Funeral_noctilucent001

Trap music is "filthy". When I mean "filthy" I don't mean the "filthy" slang they say when they admire a good song. I would say "dope" in that case. I meant the more traditional "filthy" which is used to describe something disgusting. I don't get why they play trap before a funeral. It may be unintentially used to test the funeral services' sound systems, or for something else. When the song was played, family friends started laughing and dancing. All I could do is laugh at them, hysterically, in my head.

     I guess it's time for me to explain what the heck is trap music, but after this I'm going to stop talking about it. It's a bit like hip-hop, with a more modern edge, but with more artificial drums (they call them '808' but I don't give a damn) with snippets of people saying, "Yeah!", "Oh!" and "...".

     And I remember quite a lot during the funeral because of trap. The funeral was short, and it ended with a disposal of white helium-filled balloons with yellow, white and red LEDs taped into them. If Memory serves me right, I was the last person to release the balloon.

     It was on a friend's funeral when the disposal occurred. I was then a lean, tall adolescent of fifteen. During the funeral service I felt the urge to shed some saline after three minutes of looking at a few weeping relatives, but unfortunately, I'm not a dramatic person. I've known him for years before he spent his last few years abroad. He was an aspiring photographer and an astronomer. I do not know much on how to communicate with friends abroad, neither do I care less about the matter.


      But why should I care? First, he was a friend. Second, he committed suicide. He had some sort of depression -


      There were relatives, who, after the service, cried some more during the lowering of the coffin. They threw roses, some are white, some red and some yellow. Coincidentally, they were his favorite colors. During the service, each of us had to say a few words about him, starting with my older sister, since she was the one who spent more time than any of us. She cried after a while, and then returned to her seat. 

      When it was my turn, I hadn't finished compiling what I had to say, and I felt like was still in another realm. My sister grabbed my hand, and whispered, "Allen, it's your turn. Stop acting so stupidly. Get up there and say something!"

       It was quickly getting dark, actually early dusk, as the sky had just turned maraschino red. I stared for a short while, marveling about the sight of such beauty, and the cold winds had done its job of complementing the radiant combination.

       I squirmed in my seat, inhaled and exhaled for a bit, and finally came to from a vivid daydream. As soon as I made it to the front of the coffin, I paused for a moment and reminded myself to stay calm - all I had to do was to say a few words, as loud as I can, while trying my best not to stutter or shake.

       "Our time together was short, but he does know darn well how to make memories in such a short span of time." I paused again. I thought some more, fiddling with every piece of my memory I have of him.

       "He'd crrack a joke or two, and I'd laugh so hard I'd literally roll off the f-floorrr."

       OK, that didn't go as planned.

       I paused again. "I have to make it convincing." I thought. 

       "And when, when, uhh, yeah. When I was little..." I started to shake, feeling uncomfortable about my awkward gait - it felt like walking at the edge of some lunar crater. I stared at my watch for a few seconds. 

       "He... He had the spirit of a..." 

       Suddenly, something took hold of my left shoulder, something half-warm and half cold, it patted my shoulder three times. My reaction was incredibly stupid - I jerked like an earthworm moving out of wet, sticky dirt in front of the audience. I received lots of laughter, especially from the little kids. "Allen, you've said enough. Let's now hand the floor to the next of the beloved friends." said a raspy voice. The laughter was quickly silenced; it was time for the others to say something. 

       My pulse quickly became normal. It was the hand of the local evangelist, Reverend Pete Sewell. He was jolly, tall man of fifty-four, with wrinkles on his face and a few strands of gray hair. He wore glasses with small, oval rims. And he wore a deep yellow shirt and jeans. On his wrist lays a silver watch, gleaming like cubes of ice on a stainless steel platter. I sat down. At that moment I had so many thoughts in my head, ricocheting, around the vaults of my cranium. I hated myself for that stupid act; that day was embarrassing for sure. I fell into some long and weird daydream, again. 


        "Allen, the burial had just finished. You look haggard, want a drink of water?" said the Reverend.

        I hesitated. "No thank you, I'm as fine as you are." I said with the utmost sarcasm.

        "You know, I don't think it's a good idea to have a funeral at dusk, it feels so unusual..."

        "Yes. Though it was his family's choice. You know that, right?"

        "Mmm. But it's still weird."

        "Not weird, in a sense. Just something you and I don't experience everyday."

        "Oh, I don't attend funerals everyday."

        "But I do, well, actually, every week." he replied.

        "All the same, Reverend."

        "Hmm. Yeah. Oh, by the way, we're releasing balloons. Want to join? We'll be seeing stars after that."

        I said nothing and took a balloon, grasping it by the string, holding it tightly so the balloon won't leave so suddenly. I stood near the tent, and said the final prayers just before we let go of the balloons. After approximately thirty-seven seconds we finally let go of the balloons. 

        There was a slight wrinkle: my balloon got stuck inside the roof of the open tent.

        I quickly took the balloon from the tent and finally let it go, this time, on open air.

        Again, the balloon was stuck, this time at the branches of nearby tree. I stood there, helpless, silently cursing at the balloon's failure to get airborne.

        Miraculously, the balloon took flight and joined 47 other balloons in the sky.

        I looked skywards, and saw what would become one of the greatest sights in my entire life: for the first time I saw my balloon and other balloons morphed into a beautiful painting of a star-filled night sky. The mountainous landscape, the balloon-filled night sky, it was perfect. 

         After a few sluggish photograph sessions with friends and family, we were going home. 

         "I hope you see this one, pal. Get the rest you've always wanted."