Where The Twain Shall Meet

Where The Twain Shall Meet

The wind blew through the open door of the church as the pall bearers assumed their positions alongside the glistening wooden casket. “Go in peace,” the words of the minister echoing off the walls and becoming lost in the murmured prayers ascending into the frescoed dome above the alter.

“Go in peace? How else is he going to go? Does the minister think we are going to riot because Harry won’t be joining us at the luncheon? I know that is not a very charitable thing to think as he is being carried from our sight and will soon become only an awful memory I hope to forget.

I can’t say I liked him, or that I considered him a friend, although it was assumed by everyone that knew us that we were friends. How that impression came to be I have no idea. We shared nothing in common. I find sports to be an overpriced distraction. He lived and breathed vicariously the drama that unfolded daily or weekly on the grid iron or ball field, depending on the season. I, on the other hand, can find more useful distractions at a fraction of the cost.

I go to funerals more out of a sense of obligation than respect. I, if I were to be truthful, would say I’m here because I was expected to be. If it had been up to me I would have gladly stayed home and found something to keep my mind off what would assuredly come next. When the CEO of the company drops dead, you would hope there is a backup plan, but having experienced this type of thing before, I highly doubt it. Everyone is going to live forever, and change is irrelevant as it only happens to other people.

It’s a nice church. I know he wasn’t one for church, other that its usefulness when it came to Weddings and well, funerals. I find these services to be too…too what? Too much like the last one and one before that. Walking that valley of death by yourself I get, and I assume I will walk it when it comes my time by myself. Who else could walk it for me?

To keep from falling asleep I often occupy myself with looking at the church’s interior. The newer churches, hardly more than a pole building with an altar, are not worth mentioning as they are all the same. The older churches I appreciate. The intricate details, the artisanship, the loftiness that I assume is to afford us the feeling of what it will be like in a mythical heaven.

While I look over the craftsmanship, I attempt not to be too obvious. I know the majority of the people here are here for the same reason I am, obligation, but there is no need to make a spectacle of myself. It is a catholic church so there is plenty to look at. I particularly like the plaques depicting the crucifixion that are fixed to the pillars that parallel the walls. When I turn to look at stop number eight, I see a co-worker, Jerome. I nod, he nods, and then we go back to pretending we are grief stricken.

As the pall bearers carry the coffin out the massive wooden doors, the assembled begins to search for their car keys. I follow the coffin, stopping to admire the holy water fountain, a bronzed replica of the Ascension. I pass through the doors and find Jerome waiting for me at the bottom of the marble steps. “Well, what did you think?”

“What do you mean?It’s a funeral, I didn’t know we were supposed to think.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. What did you think of the service? I found some of the testimony from those who supposedly knew him best, rather exaggerated. It was as if I was at the wrong funeral and the words honoring his life belonged to someone else. You feel the same?”

“The same as what? I didn’t know him as well as you, actually I didn’t know him at all. What I’ve heard is that he was a wonderful person, great personality, the kind of guy who’d do anything for you. I wished I’d have gotten to know him?”

“We are talking about Donald Appleby aren’t we? I’m not completely sure after what I heard today. Those testimonials I thought were a bit touched up to say the least, but I can understand how you can’t be jumping up and down because he’s finally gone, but you don’t have to embellish his life with a bunch of phony crap.”

“Phony crap? What are you talking about? I can honestly say I’ve not met one person at work who didn’t think the world of the guy. They, we, are going to miss him.”

“What are you going to miss. If you think you knew him, it’s because you didn’t know him. He only showed you what he wanted you to see. You believed what you wanted to believe. A perfect set up, but you weren’t involved in the perfect storm; I was. Did you know all the accolades he received for the projects we’ve worked on over the past several years were mine! My ideas, my concepts, all mine. All he did was OK the work and then accept the credit. All he contributed to the work was a signature.”

“You are starting to sound like a disgruntled employee. You don’t have an automatic weapon in the trunk of your car, or are planning on poisoning the holy water fountain I hope?”

“How could you think such a thing. Have you ever seen me angry?”

“I saw you throw a computer monitor across the room. You looked like your hair was on fire. The rest of us in the office thought about calling the police. We had no idea what you might be capable of.”

“Oh, that? I admit sometimes when I get angry I tend to over react, but if you’d been there when Sam started telling me about the big bonus he got for all the excellent work he’d done, I lost it. He knew damn well I deserved the bonus, not him. But he liked to rub salt in the wound to see how you’d react. I showed him I guess. It was like a thief had stolen my money and then asked me for an apology because I didn’t have more to give. He was lucky I didn’t throw him across the room. But then he weighed over 300 pounds. I’d have needed a backhoe or a star ship gadget that breaks you down to molecules and then transports you to wherever you want to go, or they want you to go. And you never saw any of the conceit when you were around him?”

