My neighbor died this afternoon. What a shame! I want to go to the funeral home for a while. It’s ten o’clock at night right now, so I suppose I’ll stay there until around three in the morning, since I have to work tomorrow. On the way, I ran into other neighbors who were engaged in a lively conversation.
“You’re all going to the wake?” I asked them.
“Yeah, and you?”
“Me too,” I responded.
“So that’s it, we’re all going together,” said the group’s leader to me enthusiastically.
As we walked, the laughter and stories are echoed along the way.
“I never thought a wake could be so pleasant,” I commented to them.
“Man…, you don’t know nothing; this is just the beginning,” said one member of the group, who had apparently come with a few drinks already downed.
But what surprised me was that this response had come from a woman, so I began to imagine everything contained in her answer.
We finally arrived to where was laid the person with whom just a few hours earlier had shared everything with us, the good times and bad. We approached the coffin, took a last look, and then went over to the relatives to express our condolences.
We then left the chapel to sit down outside, near a cafeteria – which, by the way, hardly had anything for sale.
“I gotta have something, even if it’s just a shot. If not, I can’t spend the whole night here,” said someone in the group.
“Me too,” chimed in another person, pulling a bottle of rum out of their jacket.
“You wanna drink?”offered another man, extending me the bottle.
“No thanks,” I responded categorically.
I didn’t think a funeral home was a place for getting drunk.
“In addition to having to work tomorrow, I think I should show some respect for my friend and his family.”
“Please, don’t drink here,” added the sister of the deceased to them.