I don’t know these people, but they look and smell funny. There are too many unfamiliar faces; some with beards, some with long hair, and some with no hair at all. They are still for the moment as they all sit solemnly in the rows of chairs all facing towards the far side of the room. The air is stuffy, and I’m starting to heat up in my uncomfortable black suit. In the row behind me I can hear my little sister and our cousins exchanging a whisper now and then, followed by a giggle. Under normal circumstances I would probably have joined in their mischief, but today the tone of the room forbids it. I twist my head around to face them and let out a harsh “shh!” before returning my gaze to the front. There’s someone standing there now; some second cousin twice removed or fifth cousin ten times removed or however the cousin removal process works. He is addressing the room, telling a story. I am fourteen, and I don’t like that they say my attention span is short but I simply can’t be bothered to follow along. At the very least I know that he’s talking about how he knows the dead body in the casket behind him.

Under normal circumstances I would probably have joined in their mischief, but today the tone of the room forbids it.

I didn’t want to go to the funeral. I guess when you’re fourteen years old it isn’t the most fun thing to do, but it’s not like that was the only reason. The figure in the casket was that of my grandfather, yet I did not know him, and for that I resented him terribly. My father didn’t speak often of him, but there wasn’t much to tell anyway. All I knew was that one day he left, never to return, leaving behind a wife and three children in the heart of the craziness that is New York. My father would tell me of the times that followed when he had to hide in fear from the knocking of the landlord as he tried to collect overdue rent. His mom didn’t sugarcoat things; the phrase “everything’s going to be alright” was replaced with “we might lose our home. Pack up.” It was always hard to listen to those stories.

Now people are slowly rising and forming a line leading to the casket. A woman about ten to fifteen years younger than my grandfather is kneeling in front of it, fingers interlocked in prayer, and though I cannot see her face I know she is crying because her shoulders are shuddering heavily. I cast a glance at my father who mouths the word “fiancée” to me. Somehow the word just sounded ugly–I cringe a little.

I don’t want to go up, but my mother and father rise to join the line and motion for me to get behind them. It would be disrespectful not to go up at all–I understand that, so I comply. When my parents reach the front they stare down into it in silence and I can see my mother take my father’s hand and clench it tightly. My father isn’t one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but no one can ever hide anything from Mom.

They step aside and now it is my turn. I wonder how long I am required to stand there in order to be respectful. The casket itself seems to be made of smooth oak wood, and the inside is coated with a silky white linen. I stare at my grandfather’s face. There are so many things I want to ask him. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you want to know me?” His smile almost seems to be mocking me; he would never give me the answers I wanted so badly. I feel hot. Angry. I clench my teeth and grind them a bit in my mouth. I should be feeling sad right now, but I just don’t. I wonder if that makes me a bad person.

There are so many things I want to ask him. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you want to know me?”

I go back to my seat, not wanting to look at the casket nor at the unfamiliar faces that know my own grandfather better than I ever will. Suddenly my father wraps his left arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. I look up to find him warmly smiling back at me; “Glad you’re here, bud.” He meant it. I was glad he was here too, in more ways than one. I didn’t feel so angry anymore. My eyes welled up, so I shut them, and I tightly hug him back. I’m not even thinking about where I am anymore, just about who is with me.

I don’t pretend to know why things have to happen the way they do, but now, right now, I’m happy with the result.