"You know, I read somewhere that it’s good luck to have it rain during your funeral,” said the grandfather as he stood with the girl under the awning erected over the grandmother's grave. The flimsy tarp, sagging at the corners like the old man's ill-fitting suit, maintained a steady beat as Mother Nature and her band transitioned into one of those long and ultimately pretentious solos while the parched summer ground beneath the pair humored the players with quiet applause by soaking up the sound.

The girl, still too young to know much, yet old enough to know a few things, couldn’t quite imagine how such a forecast at such a time in one’s life - or death, as the case may be - could be anything other than a literal black cloud, but when the grandfather, who rarely spoke except during the commercial breaks that were shoved into reruns of his beloved Maverick (and usually only then to inquire about the whereabouts of his lunch), dropped that pearl, she felt inclined to believe, and so in the weeks following the grandmother’s death, the girl held vigil near her princess rotary in the event Simon Le Bon phoned to propose marriage. If something good was to come from a death, the girl thought, then what could be more lucky than being the bride of Duran Duran’s lead singer?

The girl was old enough to know a few things, yet still too young too know much.

When the girl had grown older (having long given up on that phone call, by the way...), and found herself, hesitantly and still so, pondering the possibility of believing in Something and/or Someone Else, she’d remember the grandfather’s fortune cookie thoughts ("He who dies Monday misses great reward of winning lottery tickets Tuesday," she'd chuckle."That will ultimately be my luck.") and wondered how many funerals she'd been to over the years where she thought of it while sharing her condolences. But long before those days arrived, the girl would stand on the same patch of rural ground to say goodbye to the grandfather.

And despite her requests, the band ignored the girl's repeated calls for an encore.

“It was his heart,” the aunts would pronounce. “It was simply too broken to go on.”

“Or maybe it was the cancer,” the girl whispered to her plate of tiny ham salad sandwiches and Archway cookies, and though none of the foodstuffs appeared willing to back her up, she knew she was right, and she relished the chance to lord over the baked goods. Surrounded by people who only seemed to call on God for his amazing abilities to damn things like the terrible driver ahead of them on the highway, the neighbor's barking dog, and (sometimes) each other, it made more sense to the girl to hold onto that than to listen to things like "He's in a better place," or "They're at peace now." The girl had seen the grandpa before the make up and the close shave and the folded hands, and if that was peace, she had thought, then she'd like to skip her turn if that was alright.

It would be years before the girl who had grown older would find herself embracing the idea of A Better Place ("What if my request for a better piece of cake is mistaken for the big curtain call?" she enjoyed asking, using her longstanding reign over confections to spark discussion) and having no Needs or Wants ("I will probably miss cake, though..."), but even then the girl who had grown older wondered, again (and sometimes still), what was so damn lucky about living - actually living - when it came to the end of life. What's so lucky, the woman would ask the Something and/or Someone Else, about laying awake nights wondering if the lives she had dreamed of and desired that were then taken away from her before she got to hold them would know her, truly know her, when she got to where they were? What's so lucky about having friends who must call in the brand new (or as some would say, ungodly) hours of the day not to say hello, but to deliver tragedy? What is so amazing about a power that seems so incomprehensible yet can also snap your mortal coil AND rain on your ultimate parade?

“And what if I haven’t been good enough while I’ve been here to deserve a spot there?” the girl who had grown older would ask, constantly in her head, sometimes out loud.

"What if I waited too long?"

"What if chose the answers I wanted to hear rather than the ones given to me?"

"What if I haven't done things right while I'm here?"

"What if there really isn't anything after this?"

And as was sometimes the case, the girl who had grown older, the one who liked to ask questions and married a man who could not sing, who liked to eat cake and look to the sky for the forecast, who was sometimes forced to acknowledge she didn't yet know as much as she thought, would hear a voice she could believe in.

"What if I had red-headed twins and the oven door fell on one of them?" the grandfather would ask the girl when it would all become too much, and the girl couldn't quite imagine how that could be anything other than a black cloud, but the memory of the moment would make her smile.

And she figured if she got there, on a rainy day or any other, she'd indeed be quite lucky.

Comments

[ms picket to you]

the wisdom of the child all wrapped up in the woman.

among many parts of this cupcake, this part will stay: "she found herself, hesitantly and still so, pondering the possibility of believing in Something and/or Someone Else..."

[mongoliangirl]

Wouldn't you know she would end up marrying a man who looked to the sky for the forecast! Perfect for the girl/woman who must know, eh?

[TwoBusy]

There's not a single thing about this that isn't entirely wonderful.

[Zip n Tizzy]

Surely arriving there and finding cake would be quite lucky. (And as it should be.)
A reminder that the children are always watching and always listening.
Very nice.

[Jett]

That Simon....*tsk-tsk*

John Taylor would've called.

[tysdaddy]

Very nice descriptions and ponderings. Lovely stuff . . .

[Susan (Trout Towers)]

I love logic that appears where you least expect it. Nicely done.