My Friend the Bankrobber

Beth stared into the bottom of her freshly
emptied glass and considered her next move, eventually opting to make another drink. "Your features and bone structure make you such a natural beauty. If you could make yourself Hollywood skinny, you know, if you lost 15 or 20 lbs, you would outshine any Hollywood starlet today without needing to get any work done!" Mark's backhanded compliment replayed over and over in Beth's mind as she sloughed fresh ice cubes into her glass and filled it with too-much-vodka and a lemon Lacroix. She knew acting like his hurtful comment was anything but a glowing compliment would start a fight. If she was drunk she may forget the comment, or at the very least the ensuing fight would be more bearable. C'est La Vie.
Beth walked out of the kitchen into the living room, to find Mark flexing at himself in the mirror, unsurprisingly. Beth's phone buzzed across the room. Tom was calling. Strange, as Tom rarely, if ever rang her. Beth had been sleeping on Tom's couch for the better part of the past 8 months, so she usually just saw him before a phone call was needed. Beth answered, "Hello? Is everything alright?" Tom paused before replying, "Well, no. Collin's dead." Beth laughed. She was tipsy enough to assume this was some sick prank. "You're joking." She said. Tom sighed. "No, I'm not. I wish I was. Cassandra's dead too. Collin murdered her, and then himself. I'm sorry you had to hear this way. I was going to wait to tell you in person when you got home, but I wasn't sure when that would be and I figured you would want to know sooner than later." Not a prank. Beth said, "Alright. I'll be home in a little while and we can talk more then. God dammit, Collin. See you soon. Bye." The last phrase was choked through the beginning of a sob.
Beth hung up the phone and sank to the floor. She heaved heavy sobs for a while until their erraticism caused her to choke on her own spit, forcing her to stop to regulate her breathing. She was in shock. Beth realized Mark had been talking to her, frantically asking what the matter was. "Collin's dead, and he killed his wife Cassandra too." Beth began to cry heavily again. Forming the words added unwanted gravity to the awful situation. Mark breathed a sigh of relief. "Dear Lord, the way you broke down I assumed that your sister had died or something!" Beth shot daggers at Mark, contemplating the repercussions of throwing actual knives at him. "No, thankfully my sister's still alive." She replied curtly. "Collin was my friend though. This is a horrible situation." Mark snickered, "I feel like you're being a little dramatic. It's not like you two were friends for years or anything." Beth gathered her belongings as swiftly as possible, threw on her boots and muttered "I need to go." before slamming the apartment door behind her.
Beth paused in the apartment complex foyer to check the next bus arrival time. 23 minutes. No way she could afford an Uber. The walk to the subway station took roughly the same time, and she desperately needed to keep moving. The late summer afternoon humidity left a stuffy feeling in the air, but Beth didn't mind. As she set off through the quiet Chicago neighborhood making her way to the Blue Line Station, she considered her friendship with Collin. Mark was correct, she and Collin hadn't been friends all that long. Really, they had only spent time together starting the end of the previous spring through the summer. Up until now. However short lived, the friendship the pair had formed was special, albeit unorthodox.
—
Beth first met Collin the previous February, shortly after moving in with Tom, who lived above an old Irish pub on the West side of the city, and would typically spend his afternoons visiting with friends there. Tom was at least 20 years Beth's senior, and his kept company consisted of a myriad of fascinating characters. On this particular night Tom was posted up at a round booth in the back room of the bar, shooting the shit with three or four ;l.men Beth hadn't met, Collin among them.
The bar itself fell somewhere between a dive and a classic Irish Pub. Outside at the edge of the patio stood an old red phone booth. Punching a secret code into the keypad unlocked a side door allowing entrance to the apartments above, where Tom lived. Beth always felt like a secret agent entering the building this way. Inside the bar were brick-lain walls, featuring two impressive looking rustic arches spanning across the room. A spattering of Irish themed decor adorned the walls,  but not in the overly-kitschy manner seen in many Chicagoland pubs. The lighting always teetered on the edge of being too dim for comfort, which gave the bar a homey feel. The pool table in the back room, which was usually empty save for a private event or the owner's friends, was where Beth honed her pool skills. She was no shark, but could handle her own with most worthy opponents that came her way.
As she entered the bar Beth greeted the bartender Rachel who let her know where Tom was at. As she made her way back, Tom stood up to greet her with a hug. If he were to ever actually stand erect he would likely tower over Beth around 6'5'', but years of self aware temerity left his stature topping out around 6'2'' or so. Dapperly dressed as always, he donned a camel sports coat, pressed chinos and a Brooks Brother's pinstripe shirt. Patent leather penny loafers completed the look. His tan fedora sat beside him in the booth. Beth was always impressed by Tom's sense of fashion, and he had taught her everything she knew about how to dress to fit in with high society and posture as rich. Tom said it was all about the shoes, nails, and teeth.
Tom introduced Beth to the company of the table. There were three men in the booth, each taking breaks from their conversation to give an uncomfortable Beth the up-down, with varying degrees of lust. One of the men stood out among the three. Collin was seated at the back of the booth, and was the only one to make no effort to stand up upon Beth's introduction. He was also missing his right eye. Collin gave a scary first impression. Roughly in his forties, he had a shaved head and the demeanor of someone with a body count. He introduced himself as "Irish." Beth couldn't help but associate the mnemonic "One Eyerish," which reflexively made her feel guilty. She figured it was harmless as long as she kept it to herself.
Tom ordered a pair of grape bombs for Beth and himself, along with a pair of Fernet and Cokes for sipping. Tom had turned Beth on to Fernet and Cokes with the charming fact of the coctail's popularity in Argentina at some point, and she had been hooked since. Beth perched herself at the edge of the booth and observed the ongoing conversation, gleaning what info she could about each of them as she listened. Most of the chatter was ego-driven business talk, boring dribble to Beth. She was half-listening to the conversation when Irish (who's real name was Collin, Beth would extrapolate later) started recounting last week's highlight when he beat some dude to a pulp after he "Tried to give some of the most bullshit lip" he had heard in a while. He told the story with an unhinged gleeful tone and Beth felt more secure in her first impression of him, logging his potential energy as erratic and violent. He went on to lament the upcoming summer. The next few months were to be spent getting various dental procedures, making it so Collin wouldn't be able to drink. This relieved Beth, though she never expected to see him again. She figured that would be good for him. Beth finished her Argentinian cocktail and excused herself up to Tom's apartment, bidding all a good night and fibbing she hoped to see them all again soon.
Beth saw Collin next about three weeks later, when she was startled awake on Tom's couch to find "Irish" standing about 5 feet away looking at her.  At 7 AM Beth wasn't expecting anyone to be over, and her first panicked thought concerned the location of her pants. She had a plethora of questions, but all she could muster in her half-conscious state was a croaked "What the fuck?" Tom heard this and sheepishly appeared in the kitchen to meet Collin and Beth, who shot an inquisitive look to Tom. Taking the cue, Tom cleared his throat, "Sorry, Beth. I told Collin he could swing by whenever he was up and at 'em. I didn't anticipate it being quite this early. Again, sorry." Beth wiped the sleep from her eyes, surreptitiously redressed the leggings she had peeled off at some point in her sleep, and decided to not let the situation annoy her. Collin's reflexive contrition helped. The dental procedures had begun, and Collin was having a hard time adjusting to his new sober circadian rhythm. Tom, being a good friend as well as an intense homebody welcomed the company. So began the summer of Collin being over at Tom's apartment all the fucking time.
Tom's apartment had a singular setup. The secret-agent-phone-booth entrance led to a small, unassuming hallway, which led into the back of the first floor bar. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, fish and chips and cracked leather permeated into the hallway- a seedy familiar smell Beth loved. The hallway itself was unadorned, a beige painted wall bar side, creme tile flooring, and an elevator on the opposite wall. The inside of the elevator consisted of stained olive berber carpet, a small end table for mail, and a whiteboard where tenants could write notes to each other, (Typically extremely lewd and hilarious ones) and doors opening on both sides. Entering a 6 digit code on the elevator pad would whisk the elevator up to the chosen apartment, where doors would open directly into the flat. Tom's was apartment 4S.
