Family Story

This story is purely hypothetical. Don't read anything into the fact that the main character is named David. I was just too lazy to come up with a name.
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One early July morning, while walking through the swamp’s mist, Father was struck by lightning. It wasn’t storming at the time, though the clouds were a bruised grey that melted to orange and fire near the forge of the horizon. A fist, jagged and bright, punched down from the sky directly into the crown of his head, fusing his molars together and setting his teeth to an ecstatic grin.

Family members got the call around noon.

By nightfall the next day they had all trickled in.



The last to return, and the one who had come the farthest, entered the house for the first time in years. He passed through the doorway, moving through living rooms and dens, and followed the voices coming from the kitchen. As he entered, the talking stopped, then resumed in a wild and disorderly chorus.

“David! My God, how have you been?”

“Look who it is -- what’s up bro?”

“Aren’t you devastated? I miss him so much. It’s terrible, just terrible.”

One by one the questions were answered, words of despair were uttered, tears were kissed away and consoled, and the discussion turned away from the approaching funeral. As the family broke away from the ritualistic and mournful play-acting and approached more honest topics, David began to feel at home.

Alex, dressed in the fine silk of a tailor-made suit and drinking an imported beer, put his arm around David’s shoulders and spoke into his ear. “So, bro’, how’s the great American novel coming?”

David grimaced, as Alex was wearing cologne that smelled expensive, but not pleasant. Alex had always been fond of this sort of exotic posturing; he used to brag that his shoes were made in the foothills of Italy by a blind cobbler using a secret and ancient technique. “Well, Alex, to be honest, it isn’t really coming at all,” said David, embarrassed by how defensive he felt.

“No way man, what’s the holdup?”

“I’m not really sure, to be honest. Anyways, it doesn’t matter - the novel’s been dead since the late 60s.”

Alex looked around, chuckled, and slapped David on the back. “Sure, bro. Whatever that means.” Raising an eyebrow and looking at his watch, he said, “You know you don’t have to worry about things like that when you’re making 500K a year.” Alex winked at his brother, causing David to start formulating an escape plan.

Luckily, Lindsey stepped forward and came to her brother’s defense, carrying a glass of rich, vermillion-colored wine. “Alex lay off, he may not be a famous writer yet, but at least he isn’t a sleazy, newly single thirty-five year old like someone I know. Also, David doesn’t have to worry about not signing a pre-nup, and as far as I know he hasn’t had to be treated for Valium addiction either. ”

“Well – uh – I don’t think I’d call it addiction, exactly. More of a bad habit.”

Mother entered, shrouded in black and stumbling slightly, and she hugged her son for a span of time that approached, but did not exceed, a full minute. Then, stepping back, she looked at Alex, shook her head, and proceeded to pour herself a glass of wine from a carafe etched with the family crest. “Alex, honey, they found you in a gutter, half naked, having been robbed by a band of strippers. I think that is a bit more than a bad habit. Oh, and I’m proud that she left you.”

Everyone looked away, focusing on drinks, fingernails, shoelaces, framed pictures, and other convenient distractions. Alex stood, started to form a retort, and then stopped, leaving the room.

David had been home for ten minutes, and was already fully aware of why he left in the first place. “Jesus, Mom, don’t you think that was a bit, I don’t know, harsh?”

She took a large drink from her glass, shook her head, and responded in a scolding voice. “Don’t talk to your mother like that. There’s a funeral tomorrow and I have nothing to wear.”




The family sat in a row of folding chairs, surrounded by friends, well-wishers, business partners, golf-buddies from the country club, and a whole array of people secretly rejoicing the end of a tyranny. The congregation was surrounded by immaculately manicured cemetery lawns, lush greens speckled with marble.

Before them was a massive casket made of rare woods and gilded bronze. The lid of the casket was ornamented with a slumbering lion, inlayed in gold. Resting upon this gratuitous display of wealth was the left hand of Father Dumeo, who was speaking in a solemn, but forceful, voice. “I have, in all my years, never met a man like him. He was a man apart, a man who was struck down by the cruel hand of god…”

Someone in the audience coughed, and many looked around, confused.

Flustered, his cheeks colored with blood, Father Dumeo continued. “Well, ahem, as I was saying, he was a man among men, a true example for us all. It is hard to understand why the Lord found it necessary to treat him so. Robbing him of life by casting thunderbolts out of the clouds…”

Another cough came from the crowd, this time followed by stifled laughter.

