There was something uncomfortable about a funeral service on a sunny day. Uncomfortable because the images of a cloudless blue sky and a dead body being lowered into the ground didn’t quite fit together in my mind. Also, it was uncomfortable because I didn’t exactly enjoy wearing black in the beating sun. But alas, I feel it would have been uncouth to wear white to a funeral. I glanced down at my crossed wrists and then glanced around me to see if anyone was giving me a distasteful look. It’s not that I was checking the time because I was impatient for this thing to be over, it’s just that—actually, I was dying for this thing to wrap up. I really didn’t enjoy wearing black in the sun. And the only thing I knew about the body being lowered …show more content…
This was the one who looked like she actually belonged at a funeral. Tears and mascara ran down her face, leaving tracks in her off-shade foundation. Her ankle went out in her four-inch wedges, the sun glinting off the huge rock on her ring finger as she flailed around to catch her balance. The blonde curls around her hairline were matted down with sweat, probably because she was wearing black in the sun. See, I don’t know why it’s unacceptable to wear certain colors to funerals. Why make people more uncomfortable at one of the worst events in their life? I should start a petition. The small child by the woman’s side piqued my interest. His miniature hands were folded in front of him, his expensive suit presented without a wrinkle. Why does a child need a suit that cost more than my last paycheck? He stared into the distance with empty eyes, his face void of any emotion. Except, maybe, for distaste. It was there in the curl of his mouth, the slight peak of his eyebrow. For some reason, I thought a little boy showing distaste at his father’s funeral was a little …show more content…
“Yeah, that’s right, I suppose.” My brow relaxed and I shook my head. “I forgot, you find my job description untasteful.” “I mean, is it not?” “Hey, we both work for the same people.” “Actually, you don’t officially work for the government.” His tone was just a little smarmy. I rolled my eyes. “Right, I’m the crazy but rich great-aunt that’s ignored for the whole year until it’s Christmastime and everyone’s dying to see what I got them.” There was a pause. “Where do you come up with these comparisons?” “I don’t know, man, they just come naturally to me. But is what I said false?” “I mean, if I’ve decoded that metaphor correctly, then yeah, pretty much. It’s not like you have a problem with doing the people’s dirty work.” “Yeah, you’re right.” Did it bother me that my government employed me to the things they couldn’t do, legally? No, not really. The people I terminated were scumbags, the lowest of the low who were only walking free because they got lucky. It was either lack of evidence, a fluke in the trial, or a mistaken early release. They took lives, I took theirs. “You see anyone interesting there?” Mark asked, making me glance around
His demeanor lifted for a brief moment as he recalled something, before shifting back to his previously interrupted, confrontational speech. “Worse still, you don’t even have a day’s experience in patrol, and you’re looking to
...ve interest was free born and wished to marry her. However, after Harriet?s attempts to pursued her master to sell her to the young neighbor failed she was left worse off than before. Dr. Norcom was so cruel he forbade Harriet anymore contact with the young man. Harriet?s next love came when she gave birth to her first child. Her son Benny was conceived as a way to get around Dr. Norcom?s reign of terror. However, this is a subject that was very painful for her. She conveys to the reader that she has great regret for the length she went to stop her Master. Along with her own guilt she carries the memories of her Grandmother?s reaction to the news of her pregnancy. Clearly this was a very traumatic time in Harriet?s life. In light of these difficult events Harriet once again found love and hope in her new born son. ?When I was most sorely oppressed I found solace in his smiles. I loved to watch his infant slumber: but always there was a dark cloud over my enjoyment. I could never forget that he was a slave.? (Jacobs p. 62)
Throughout the story, the different roles and expectations placed on men and women are given the spotlight, and the coming-of-age of two children is depicted in a way that can be related to by many women looking back on their own childhood. The narrator leaves behind her title of “child” and begins to take on a new role as a young, adolescent woman.
“Hell, no,” Alex scoffed. “How I feed myself is none of the government’s business. Fuck their stupid rules.”
"That's way I'm looking at the part time jobs. I can work after school and it will bring a little extra money." Jack's glare softened now.
“You 're saying that the weapons we 're depending on may not even fire? And they can 't test them here?” She nodded at my question.
Marie, who is a product of an abusive family, is influenced by her past, as she perceives the relationship between Callie and her son, Bo. Saunders writes, describing Marie’s childhood experiences, “At least she’d [Marie] never locked on of them [her children] in a closet while entertaining a literal gravedigger in the parlor” (174). Marie’s mother did not embody the traditional traits of a maternal fig...
“You don’t know me.” My voice sounded as unsteady as his stance. He shrugged as he chuckled; the laughter turned my blood cold. He seemed to know something I did not.
This is crazy. Why am I afraid? I’m acting as if this is my first funeral. Funerals have become a given, especially with a life like mine, the deaths of my father, my uncle and not my biological mother, you would think I could be somewhat used to them by now. Now I know what you’re thinking, death is all a part of life. But the amount of death that I’ve experienced in my life would make anyone cower away from the thought. This funeral is nothing compared to those unhappy events.
It is a serious and quiet event. She sees the boys as "short men" gathering in the living room, not as children having fun. The children seem subdued to us, with "hands in pockets". It is almost as if they are waiting, as the readers are, for something of importance to take place.... ... middle of paper ...
“You know these people are just animals, cattle, feeding the machine of big government and big rules.”
“Many do. What I’m going to tell you now is strictly my opinion, not fact.”
"...Two, I quit modeling and ballet. Three, I'm pyromania...." Keith cleared his throat to add effect, and then tried to act surprised. "...And four, I've seriously fallen in love with Keith Justice after staring at his beautiful and gorgeous face a while ago?"
Before actually attending the funeral my parents made sure everything I was wearing was black. I made a mistake of wearing a red bracelet and my parents scolded me. As I took off bracelet, I asked my parents why I couldn’t wear a red bracelet and they said it was because the color red was associated with happiness and celebrations. I understood immediately because we recently celebrated what I considered the happiest time of the year, Chinese New Year, which prominately uses red. So it would have been disrespectful to wear red during the funeral. Many Western cultures “dictate that funeral grieving attendees avoid color altogether and opt for the lowest value, black” (Hirschman). So even across different places black is considered a mourning color for many cultures.
“No, why? What is wrong with you? Are you sick or something?” I replied showing confusion on my face.