The apartment itself looked perpetually cluttered, like an occasional-junkie's bachelor pad, but smartly styled with well picked vintage decor that gave the whole place an anachronistic vibe. It felt like something out of a J.D. Salinger story. The same could be said about Tom. The living room into which the elevator opened consisted of hardwood floors,mostly covered by a large storm-gray shag rug topped by a broad, low standing cherry-wood coffee table with an ornate black inlay on the table-top perimeter. Next to the table along the wall opposite the elevator resided a very old, very massive lazy boy sofa which doubled as Beth's temporary bed. The front of the apartment was mostly windows that vibrantly flooded the room with natural light during the day, and had a sliding-glass door which opened to a small rot iron balcony overlooking the bar laden street below. Directly inside the balcony door stood a cat tree for Tom's two cats, both named Nancy Raegan, and beside that, opposite the couch, a small nook with a brown leather recliner nestled in front of a seven foot, dead weeping ficus tree.
According to Tom, the apartments were built back in the 1960's, designed to accommodate the onslaught of "J-1ers," kids from the summer-long Visa program that flooded Chicago with a slew of punchy, freshly graduated Irish punks every year. This led to some unorthodox features throughout the rest of the flat. Turning right out of the elevator led to the kitchen, a modest island separating the living room and an impressive amount of cabinet space containing virtually zero dishes or cookware. Beyond that lay a hallway leading to Tom's bedroom at the back of the apartment. The first room on the left of the hallway served as Tom's office, as well as a walk-in closet due to the large sliding door coat closet along the south side of the room somehow still too small to contain Tom's impressive designer wardrobe. Most notably, the north end of the room had a large lofted area, though it couldn't have had more than a 5 foot clearance to the ceiling it extended about 15 feet back. The loft was originally intended to sleep up to 10 Irish kids come summertime, but remain relatively inconspicuous the rest of the year. Tom's decrepit napping couch and an oak desk with peeling finish, a myriad of paperwork, and multiple china salad plates crusted over with unknown substances crushed and snorted over the course of who-knows-how-many years completed the room.
Directly across the hall from the office was the washer/dryer unit, and beside that the first bathroom, with a standard sink toilet and stand up shower. The most interesting room by far was the second bathroom, further down the hall. This bathroom was sardonically and salaciously referred to as "the porn bathroom," and for good reason. Split between two bedroom-sized rooms split up by a notch-under opaque bamboo slide door. The first room had the toilet and stubble-adorned sinks Tom primarily used. The second room, about double the area of the first, donned four sources of steamed water output. Stepping into the tile floor there would be two aggressively high pressured side stream faucets and a rain shower in the center. The second half of this mini-bathhouse was a jacuzzi tub so large that calling it anything but a hot tub felt like a misnomer. The bathroom was undeniably pornographic.
Tom's room was consistently dim, tartan blackout curtains covering the back sliding doors. Tom kept his TV on top of the dresser across from his bed, mostly watching MLB games to stay up to date with his baseball stat obsession  in the day and watch films with Beth in the evenings. His bed had a beautiful cherry frame and sheets covered in a constellation of burned holes from sleepy cigarettes. The most anachronistic aspect of the place by far was the indoor smoking clause. It felt like a novelty, and thoroughly charmed Beth who luxuriated in how wrong it felt.
Collin would arrive at Tom's place every morning between 7 and 8:30, after dropping his daughter off at school. Beth, naturally an early riser, didn't mind, especially since Collin always headed promptly back to Tom's room to allow her some privacy as she woke up. At first, Beth generally left Tom and Collin to visit while she made herself busy in the living room/her bedroom, only exchanging pleasantries with Collin. After about a week of feeling left out, curiosity got the best of Beth, so after preparing her coffee she would perch on Tom's bed to listen to their conversations. Beth felt it would be rude to ask the most obvious questions to Collin, but was desperately curious about things like the origins of his nickname, like if he was born one-eyed or if not what happened, and what was to blame for his bellicose demeanor. The last was answered fairly quickly, though indirectly.
One morning Tom and Collin were reminiscing about "some crazy broad" who had briefly lived at Tom's apartment. Collin remarked how she reminded him of all the insane girls he seduced back when he lived in Argentina. Beth couldn't help but take the bait, inquiring when and why someone like Irish ever would have lived in South America. The inevitable sunburns alone were enough to perplex her. Collin laughed, shooting a devious glance at Beth, like a fox eyeing an unassuming bunny. Collin lit a cigarette, clearly savoring Beth's baited breath, and let the smoke seep out of his mouth as he said temptingly, "Oh, Tom didn't tell you about my time on the lam?" Beth smirked, hoping it would stifle the simmering blush in her neck threatening to betray her hidden nerves to Tom and Collin. She swallowed the lump in her throat as inconspicuously as she could, then replied with feigned coyness, "Couldn't say that he has. Care to share?" Collin grinned, "Shit girl. You better buckle up because it's a hell of a ride. God damn, I wish I could have a drink right now. Fucking Dentists." Beth refilled her coffee mug, then Collin's before taking her place on her bed-couch to settle in for the story.
—
Collin began proudly by regaling about the hell he and his crew would raise since the time they were just young punks. Collin and his boys would ride around together raising hell in a town with walls already painted red. His main goal back then was gaining capital, as speedily and spectacularly as possible. Small-time drug deals, local stick-ups and robberies quickly lost their luster to Collin, who's youthful mooneyes were soon eclipsed by more golden opportunities. Collin was close with his brother in law Marco, who had some buddies out east who'd concocted a fool proof plan for robbing a particular mid sized bank franchise thanks to prime intel from an inside scoop at the bank. Marco's buddy and his boys had hit five joints already without a hitch, averaging anywhere between five and fifty grand a branch split four ways. Collin looked out for Marco and his sister, and Marco wanted to reciprocate by including him in his own Midwest version of the heist. All Collin had to do was say yes. Collin required no convincing. Marco's brother Rico and cousin Bee were already in on the plan. Collin's commitment completed the required quartet.
Collin didn't elaborate on semantics, but Beth gathered he was one of the nylon-faced gunmen. He did say that none of the team carried any legitimate firearms into the bank to avoid "the real shit show charges, just in case." A bank full of terrified people weren't looking too closely at weapon authenticity. Beth had no clue how many robberies truly took place, but her imagination baited her mind into picturing a Bonnie and Clyde meets Jimmy Hoffa robbery spree. All Collin had to say about it was, "When we got going it was the absolute tits, then everything went to shit. Marco fucked it. I don't...I just. Fuck! It was all messed up, ya know? It wasn't supposed to go like that, it was supposed to be easy." He forced a hard cough, clearing the emotional frog caught in it, and lit a cigarette, barely masking the dewey tear droplets on his lashes. Irish Catholics perfected the art of getting misty. Beth could see the real fear smoldering in Collin's reminiscing single eye.
Collin had a connection down in Argentina and as the failed burglars barrelled down what Beth pictured as Jeweler's Row in the South Loop, before hearing the howling screech of CPD police and swat sirens, he was decided upon Argentina as his new Eden, or more aptly his Crete. He would collect his wife and baby, a few personal belongings and high tail it south to start a new life. Hell, the prospect was a magical opportunity to Collin, he didn't know why he hadn't done it before. A new country, a new language, a new chance. This move would be like an oil change for his soul, get things running right and clean in Argentina. Tin pan in hand he went to collect his family and shove off to a better life.