“Like I said, I only saw him in passing. I don’t believe I ever spoke to him. When I did see him he appeared cordial and pleasant. Not once did I see him throw anything.”

“We are talking about Sam Horton aren’t we?”

“Who?”

“Sam Horton, our boss, my boss, the one they just carried out of here.”

“This is the service for Mary Jane Dombrowski, the book keeper/secretary. The one who makes out our checks. Why do you suppose there are so many people here? It wasn’t because she was well liked, I can assure you of that. Everyone is wondering if they are going to get paid tomorrow and if we are going to be compensated monetarily for missing work, so we could be here to send her on her merry way. I didn’t know her, so I can’t say for sure if we’ll get paid or not. I’m a direct depositor type so I can’t see where it will be problem. Any monkey or robot can push a button and pay all those who are signed up. You signed up?”

“Whose funeral is this?I thought I heard at the bar last night that Harry Horton had died of a heart attack. And now you are telling me Mary Jane Dombrowski is dead as well? How’d she die? The whole thing seems a bit contrived. Two people from the same office dying within hours of each other. You sure about this?”

“Herb Keeler, the night watchman, you must know Herb? Anyway, he told me Harry Horton caught Mary Jane embezzling money he’d planned to embezzle and had a heart attack. Mary Jane apparently didn’t have a monitor to throw but got so excited seeing him collapse before her that she ran out of the building and was hit by an Uber driver who was arguing with a customer in the back seat. He was driving, and because he was looking backwards he didn’t see Mary Jane until he heard the thump. Herb said he watched the whole thing unfold. He said it was quite comical except for the dying.”

“So, are we going to have to look for a new job?”

“I’m not, but you can do what you like. Herb and I are off to some Island where Mary Jane had sent the money. She was so excited by the death of Harry that she forgot to erase the account number on the computer screen. He copied it and I agreed to go with him to see if we can get the money out. We didn’t steal it, so there is nothing they can do to us. Perhaps we should return it, but then this is the new millennium, nothing is the same and everyone that is anyone is a crook of some kind. Herb says we’ll just be joining the ranks, and if we were caught we are going to stash enough a way to buy us a pardon. Apparently you can do that sort of thing now and no one says boo about it. Hard to believe, fun to watch.”

“Where did you say you were going?”

“I didn’t. And we don’t have room for anyone else. The plane has only room for three, including the pilot, and we need to keep some extra room for the money after we get it out. Herb says we should ask for small old bills that can’t be traced and then simply disappear.”

“Why are you here if this is Mary Jane’s funeral service?”

“Why do you think? She’s like our patron Saint. We figured it was the least we could do. That’s her family over there. The bald guy with their six kids.”

“Don’t you think they could use the money more than you?”

“Maybe, but then we’ve got the account number and do you really think we should expose her larceny and bring shame to the family? Those little kids having to grow up knowing their mother was a thief? Harry Horton was unmarried, and according to you, someone no one will miss. Why not let him take the blame? All we want is to retire in peace.”

“You can’t be over 30, and all you want is to retire in peace?”

“Well, it beats throwing monitors around and looking like a complete psycho. If I were you I’d make an appointment with that old woman who runs the counseling department. Well, it’s not just for counseling but I forget what they call it. See her, tell her your problems, and perhaps you’ll get to retire early as well.

I gotta run, Herb is waiting. Our plane leaves in an hour. Really is too bad about Harry, I thought he was a great guy from what I could tell from the way he moved through the office without so much as a harsh word to anyone You could have learned something from Harry, but now it’s too late. See that woman about counseling, it couldn’t hurt, even if it doesn’t help. Something to put on your resume should you decide to look for another type of employment. I’ll send you a card and let you know how things are going.

Oh, and I know life isn’t fair, but taking it out on computer monitors who have never done anything to you surely is not the answer. Bye!”

“He was right about one thing. That weapon in my trunk may come in handy yet. I’ll just have to wait and see if I get promoted to take Harry Horton’s place.”

“And what kind of weapon might that be?”

A voice not my own, nor one I recognize, asks in the whispered elegance of a conscience I believe once belonged to me. I should respond but chose not to. I open the trunk and there it is, a nineteen thirty-nine Hoffenslepper spade with its original handle and gleaming steel blade. I can only smile a response, sometimes there aren’t enough words to describe how life has a way of finding equilibrium.