“As I mentioned, he was a fine human being. I remember the time…”

David leaned towards his sister and whispered in her ear. “Uh, I hate to ask this, but this is kind of a downer, you don’t happen to be holding, do you?”

The priest looked downwards at the siblings, frowned, and continued his oratory.

Giggling and nodding quickly, Lindsey blushed and hid behind her dark hair. “I mean, yeah, I’ve got something, but, I mean, here? Now?”

“I have to get out of here. Listening to people glorify him and watching mom fake tears makes me feel ill. So you can follow me or not. Besides, it isn’t like he can ground us or take away the car-keys anymore, is it?”

David stood, ignoring the strained stare of his mother, and walked towards the edge of the funeral-tent. He passed Alex, who was winking and cocking his eyebrow at various women in the crowd. After a moment Lindsey stood as well. She looked at her mother, shrugged, and followed David to the parking lot.




David laughed, leaning against the door of a hearse. “I knew you’d follow.”

Lindsey punched him in the arm and reached into her bag, producing a joint. She lit the end, inhaled, and passed it to her brother.

Exhaling through her nose, she coughed, and the smoke came out in sputters. She leaned back and stared upwards, watching the shifting lattice-work of tree limbs, watching the light filter through, watching the shadows dancing on the ground. “So what have you been doing? I haven’t talked to you in, like, forever.”

His eyes glazing over, David reached into his pocket, and fiddled with loose change, bits of lint, a lighter, a tube of chap stick, a couple of pens, and a few folded sheets of paper. “Shit, I don’t know. I guess I’ve been trying to do this writing thing, but I don’t really know how it’s going.”

“What, like writer’s block or something?”

“It’s not that, I don’t think. It’s just so fucking hard to see things sometimes.”

She nodded, and the next few moments were spent in silence; smoking, watching the shapes move under the black funeral tarp in the distance, each thinking of all the things that could be said to have led up to this moment, and each silently casting their hopes and fears towards the future.

After a few minutes they watched as their mother, no more than an animated silhouette in the distance, stood and hurled herself towards the coffin. The siblings heard her wailing emanate outwards, and they looked at one another, shaking their heads.

Lindsey licked the fingertips of her right hand, and used them to extinguish the joint, which made a soft sizzling sound as it went out, as if resisting. She put the roach in the cellophane of her cigarette patch, and tucked it into her purse. “I suppose we should get her out of here?” she said, “This has already been painful enough.”

“Yeah,” David sighed, “Let’s put this shindig to rest.”



“There’s nothing like a party, is there?”

“It’s a wake, you bastard.”

Alex moved slowly, dancing, just enough to feel the center of attention without spilling his scotch. “Oh, yeah, a wake, sure, whatever. A party’s a party, bro’, and I bet I won’t be going home alone at the end of the night.” Turning on his heels, Alex slid, half walking, half dancing, towards a group of women huddled around a buffet table.

David stood alone, standing against a wall, watching the flow of people. Across the room, a group of young teenagers tried, and failed, to get the bartender to serve them alcohol. David smiled, looked into his drink, and swirled the liquid around the edge of his glass.

He heard footsteps approaching, but continued to stare at his drink. Legs, long and slender, entered his vision.

“David?”

Looking up, he followed the legs upwards to their logical conclusion. He stood, momentarily stunned, staring and feeling foolish, but he managed to gather himself together and recover. “Beth, Christ, it’s been ages.”

Smiling, her lips perfect, she kissed him on the cheek. Quick, chaste. “Yeah, totally, it’s been forever.” As she said forever she looked away, and the way that she stretched the word so that it went on endlessly made him shiver, as if electric insects were moving on his skin. “You leave town, don’t call, don’t write. I always wondered just where you went off to.”

He looked at her, gazing at her eyes, at her shape, at the planes of her skin. “Listen, I know I should’ve called, but it was just, well you know, I just had to get out of here for a while.”

“So you’re back now?”

“Maybe, I mean, I don’t know. It depends. I’m just trying to see how things add up.”

She stepped forward, closer, “Well I’d love to see you if you stay.”

“Absolutely.”

“Great! Well, listen, I’m going to go give my regards to your family, but I’m going to make you dance with me later, okay?”

“Of course.”