Upon arriving home Collin's wife Maria immediately picked up on his frenetic energy and assumed the worst, correctly, about the failed mission. She contemptuously asked Collin what the hell She and their child were supposed to do while his dumb ass was in prison, and was taken aback by the hopeful gleam in Collin's eyes. "Baby, we don't have to worry about any of that," he consoled, "You and me and the baby are going to Argentina. I have a buddy down there who said he will get us all set up. Just think of it, Maria, our little family, building a really nice life. Just us. It could be nice." Maria didn't move or speak for a long time. Collin tried reading Maria's expression, unsuccessfully. He considered asking her thoughts on the plan but immediately thought better of it. So he waited for her expression to soften into acceptance or harden into resolved defiance. Although they had been married for close to five years now, Collin still never knew for sure what would follow the eery stoic contemplative state she defaulted to when making any big decision. She terrified Collin in the same, exciting reckless way robberies terrified him, and he loved her as deeply as he loved crime. They were his two great romances.
Finally, Maria's face began to come to life again, having mulled things over sufficiently. She blinked hard, breaking the stalemate. Her eyebrows twitched into a furrow, then instantly relaxed again. This twitch was signal enough for Collin to know she wasn't on board. Her lips pursed over her teeth, thinning and turning them from their usual soft salmon shade into a pale Winthrop peach-hue. Her pursed lips always reminded Collin of sheets on a freshly made bed for some reason. The way her lips were still somehow soft and slightly pillowey even when contempt tried to hide them. The tenderness Maria's lips evoked in Collin elicited the opposite response that Maria anticipated, and though this happened to Collin every time Maria was thin-lipped angry, Collin couldn't help himself. Invariably this made Maria furious, leading Maria to stick her heels in the sand and double down on a decision before any discussion or deliberation. She closed her eyes tightly, took a deep breath, and without opening them said with a quiet coolness, " I'm not going to Argentina, Collin. What am I supposed to do there? Or you, for that matter? Jesus, Collin. What happens when you act like a total Jackass in Argentina and we're just fucked all over again? And don't go making false fucking promises that you'll 'turn it around down there' because we both know that's a fucking lie so don't even start. You have a child to think about. Do you seriously want her growing up on the Lam with you? What kind of childhood is that? What exactly what would tell her? No. What what YOU tell her? My family is here. My life is here. Do whatever you need to do for yourself, you always have, but I am done. We are done."
Tears welling, Collin pleaded, "Maria, please, just think-" "No." Maria cut him short. "This is done. I love you, but I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry." Collin sat on the edge of the bed in stunned silence. He didn't bother protesting. Maria was an immovable force of will when she decided to be. He had loved her for it. Collin listened to the front door slam and the ignition start up on Maria's Carola. Listening to the crunching of the tires reversing on the gravel driveway, Collin realized that would likely be the last sound he would ever hear from his beloved Maria. Collin felt lightheaded, walked to the bathroom and looked at his reflection. He splashed his face with cold water and slapped his senses back. He could mourn that relationship later. Now, he needed to get his ass to Argentina. He grabbed his go bag, made a few calls, and found himself on a flight out of the United States less than 6 hours from when the heist turned sour.
Collin went to Argentina, and Maria stayed behind with her family, including her brother and daughter, no longer including Collin. His buddy got him hooked up with a humble one bedroom apartment and and a job doing some construction. He went out almost nightly with his work buddies, brought in loads of women with his freshly bachelored outlaw energy, and picked up a considerable amount of Spanish in no time. Collin was happier than he could ever remember.
Collin lived in peace for about a year until one morning pounding on the doorframe, flashed badges, and rapid Spanish awoke Collin before he was hazily placed in cuffs and shuffled off to the airport to be handed over to US Federal agents. The jig was up. He didn't try to fight, he knew it was over. Shacked at the wrists and ankles, Collin was transported back to the United States to await trial. The details were understandably skimmed over by Collin here, but from his telling of the trial, the only fact that mattered was that Collin had been catagorically fucked over by his ex brother in law. When the defense lawyer filled Collin in on the treason, he saw red, felt black and blue, and his knuckles clenched white on the interrogation table. An outburst now wouldn't help sentencing, so he compromised on settling into a quiet, seething rage.
Collin noticed the moon-eyed wonderment mixed with shock in Beth's eyes, and decided to wrap up the story. He explained how he was locked up for a few years here in Illinois, and has been making the best of it since then. Beth asked about prison. Collin only winked and gave a controlled grin to hide his true feelings and said "well, I'm here now, which is all that maters. I won't filll your pretty little mind with ugly images that you can't sleep away. Beth sipped down the last of her coffee and a pang of disappointment over the omitted salacious details settled into relief that he had left them out. He was right, some images can't be erased, and she appreciated his respect for maintaining his perceived innocence of her. Sharing his story humble Collin somehow. Beth respected him for sharing. She appreciated his vulnerability and the apparent verisimilitude of the story. The experience bonded the pair and set the stage for a much more genuine friendship.
—
As Beth approached the CTA station she brushed her hair to cover her face best she could. She hated crying in public. It made her seem weak and vulnerable. Tapping her Ventra pass, she felt the weight of every footstep on the ascending stairs to the platform. Her steps were the only thing that felt real, the gravity of each falling footstep somehow proving that she was alive. Sweat was beginning to intermingle with the tears on Beth's face. She felt sticky and  could smell the excess salt on her cheeks. She fished an old cocktail napkin from her purse and dabbed away the excess perspiration from her temple. The Blue line arrived, barreling into the platform area with mechanical screeches before wrenching to a stop, doors opening, releasing a cloud of the stewed air from the train car. Beth shifted down to the next car in hopes of a less dense airspace. This car was better, but not by much. She took her seat on the single reserved for those with bikes or bulky baggage to avoid interacting with any other commuters. Thankfully the car was nearly empty and devoid of any deranged and/or unnervingly outgoing passengers. Beth gazed lazily out the window and watched the buildings shift from defined structures to a copper-beige blur as the subway departed from the station.
—
Beth's weekday commute to her nannying job included a bus, two subway lines, and a half mile walk.  Although Beth was a morning bird she habitually found herself tardily leaving the apartment most mornings in a discombobulated tizzy. After a week or two of observing this pattern Collin demanded answers. She explained her daily travel itinerary, and without hesitation Collin chirped, "Well shit, girl! Why didn't you ask me for a ride before? I ain't got shit to do. I can take you no problem. You ready to go?" Beth thanked him with a bear hug, and collected her things, establishing Collin as Beth's work chauffeur. Once he realized how convenient the drop off was for him he began picking her up from work and shuttling her home as well.
Beth and Collin would chat about a myriad of topics during the morning and afternoon commutes. Beth's favorite was when Collin spent the drive pointing out every security camera, including tips and tricks for avoiding them when evading cops. Movies, poetry, music, and history were other common points of discussion. Beth would play old bluegrass and country tunes Collin had never heard of, listening as she explained the background and cultural context of each song. One afternoon Beth delivered a two hour diatribe on Merle Haggard's "Okie from Muskogee," recounting to Collin the wild devastation of the Dust Bowl, Woody Guthrie's musical influence from the era, and all the social implications of being an "Okie". Collin was fascinated, or perhaps he just enjoyed watching her light up about any topic. Either way, Collin and Beth both treasured their car ride conversations.
Collin marveled at the ease of access to music any time whenever Beth would play music on-demand from her phone via the aux cord. One morning Collin excitedly burst into Tom's apartment and plopped down beside a still-drowsy Beth while holding something gingerly in his hands. Beth wondered if it might be a baby bird until he unclamped his hands to reveal an archaic IPod mini— the third generation edition that looked like a little 2 inch square. Collin was approaching giddiness when he asked her, "So...do you think you could help me put some songs on this thing so I can listen to whatever songs I like like you do?" Beth chuckled, "I don't think I've ever seen you this excited about something. Of course! You have a charging cord, right?" This iPod was so old it required a wide tooth plug, technology that had been obsolete for almost a decade at that point. "Right here!" Collin procured a long  no-longer-white charging cord from the recesses of his jacket pocket, thrusting it overhead like some sort of trophy. The dangling chord from the bulk dated plug looked like Collin was flying a kite, ready to release it to the will of the wind. "It may take me a little while to figure it out. It's been a while since I put free music on one of these things," Beth apologized. "No worries at all, Doll. Take your time." And with a wink sauntered down the hallway to mingle with Tom in his room.
