I hate funerals. But that’s beside the point – most people dislike funerals. For starters, there’s that coffin sitting innocently, waiting to be buried. Then there’s all those people dressed in black and mourning their loss. And coincidentally, every funeral I’d ever been to had gloomy weather to match the atmosphere – you know, the dark clouds. No, I don’t think anybody enjoys such gatherings.
It was different when it was Maya being lowered to the ground. We’d known each other since middle school. I hadn’t wanted to attend the funeral in the first place but everyone pushed me till I agreed. I needed to see her at peace, they said. It was the last thing I needed. I wanted to remember Maya as aesthetic as she was, not as something carved out of stone. And for as long as I could remember, she had been perfectly aesthetic.
We’d both been trying to skip gym when we first met. There was no turning back after that. As I listened to the stories about Maya as a quiet and sweet girl, I almost laughed out loud. Maya was a completely crazy daredevil. A few stories later, I wondered if I was at the right funeral. Maybe I could just show up at her place and we’d both laugh about my mistake… But I guess those stories were more appropriate for a funeral. I mean, who’d like to hear about the ketchup bombs from ninth grade? I would though. I recounted everything to myself so as to not forget the aesthetic, bewitching Maya. I was beginning to feel lost and felt the tears coming. There was a lot I had to forgive myself for, and it was taking time.
We had a fallout a few years back and hadn’t spoken since. Now, I can’t even remember the reason. It was no excuse to shut her out like that. But it wasn’t completely my fault, was it? I wondered if things would be different if we’d sorted things out earlier. We could’ve talked. I could have helped.
The weather was just as gloomy as always. I imagined Maya giggling about her stories. I hadn’t spoken to her family yet. I was trying to put it off for as long as possible. I didn’t even want to know how she’d ended up like that. I knew that not everybody there loved Maya. Lots of people hated her guts. Either they’d put that aside, or.. I don’t know. I didn’t want to fight all those people faking sympathies. They didn’t know her. I knew her, I knew the best stories. I left before they buried her.
I went back in a few weeks. I hadn’t gotten any flowers. She never liked them. She was stubborn and annoying and very persuasive but she was the best. She was aesthetic to the end. I believed that. I wished I’d told her in person. I whispered farewell and left. I wasn’t going back. Ever.