not a single one of Chuck’s own relatives showed. Chuck had expected just as much.

“I don’t think that’s really him, Tina,” his wife hissed to her oldest daughter, who rolled her eyes. Tina hated Chuck. They all hated Chuck. And today, she hated her mother for dragging out this funeral.

“Mom, stop it and just say goodbye.” Tina rooted around in her purse.

“Nope, you know someone killed him? He got home from the liver transplant, and he was fine. Then that night. POP! Stitches open. Then the liver rejected. CIA, I bet.” She shook her head, then looked Tina up and down. “None of you liked him much either.”

Chuck’s wife knew, somewhere in her addled brain, that her husband was a creep, but she was too distracted by her erratic thoughts to give his morals any real thought.

Tina whooped in success as she pulled a bottle of lithium from her purse and rattled it in her mother’s face. “Don’t make me pill you like a cat, Mother.”

Her mother crossed her arms and quieted down.

Of all her children, Tina freaked her out the most, even when she was medicated. She swore there was a mishap at the hospital, and Tina wasn’t even hers.

On the night Chuck returned from the transplant, all of her children except Timmy had been present, but Chuck’s wife swore she saw Tina put him to bed.

Chuck’s wife’s anxiety grew, and she scooted as far as possible from her sketchy daughter.

Chuck’s wife would never admit to a favorite child, even on her worst days. But she did have a favorite: her oldest son, Daniel.

Daniel was only twenty-three years old and sat with his six-year-old daughter in his lap. Her name was Josie, and she was the closest living thing to a Kewpie doll. He petted her head lovingly as she giggled, watching her grandmother fight with Tina.

Daniel knew Josie was mischievous, but was too entertained by it to reprimand her. He practically encouraged it.

The only other son, Timmy, came in late with two lanky officers trailing behind his massive frame. He sat next to Daniel and nodded towards their mother, “She’s at it already?”

Daniel scoffed, "She assumes someone killed him."

Timmy shifted his weight, “Well, did you?”

“Didn’t have to! Someone else took care of it.” Daniel smiled and splayed his hand toward the coffin.

Josie stood from her father’s lap and went to Timmy.

“Uncle Timmy, why’d they let you out of jail?” She pointed to the cops who postured in the back of the room. She widened her stance, folded her arms, and made a stern face to mock them.

He turned and shot them a glare before returning to his niece. “It’s called furlough, since Grandpa Chuck died.”

“You didn’t even like him.” She released her posture, grinning.

“I just wanted to see you!” He patted her head.

He did not want to see Josie. He thought she was the devil, but the only person in the world he feared was his big brother. So he appeased the demon.

Chuck’s youngest stepchildren were thirteen-year-old twin girls. They couldn't look more different. One was tall and rail thin, while the other was short and stout—a spider and a pumpkin at first glance.

They only ever entertained each other.

The twins whispered to each other. “Did you do it?” The pumpkin one asked.

“I wish. I thought you did it since he kept calling you Miss Piggy.” The spider one responded, observing her long press-on nails. “I caught him taking pictures of me in the shower, you know.”

The pumpkin one gasped, covering her mouth with a chubby hand. “Did you tell Mom?”

“Mom couldn’t even tell you what year it is. I wouldn’t be surprised if she killed him. She kept thinking he was CIA on her bad days.” They both snickered.

They wouldn’t have cared if their mom had killed him.

“Did you tell Daniel that he was taking pictures of you?”

“I did.” She dropped her hand in her lap, and they both looked over to Daniel warily.

Daniel had a history of violence. He was just much slicker than his brother. Nothing ever stuck.

Chuck’s wife approached the coffin, whipped out a sheet of tinfoil, and began tucking it around Chuck’s head. Tina tried to wrestle it from her and finally gave up. His wife returned to her seat, and Tina followed after glancing back at Chuck with a sneer.

Tina hated tinfoil.

She left home a month after he moved in when she was fifteen because Chuck had made a pass at her. And her mother was blind to issues like that.

Tina smiled, knowing her problem would be buried six feet under in less than an hour.

Josie snuck up behind her grandmother, who had procured a second sheet of tinfoil and was fashioning it into a hat. She wrapped her arms around her grandmother’s shoulders. Her grandmother reached up and rubbed Josie’s arms. “Can I make you a hat, sweet girl?”

Josie whispered in her ear, “No thanks, but I think those guys back there are here for you, Grandma.”

Her grandmother turned around and spotted the two officers who were there with Timmy and screamed. She pulled more tinfoil from her pockets and began crunching it into balls and plowing the officers with them. They got into a defensive position when Tina interrupted, “I’m so sorry, she’s just having a hard day.” She waved the officers down, and they relaxed, though Chuck’s wife continued to shriek.

Tina collapsed in her seat and started plucking out her eyebrows.

Josie skipped over to the twins and sat in the pumpkin one’s lap.

“What did you say to her?” asked the spider one.

Josie shrugged and smiled smugly.

The twins exchanged a look, and the pumpkin one lectured Josie, “Don’t antagonize your grandmother. Her husband just died.”

Josie looked at the casket and rolled her eyes, “Who cares?” She scooted off her lap and returned to her dad and Timmy.

“Did you ask someone on the outside to handle him?” Daniel whispered to Timmy.

Timmy shook his head, “Been in solitary for a month, brother.”

Timmy was the only child who shared his mother’s mental affliction. The only difference was that Timmy could bench press a refrigerator and had a taste for meth.

Timmy spent a lot of time in solitary.

They eyed each other suspiciously as Josie returned.

“Uncle Timmy, do they let you watch movies in prison?”

Timmy nodded.

“Ever seen Rocky?” she asked sweetly.

He nodded again.

“Think fast!” she yelled before socking him in the stomach.

Timmy had a body of muscle and steel, but the swift sucker punch made him hunch over.

Daniel laughed and flicked Josie’s ear. “You have to say flex first. You could have hurt him.” He looked at Timmy, “Sorry, brother.”

“No harm done,” Timmy coughed.

Daniel returned his attention to Josie. “You can only play this with Daddy now. You can’t go around sucker punching people.”

Josie sighed, “Yeah, okay. I did get Grandpa Chuck pretty good.”

Daniel’s eyes went wide as Timmy cocked his head.

“When did you get Grandpa Chuck?”

“The night he got home from the hospital.” She jumped to her feet and left the brothers to absorb that new information.

Josie climbed up to the coffin and bent over it, observing her dead grandfather. He looked greasy, even in death. His slicked-back ponytail fanned out behind his head.

She reached down and booped his stiff nose.

“Guess I win, Grandpa Chuckie.”