Beth owned this exact model of IPod at one point, but was a middle schooler at the time. Technology had come a long way in the meantime. A quick google search for the old pirating website she had used back in the day found that ship long sunken. Her next best idea was more tedious, yet ultimately effective. She found a site that extracted the audio from a YouTube video to create a downloadable audio file in whatever format selected. A quick drag and drop into ITunes deposited the music in the ITunes library to be easily synced onto the device. However laborious the process, Beth gladly chipped away at the project as swiftly as possible. It made her tremendously warmed to know such a mundane and silly favor could bring her friend such joy.
Collin's first download request was an album by The Wknd, surprising Beth. Downloading the first album took the longest, but once she had the hang of it Beth and Collin formed a steady routine. Collin would deliver a handwritten list of requested songs for Beth to download to her computer. When finished she would text Collin who could swing the iPod by Tom's place for Beth to quickly copy the music to the device. This exchange lasted the entire summer, and the iPod accumulated a considerable library over the weeks including Judas Priest, Kodak Black, Stealers Wheel, St. Paul and the Broken bones, and of course various bluegrass and country songs Beth would sneak into the mix. Beth's final text to Collin was to let him know he had a batch of songs ready to download. She wondered if he had ever gotten to see it before he died.
—
Beth met Collin's wife Cassandra on only two separate occasions, the first being very brief. Collin had been over at Tom's all day despite the fact that he and Cassandra were supposed to be traveling the next day, so she dropped by to collect Collin in order for the pair to finish final preparations for the next day's travels. Collin introduced Beth, who was excited to meet the woman he had heard a considerable amount about. At least that's what she told Cassandra. Honestly, Collin didn't speak much about his wife to Beth. All she really knew about Cassandra was that she worked in a school and was decidedly not related in any way to his past bank-robbing life. "She's a real good gal," Collin would say. From where Beth stood Collin didn't neglect Cassandra in conversation out of shame or indignance toward her, rather it was the result of the tight-lipped prideful catholic masculinity that kept conversations like that close to the chest in general. Cassandra seemed indifferent if not slightly peeved about meeting Beth, but quickly excused her behavior, blaming it on the stress of travel.
The next time Beth and Cassandra crossed paths wasn't particularly lengthy either, though much less tense. Beth had cooked a potroast that day for Tom and anyone else who decided to stop along. Beth, Tom, Collin, and Cassandra all sat around the living room and ate dinner together, gawking at the increasingly belligerent bar hoppers stumbling along the bustling street below. Cassandra sparsely spoke, only occasionally dropping devilishly witty quips, all impeccably timed. She had a demure air, sat with a debutante posture while maintaining a strong presence. She seemed like a woman who carried solutions in her purse like hard candies. Beth was enchanted by her stately charm, and secretly wondered how Collin could have landed someone as beautiful and well-tempered as Cassandra. They did seem like a good match for each other, however mismatched. They made each other laugh, they didn't put each other down. In fact, after Beth told Cassandra of her short term dream of moving to Memphis, (This was the reason for Beth's crashing on Tom's couch, to save money for the move) Cassandra immediately volunteered herself and Collin to drive Beth down to Memphis that September. They loved Biel street, and wouldn't dare let Beth move down to a brand new city by herself without knowing anyone. She called her current plan ludicrous nd wouldn't accept Beth's attempted protest. After she thankfully agreed, the couple excused themselves home for the evening.
—
The subway lurched to a stop, narrated by soothing nebulous announcements over the subway's loudspeaker. The voice was a constant white noise, and its consistent presence another tether for Beth to her own vitality, a comfort to Beth in the moment. The car doors mechanically slid open, and a bear of a man sauntered onto the car, seating himself on the double seat on the far edge of the car in the seat directly facing Beth's. He wore a floor length jaguar print fur coat, exacerbating his burly, apex predatorial presence. Gaudily large gold and silver rings adorned the right hand's digits, left hand secured in ornately detailed brass knuckles resting atop an ebony cane embellished with a variety of precious gems. Under the white fedora side saddled with a peacock feather and Blue's Brothers black tinted sunglasses, Beth could feel his carnal gaze fixed on her. The man wasn't simply undressing her with his eyes, he was devouring her, somehow claiming her as his own. The only plausible explanation Beth could conceive was that this man had to be a pimp. Beth, never having witnessed a real-life pimp (at least that she was aware of) was shocked to see the pop-culture stereotype she had for reference mind bogglingly accurate. Beth's shock at the man's appearance in addition to her baseline dismay meant that too much time passed before Beth realized that she had been staring right back at the pimp, who now was licking his lips and curling them into a sinister smirk. He shifted his jeweled hand to the right thigh of his outstretched lap, presumably to open his coat and show off the contents hidden by the jacket to her. Beth didn't dare look. She was his prey. Beth shifted uncomfortably in her seat, crossed her legs even more tightly in the opposite direction as before, attempting to make a show of her chastity to this creep. Her physical discomfort only caused the pimp to laugh a deep, low, disturbing laugh, a rolling growl. It occurred to Beth how she must have looked in the moment, her face a reddened puffy mess from crying. She realized he was getting off on her vulnerable and weak state, and was luxuriating in adding to her fear. Beth tightened her expression to that of vague perturbation and cast a bothered glance back out the window for the remaining two stops on her ride, keeping the pimp in her peripheral to keep tabs in case he tried something funny. The train was underground now, and Beth focused on the string of dim lights, like a series of shooting stars lining the insides of the subway tracks as she let her mind wander.
—
Beth's couch dwelling situation meant most of that spring and summer was spent mostly in the company of Tom and his friends, all men in their late fourties and early fifties. Beth by comparison was twenty three. The situation was bizarre, amusing, and fascinated Beth. One of her biggest takeaways was learning the line between leering entitled lust- a valid threat, and fratish hoots and mooning over an attractive figure which was harmless. Perhaps it was the inherent boundary set by Beth's ambiguous relationship with Tom, which was truthfully platonic but the vagueness provided a easy social barrier Beth wasn't about to ruin. Although she was bombarded with compliments from all Tom's cohorts, she never felt unsafe, and while they toed the line they never attempted crossing it.
Compliments from Collin usually were blurted out or not-so-under his breath, accidental voicings of his inner monologue. This lack of self awareness led to some of the most out of pocket, uncouth remarks Beth had ever heard. Others were spontaneous, guileless expressions of earnest admiration. Both made Beth blush. Without a gym membership, Beth routinely completed her exercise routines at home, ideally when it was otherwise unoccupied. On one less than ideal day Beth was trying to fit in a workout before lunch in the livingroom/hallway while Tom and Collin chatted in the back bedroom. Beth was doing some ab routine, and as Collin made his way to the bathroom he stopped and gawked slack-jawed speechless. Beth, feeling Collin's gaze, spun around startled. "Can I help you?" She castigated. Collin stammered, "I...sorry...it's just..holy hot damn. How did Tom snag a sweetie like you? You keep it tight, girl!" Beth didn't know anybody still used the phrase "Keeping it tight" and rolled her eyes as she stood up and walked a few paces away to create more distance between her and Collin. "First of all, nobody 'snagged' anyone. Second of all, you're a total creep. Thirdly, thanks." And smiled. Collin's face was that of embarrassed remourse, and Beth accepted his contrition.
One morning an insomniatic Collin showed up at Tom's earlier than usual, before even Beth was awake. The sun was just rising, and Beth only briefly stirred and thought she had seen Collin smiling at her, but by the time she had fully woken up she wasn't convinced she had only dreamed the incident. Post coffee, as Collin shuttled Beth to her job, he blurted out, "Sorry for waking you up this morning. I wasn't being a creep or anything, I swear. It's just... you were sleeping there and the way the sun was falling on your face, you looked like a vision. I wasn't sure if you were real. I thought you might be an actual angel." Collin kept his eyes on the road and turned the radio music up, embarrassed to have said anything in the first place. Beth looked out the window trying to conceal her beaming closed mouth grin, shielding her shimmering eyes by gazing out the passenger window. Later that week Collin confided to Beth that she reminded him of his daughter, though she was considerably younger. He told her he would be proud if she turned out anything like Beth. Collin's unwavering honesty was Beth's favorite quality about him. She wondered if he'd always been that way or if life had just dragged him into perpetual bluntness. Whatever the case, Beth found it refreshing.
—
The subway car, now roughly half full with downtown bound passengers, crept into Beth's target stop as she stood up to exit the car. Thankfully a bike-toting granola mom had gotten on at the previous stop, effectively providing a pixie-cut vegan human shield between Beth and the shudder-inducing pimp. Beth added, "Not getting abducted by a pimp" to the short list of pathetic wins that day. She left the station and embarked on the short walk past the mostly-empty mid afternoon bar scene to get to Tom's apartment. Her feet felt heavier and heavier with every step. It felt as though the bones in her feet and legs weren't made of bone, but lumber, then sand, clay, finally like stone. Her footsteps no longer made her feel alive. Beth stopped in a nook in one of the buildings to collect herself. She looked at her reflection in the polished marble column in front of her. What was she going to do when she got home? She'd never had a friend die. She stared into her own eyes dismally. Then, shaking her head to shake off her morosity like a dog would shake to dry his coat, she glared back at herself. "Quit being a selfish jag." she thought. "Collin and Tom have been friends longer than you've been alive. You need to be there for Tom. Tighten up." Beth used the rest of the walk to set her face into a stoic expression she could hopefully maintain to avoid an immediate breakdown. She stood in the phone booth for a long time before entering the buzzer code on the phone dial. It occurred to her there would never again be a surprise visit from Collin.
As the elevator doors slid open and Beth stepped into the apartment, she wasn't sure what to expect. What she didn't expect was a shockingly composed Tom on the phone making some sort of service arrangement for Collin. As she walked in he nodded hello and held up a finger to signal he would only be a minute longer, then excused himself into his office and closed the door. Beth placed her bag on the floor and took her place on the sofa bed. Beth began feeling queasy, flooded with a Rolodex of morning memories. Collin's elevator entries would naturally stir Beth no matter how quiet Collin tried to be, the machinery would do the work. Beth grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and chugged it down, filled it again and drank another half glass. All the crying had dehydrated her. The sun was beginning to set and Beth regarded the mystical quality cast by the late afternoon light. The sunbeams spilling down the hallway into the front room through Tom's back balcony door illuminated millions of dust particles seemingly suspended in mid air, like walking through a Polaroid of some sepia snowstorm. A moment in time, expanded in the dusk.
Tom finished his call, lit a cigarette and ran his piano player's hands through his unkempt chestnut hair. Beth heaved a sigh. "So...what happened?" She couldn't look directly at Tom, knowing it would cause her to immediately break down. She couldn't look at anything directly, except the specks suspended in the fading light, like stars within a microcosmic galaxy, destined by gravity to eventually settle, only to be perturbed back into the air again and continue in a never ending cycle. Tom explained that Collin's dental work was on hiatus for a few days so Collin took the opportunity for a night out, which morphed into a 48 hour bender, "And, well, you know how it ended up. We were downstairs drinking and playing pool a few nights ago until around two or three in the morning when things started to sour. Some punky kid came into the bar who apparently still owed Collin money from way back. Collin calls the kid out and instead of leaving, the little shit starts puffing out his chest and trying to post up. Collin went absolutely apoplectic and beat the living shit outta the kid in the alley out back. Some sort of switch in him flipped then, he was unreachable. When Irish goes on a tear, he does it all the way. Stupid motherfucker." Tom's voice had a clinical quality to it Beth had never heard him use before. She tried memorizing his tone, in hopes she might be able to mimic it to maintain her own composure. Tom sounded stately, and her heart ached for his ability to seem so put together. Tom continued, "After that he took off and I couldn't get a hold of him. I guess he and Cassandra had been having issues." Beth scoffed, "Yeah No kidding," then bit her lip to keep the hot, angry tears from surfacing. "I guess she had been screwing around with some Sheriff, and things were getting pretty public. Collin saw a photo of them at one of his events and lost it completely. I'm not sure what time he got there, but he eventually went home to confront Cassandra about all of it. They fought for god knows how long." Tom paused and took a deep breath in and out his nose before continuing. "Eventually Collin was pushed over the edge and grabbed his pistol." Beth's stomach sank. She knew the exact pistol. Collin had let her hold it, her first encounter with a real firearm. He taught her how to take it apart, put it together and clean it one afternoon. "He shot Cassandra, and then realized immediately what he had done. The guilt was too much, so he turned the barrel on himself. That didn't work apparently, because he was somehow able to shoot himself a second time to get the job done. It takes a tough motherfucker to shoot yourself in the face. Twice. Idiot."
At this point Beth couldn't stifle her grief anymore and steady stream of hot tears began flowing down her cheeks, against her wishes. "What time did all this happen?" Beth asked weakly. "Around 1 PM yesterday. Both the kids were home." Tom said flatley. Beth hadn't even thought about those poor kids. Her heart wrenched. She shook her head, unable to verbalize that horrible reality. "I'm sorry I didn't call you right away," Tom apologized, "I thought you would be home at some point yesterday and I would tell you then, and when you weren't I..." "Stop." Beth interrupted, "You're okay. I'm low on the priority totem pole here. I have to ask, how are you so calm right now?" Beth wiped her tears onto her tshirt. "You two go back so far, I would think you should be a mess right now." Tom lit another cigarette. "Sadly, this isn't my first rodeo. I've seen a lot of my friends pass away over the years. You never get used to it, but you learn what to expect." Beth suddenly remembered a conversation with Tom from back when they had first become friends. Tom came from old money, and his mannerisms were reflective of that. Tom spoke of his mother with tender regard, regaling Beth with tales about her bedding men like Paul Newman with elegant ease that became her. Beth always pictured Tom's mother as the visage of Grace Kelley in "L'Instant Taittinger" poster hung on Tom's living room wall. One evening while perusing Tom's favorite consignment shop, Beth asked how his mother had passed. The silence was long enough for Beth to feel she had made a transgression and started forming an apology when Tom meekly explained "She was sick. Cancer. I didn't know until it was too late. I read about it in the obituaries in the Chicago Tribune." Beth didn't know what to say. There are no words to comfort pain that deep, so Beth simply took Tom's arm in hers as they often did walking together and slid her hand into his interlacing her fingers to give a tender squeeze. Beth snapped out of her hundred yard gaze to find Tom caught in his own, and she walked over and squeezed his hand the same way she had done back in that consignment shop.
The two sat in silence for a while as Beth processed the gory details given to her. She realized the whirlwind of emotions wouldn't be letting up any time soon, and resigned herself to drowning for a little while. The storm was inescapable, she could only do her best to weather it. She wanted to help, to keep moving forward and not be completely lost in the torrents of grief that were barreling through Beth's mind. She asked, "So what's the plan now? I guess there's going to be a funeral, yeah? And a will?" Her voice dripped desperation. She needed a task. "That's what I've been working on all day. Cassandra has sisters to handle her service. I've got a venue for Collin lined up in a couple days. The difficult part now is the will. Collin nor Cassandra had anything officially notarized. Collin and I had been drafting one together but the motherfucker had to go and die before it was finished. I'm working with my lawyer to throw something official-ish together based on what we already have, but it's a mess." Beth asked hopefully, "Anything I can do to help?" Tom smiled. "No, sweetheart. I've got it under control, but thank you. You're obviously welcome to stay here, but fair warning there will be a lot of people in and out the next few days. I understand if you want to be somewhere more private." Beth considered the situation. No way in hell was she going back to Mark's. His lack of empathy was infuriating on a good day, and going there now might result in another homicide. She thought about her friend Carissa who had a couch she could sleep on and only lived about a mile and a half down the road, but she was preparing to move out of state to go to law school and although she knew she would be welcomed, Beth didn't want to be a burden. Beth's emotional state was far too tumultuous to not be putting her admirably emotionally stable friend out. In fact, being alone at all sounded awful. "I'll hang out here, and if it gets to be too much I'll make myself scarce," Beth resolved. Though she wanted to help to distract herself, what could she do really? Death was new to her, and she had no idea what needed to be accomplished. Helping would require instruction of whatever task needed done, ultimately more time consuming and cumbersome than helpful.
The days leading up to the funeral were a blur to Beth. She remained on the sofa for the most part, observing unobtrusively as Tom arranged food, casket, priest and other amenities for the funeral, along with coordinating with his lawyer about Collin's will. They needed to get the document notarized and ready before the funeral so that bequeathing could be done there. Tom's type A personality and Irish capriciousness made him skilled at getting tasks completed quickly, albeit ruthlessly. Beth had become desensitized to the ineffable horror of it all by now. She eavesdropped diligently, taking the opportunity to try to catalog the different facets of the arrangements Tom facilitated. At least this way Beth could make herself useful next time and be prepared instead of a deer in the headlights like she had felt since first getting the news. She shuddered at the idea of losing anybody else and put the thought out of her mind. Her only real distraction was a day of nannying. The children's parents offered Beth the day off, which she graciously declined. Time with the kids was a much needed distraction, and their unsullied worldview provided a much needed respite from the otherwise morose state of things.
When the day of the funeral finally arrived it felt as though weeks had passed since Collin had, and simultaneously as if it had only been an instant ago. In reality, roughly 72 hours had passed since Collin and Cassandra's murders. That morning Beth arose, showered, and pawed through the pile of loose clothing on the floor of the closet Tom had lent to her, listlessly searching for an appropriate outfit for the day. Most of her black clothing was cocktail waitressing attire. She was beginning to lose hope of finding anything fitting when she unearthed a plain black dress she had worn while working as an office temp. "This'll do." She sighed to herself. She tossed the dress in the dryer with a splash of water to release the wrinkles and hopefully remove some of the cat hair, then finished dressing, peeling on black tights, slipping on velvet black pumps, fastening her hair into a French twist and accessorizing with some simple gold studs. She debated for a long while about how much makeup to wear, it felt like a futile task. She opted for tinted moisturizer and a touch of waterproof mascara. Tom met her in the livingroom dressed sharply as always. Donning a crisp white pressed shirt under a midnight black blue speckled suit, coordinating tie, bronze cuff links and black leather penny loafers. The building owner Brian came around along with another mutual friend Harry who wisely brought a bottle of Whiskey. The group solemnly tossed shots, leaving about a third of the bottle remaining to greet them after the service. Tom hailed a cab and the quartet headed requiemwards.
Collin and Cassandra's funerals were being held on the same day at separate funeral homes and separate time slots to accommodate loved ones of both deceased to attend both services. Tom had no idea who, if anyone, would show up to Collin's service. Beth anxiously wrung her clammy hands together, absentmindedly bouncing her knee. She asked nervously, "So...what am I supposed to do when I get there? I've never been to a wake before." Tom replied in his comforting clinical tone, "You can pay respects at the casket and just mingle about until the service. I need to check in with some people to make sure everything goes smoothly, but I'll keep checking in with you. Don't worry." He squeezed Beth's knee with a paternal comfort, and Beth smiled graciously in return. Harry chimed in, "If you find yourself feeling awkward or need some company just come find me." Beth was grateful for these men. She took a deep breath and focused on maintaining her composure as she looked out at the gray Chicago streets passing by en route to the wake.
The taxi pulled up to the curb of the funeral home and the four stepped out into the overcast day, where eight or nine mourners were mingling outside before heading in, not a soul of which Beth had seen before. Tom and Brian were instantly recognized and embraced by Collin's various loved ones. Harry exchanged handshakes with a handful of folks, and then headed inside while Beth uncomfortably idled by the curb, deciding whether to introduce herself and stick with Tom or avoid the crowd and follow Harry. As the collection of sideways glances her way grew in number, Beth's fight or flight instinct kicked in and she made a B-line for the front doors. She tried to return polite greeting nods to the inquisitive looks she got, and hurried herself through the weighty wooden doors of the funeral home. She hoped to find a bathroom to hide out in for a minute or two and collect her swirling thoughts as soon as possible.
Beth stepped into the foyer, then proceeded into a parlor area preceding the chapel that held the coffin containing Collin within. Poster boards plastered with pictures spanning Collin's life dotted the perimeter of the room. Against one wall two tables stood with a variety of Costco-catered finger foods. Opposite the food wall was a short hallway where the bathrooms were located and a door leading to an unknown backend Beth had no inclination to explore. Another set of double doors opposite the entrance led to the chapel, lined with pews and more memorabilia from Collin's life, leading up to the open casket in the center. There were about fifteen or twenty people in the building at the moment, split between the parlor and the chapel. Beth spotted Harry in the chapel having a quiet conversation with two middle aged weeping women, and since the idea of entering the chapel just yet petrified her, she headed into the bathroom to privately gather courage to face Collin's corpse.
For the first time in her life Beth was thankful for the time consuming rigmarole involved in going to the bathroom when dressed for an event. Hang up the purse and jacket, peel off spanks and tights and all the layers of cloth until finally unencumbered by clothes. Usually a frustratingly tedious task, today Beth was glad to have something to keep busy with. Splashing her face with cool sink water, she stared deeply at her own reflection as she gently padded her face dry, paying extra attention to her lash line. No need for running mascara as of yet.
Beth decided to make a perimeter loop around the parlor room before crossing the chapel threshold. Hopefully she could get a read on what everyone else was doing to fill the two hours remaining before he service. She started to her right, making her way to one of the poster board shrines on display. Most of the photos were of Collin as a child, innocent and cherubic, no scars yet, ocular, emotional, or otherwise. Goofy photos of him dangling from trees, triumphant hands-free bike rides, hammy poses intended to make the photographer giggle. He looked free then, and now finally he was free again. A photo of Tom, Collin, and Harry from at least two decades ago caught Beth's eye. Collin had hair then, Tom's hunch was only a slouch, and all three emanated a contagious energy. A pang of grief washed over Beth. These men had been friends longer than she had been alive, a friendship made finite. To her, the longevity of the friendship carried more value than her own young life, and the loss of all that time made her feel small, her existence only a meaningless blip. She blinked hard and held her breath to wipe her mind clean of the thought.
Beth made her way around the room, silently studying each of the four boards in the lobby. The photo boards had many repeated images, with little variation between them. Beth supposed robbing banks didn't make for many Kodak moments. Having sufficiently studied the photographs, she felt primed and ready to enter the chapel. Even if she wasn't ready she had run out of excuses aside from her own fear to preclude her, so Beth slowly made her way to the threshold between the two rooms. As she stepped into the hushed chapel, she glanced at the variety of mourners perched in pews, waiting to say final goodbyes. She looked to see if there was anyone she had met before or should be clearly offering her condolences to no avail. From her vantage point in the doorway Beth could just make out the top of Collin's lifeless face and a bit of his suit breaching the top of the casket. The sight overwhelmed Beth who's eyes blurred with nystagmus as fast as they had focused on the open casket. Harry lightly took hold of Beth's elbow to get her attention. "How ya holding up, hon?" She realized she had reflexively leaned part of her weight into Harry. She knew if she spoke she would begin to cry, so she only let out a sigh through her nose and gave Harry a solemn look. "I know. It's a lot. You're doing just fine though." Beth felt slightly reassured. "Where's Tom?" She wondered. "I just spoke to good ol' Uncle Tom a few minutes ago. I'm sorry I couldn't grab you sooner, I needed to make a few rounds first. Wanna grab a drink? There's a bar with some pool tables across the street. Tom told us to head over if we wanted and he would meet us there by the time we racked up the table and had drinks in hand. There's some time to kill before the service, anyway." The relief of Harry's suggestion welled up through Beth, who emphatically approved of the plan. Beth remained arm in arm with Harry, though took back the full responsibility of her weight, and the pair made their way to the bar across the street.
Beth approached the bartender and ordered a round of drinks for the group while Harry utilized the change machine and racked up the pool table. She ordered a grape bomb and Fernet and Coke for Tom, Miller High life and a shot of Jack for Harry, and a shot of Jack and Fernet and coke for Beth. True to form, Tom waltzed up to the high top table, neatly deposited his hat jacket on the back of the chair, downed the grape bomb, selected a pool cue and broke the rack, pocketing two balls right off the bat- all in one fell swoop. Beth saw Tom as Cool Hand Luke, if he had been played by Hugh Grant. Beth was always a little bit in love with Tom when he was playing pool. She felt the same familiar flutter in her heart during this game, but it only emphasized the day's sadness. Following his shot, Tom plopped down in the chair beside Beth, exasperated, and waited for Harry to take his turn.
As Harry circled the table contemplating his next move, Beth placed her hand tenderly on Tom's back, latticework weaved from knotted wire. Beth asked softly, "How are things going over there... in general?" Tom stared intently into nothing for a beat. "All right I guess, considering everything. There was some issue with catering but that's resolved. The biggest issue today has been finding a catholic priest willing to perform a final sacrament for Collin. Catholic priests aren't big on giving last rites to transgressors of cardinal sins, and he went for a big one." Harry took his shot, easily sinking his desired ball. He shot another, then another, finally missing his target after attempting a risky trick shot for his fourth consecutive turn. Harry looked to Beth to see if she wanted a turn. She shook her head, preferring to watch the men play rather than risk her insecurity over her shots needlessly pushing her over the fickle emotional edge she was already teetering on. She asked Tom if there was a priest at all, and waited for him to take his shot before his reply. Tom lined up his cue, but scratched the cue ball. Beth felt responsible for distracting him immediately before his turn. "I found someone, I think. I don't know how much he knows about the situation. I've tried to keep details minimal. He's ancient and hopefully a little senile so we're all just holding our breath and praying we can get through this service before he's lucid enough to realize the technically sacreligious ceremony being performed." The game continued, with Harry easily winning within a few turns. Beth finished downing her martini upon Harry's victory, the three ordered one more round of shots to hold them over before closing out and making their way back to the funeral home.
The service was still about 35 minutes out, and Beth was thankful for the liquor in her system to soften the edges in the meantime. Beth tugged gently on Tom's coat sleeve, immediately feeling childish doing so, and whispered into Tom's ear, "I don't know where to sit once I'm in there," gesturing towards the chapel. Tom unfastened his heather-black cap from under his arm and handed it to Beth. "Here. Sit anywhere you like, somewhere in the middle. Just go for an empty pew. Save me a seat and I'll be there to sit with you in just a few minutes, I promise." Beth felt her fingers tighten over the brim of the hat and nodded as Tom excused himself to make another round, ensuring all was still good to go. Beth reflexively thumbed the rim of the hat, focusing on the friction of the felt against the pad of her thumb until she spotted an empty pew on the left side of the chapel and anxiously took a seat, gingerly setting Tom's placeholder by her left side.
Waiting in the pew, avoiding the casket was now impossible. Beth skittered her gaze around the room hoping for something to catch her attention, unsuccessfully. As her gaze forcefully focused on the subject she wished she could circumvent, details of the macabre scene began to permanently metastasise in Beth's memory. Like a reverse vignette, the detailed grotto of lilys, roses, and carnations surrounding the casket were the first to calcify in her memory. Unfortunate fossils caught in tar pits of grief. She memorized the soft oakgrain finish on the matte-polished casket. Finally her mind's eye forced focus on Collin's tuxedoed body, his lifeless painted face. Silent tears streamed down Beth's cheeks. She could now grasp the importance of a final casketskide goodbye, for closure's sake, but even the few yard's distance between her and him may as well have been the English Channel. Practically speaking, she couldn not comprehend how they could even offer an open casket ceremony considering the pair of bullets to the face he had allegedly taken. Approaching the casket seemed impossible, and the frustration at her immobility was quickly threatening the end of Beth's emotional temperance.
In the second well timed interruption of the day, Harry suddenly seated himself beside her. "Have you been up there yet?" Harry asked with a tenderness that surprised Beth. "No," Beth whispered. "I'm scared," she admitted shyly. "I don't know what of do or say, or..." Beth trailed off, quietly weeping. "You don't need to say or do anything," comforted Harry. "For some people it's good for closure. It might help you too. But don't feel pressured, hon. Do whatever feels right for you." Beth knew that Harry was right, and she knew that below the crust of fear she wanted to give reverence to her friend, and say goodbye on a personal level. Entering the aisle, she made her procession up to the edge of the casket. Peering over the pillowy pearl-white fabric, she first noticed his arms neatly folded across his chest. Once she took in Collin's face, she was astonished to see a cohesive profile. Aside from some heavy blush, the likeness to the Irish she was acquainted with was uncanny. It really looked like him, and it didn't. It felt like viewing his visage in some morbid wax museum, and half expected him to reappear like Huckleberry Finn. Finally, the earnest urge to say a final goodbye swept over her. She took her hand and gingerly placed it on Collin's unmoving chest and hummed him a final lullaby. "So long, it's been good to know ya, this dusty old dust is a gettin' you home, You've got to be drifting along" a final farewell through Woody Guthrie's lyrics, the same song she would playfully sing whenever Collin dropped her off someplace. Beth instantly regretted touching Collin's corpse. The stiffness was unnerving, and the soulless rigidity ignited guttural sobbing. Beth wondered if she had broken some unspoken rule by touching the body, which exacerbated her keening with the added shroud of potential guilt. The corpse felt like some decaying wax-figure, devoid of soul, decidedly inanimate. No miracle or Mark Twain twist could bring him back. Collin was gone. Dead.
By the time Beth returned to her chosen pew Tom had situated himself in his saved seat, so Beth settled herself in between Tom and Harry. She once again attempted to collect herself, managing her mascara line with a tissue offered up from a sympathetic Harry. By this point most everyone had made their way into the chapel and taken their seats, with a few stragglers funneling in to find a spot in the last few minutes before the service. Beth had nearly stopped crying and accepted another tissue from Harry. The chatter in the room slowed until a pregnant silence purveyed over the room in anxious anticipation. Beth began to nervously pick at her stockings for lack of anything better to occupy herself. As she fidgeted, Tom fished a post it pad from his breast pocket and began to jot something down. He surreptitiously passed Beth a note reading "I spy with my little eye three bad toupees within the first three rows." Beth stifled a chortle, and shone a wide eyed expression toward Tom. Beth slid the note to Harry who subdued his own giggle. Tom was right, and within a half minute Beth had spotted 2 out of thee of the pridefully bald. Harry gestured to the third, who's rigid upturned jacket collar made his hairline confusingly obscured. The post-it note humor was the levity Beth didn't know she needed, an anchor against greif's rip tide she may have unwittingly drowned in.
The lights flickered dim in the chapel, like the end of a play intermission, and the remaining bereaved took their seats. From somewhere behind the casket crept a truly decrepit old man donning a black cassock. Hobbling up to the podium, he produced an equally decrepit, note laden bible. Thick wheezing nasal inhales and controlled mouth breathe exhales served as the excruciating geriatric metronome to the service, the only sound intruding on the otherwise ominous silence in the room. The priest carefully and fastidiously flipped through his various bookmarked annotations to seek out the appropriate aphorisms and verses for the ceremony. Tom grabbed Beth's hand, squeezing another folded post-it into her palm. She quietly unfolded the note in her lap. "WHO IS HE?? A) The Crypt Keeper B)11th hour Hail Mary funeral priest C) In desperate need of a new toupee" Ben subtly plucked Tom's pen from his lapel pocket and jotted down "D) All of the above." Tom snorted at her response, which he tried to obscure with a cough. The room mostly bought the cover, Beth could only clock one glare after the outburst.
Finally the priest cleared his throat to begin. "Welcome," he croaked. "We gather here today to remember the life of the dearly departed Collin O'Clearen, now home with our Heavenly Father." A few muffled sobs echoed in response. "Before we look back at Collin's life, let us take a moment to talk about the journey we take once we cross over into the afterlife. Consider our eternal soul. We all know we end up with our father in glorious heaven, or eternally damned in Hell." Beth flickered her eyes to Tom's to seek any indication if he had any idea where the hell this was going. "What sorts of actions dictate where we end up, ultimately? Our relationship with the Lord, commitment to our families, serving our communities." At this point the butt clenched tension in the room was palpable. Could this be some cruel joke made by a priest much more lucid than given credit? More likely this poor old clergyman had by chance selected the most cringe-inducing prefab eulogy possible. He naively continued, blind to the obvious mood shift in the room, mistaking the heaviness in the room for poignance rather than irony.
"Now, let us think of our Beloved Collin." The priest continued. "Let us think of where he is right now. Would he be in heaven, or Hell following his beloved journey here on earth? Let us consider the life he led." Everyone considered. Beth considered faking some emergency to remove herself from this excruciating moment. " A loving father, husband, friend. A lover of God, a pillar to his community. Let us take solace in these facts, which tell us that our dear Collin awaits us in the realm of the Heavenly Father, the Christ our Lord, in Heaven above." The irony of the sermon was too much for Tom even to put into post it quips. Tom, Beth, and Harry simply made a chain of interlaced hands squeezing their incredulous amazement and horror into white-knuckled commiseration until finally the priest called on Collin's sister and friend to do readings for the ceremony.
The change in speakers led the congregation to collectively drop their shoulders an inch instantly in relief. Collin's sister and another close friend read relevant bible verses. Eulogies were choppy and felt pussyfooted. What is there to say when there's more than one wake taking place on the same day all because of the rash choices of one. It felt like some Au terre dream. Finally, a handful of personal remembrances were dredged through and it seemed like the ceremony was approaching an end. The priest took the podium once more for final prayers to wrap up the catholic portion of the service. Before retreating for good the priest asked for a couple minutes of silence and opened the podium for anyone to come up and say words in remembrance for Collin. Beth was a little surprised that Tom and Harry hadn't taken the floor after the priest's denouement prompt, but with all Tom had done she sympathized with his sitting this part out. After an appropriate reverent silence followed by an awkward volunterless pause, a middle aged woman shuffled out of the pew and approached the podium. She explained how she had been a lifelong friend of Collin's and that she wanted to end the service with a couple songs that would have meant a lot to him. The first was an a capella, sob-choked rendition of the durge "O' Danny boy." It was difficult to tell if the bereft singer intended for this to be sung as a chorus or not, so Danny boy remained a solo that morphed out of melody into loosely worded keening.
Collin's friend gathered herself. "Collin and I had a lot of amazing, crazy, fucked up times together. Before we all go today, I just wanted to play his favorite song one final time. He really embodies it now, you son of a bitch. I miss you. I'll always love you. Fly high, free bird." With that a small AV cart with an antique silver boombox was wheeled to the podium and everyone sat while Lenard Skynard's "Free Bird" resonated throughout the chapel. All nine minutes and six seconds of it. A song that long by default because meditative droning after minute two or three. Novelty can only last so long. Beth looked over at Tom, who she thought she saw getting misty for the first time, though she couldn't be sure. Harry was visibly weeping, and Beth noticed that she had a steady faucet of tears herself. She took one final look at Collin. When the confusion, anger, and shocked tears blurred her vision beyond function she closed her eyes tightly and tried to force her thoughts away from Collin and onto what her next move should be.
By the end of the song coats and purses were neatly gathered in laps of folks ready for an exodus. The song ended and the murmuring in the crowd revved back up to the normal hum of soft spoken conversation. Beth asked Tom, "So what happens now?" He explained that he and Harry had pallbearing responsibilities here and prior to the burial later that afternoon. Beth's eyes grew wide. Tom clasped a firm hand on Beth's shoulder and assured her that her presence was not necessary at the graveyard, and her responsibilities for the day had been filled. Beth started to respond in protest of sitting the burial out, then stopped herself. It was a huge relief to her, she was burnt out. She cleared her throat and meekly admitted to Tom, "I wanted so badly to be strong for you today. You two were friends for so long and here you are, comforting me. Again. How? Why? I feel terribly about it. I'm such a weak ninny." Without responding Tom only smiled and scooped Beth into a tender embrace. Beth really did love Tom, and he really loved her too.
An older woman Beth had seen frequently speaking with Tom throughout the day approached the pair. Beth suspected she was one of Collin's sisters and extended a hand to introduce herself, which was ignored and returned only by a curt "Oh. You're one of his recent mistresses, huh? Tell me, why are you even here?" Before indignantly swatting Beth's still-extended hand away and walking off to attend to other burial business, spitting that she would talk to Tom later. Beth felt flabbergasted at the accusation, and began to bluster, but immediately checked herself. She understood the assumption given the circumstances. Tom threw an apologetic look to Beth who shook her head to dispel his needless contrition. Beth's feelings were hurt by the mislabeling, but she couldn't begin to comprehend the dissonant truths being thrust onto Collin's sister right now. Assuming the worst was the only logical response. Beth considered going after the woman to explain the misunderstanding, but thought better of it. She knew she had nothing else to add here, and began to make her way to the door, scanning the room for Harry so she could say goodbye to him and Tom before departing. Beth spotted Harry outside smoking near the curb as she walked outside, who immediately came over and enveloped Beth in a bear hug. "You did it, doll. Those are never fun, but you did just fine. I'm not quite out of the weeds yet. Pallbearer." The word "pallbearer" caught in his throat and Harry took a moment to recompose himself. He produced a $50 bill from his pocketbook and palmed it to Beth. "Here. Go grab another drink and a cab home. Tom and I will be along in a couple hours. Thanks for being there for him. He needed that. You two are good to each other. I like that."
Normally Beth would have protested the ostentatious bill given for cab fair, but today found no contest. She used the superfluous cash to grab ingredients for a roast. A home cooked meal would give her something to occupy herself and hopefully ameliorate some of the days desperation for Tom and Harry as well. She was glad to have something to do.
Beth held onto the prayer card distributed to all attendees of the wake. It lived in her visor or glove compartment in her car, the one she drove herself to Memphis in. He and Cassandra never got to drive her to her new dreams, but this way she felt he was looking over her. Her One-eyed guardian angel was always present with her when she drove. Collin would live in Beth's heart forever as her patron saint of "Don't- Fuck-With-Me."

"So long, it's been good to know ya
So long it's been good to know ya
So long it's been good to know ya
This dusty old dust has a taken me home
I've got to be moving along"
-Woody Guthrie