The Funeral Style

Chapter Seventeen

I just spent all my money on books I have wanted to read since I was a kid but I couldn't read them then because they were kind of bad. 

I'm an adult now.

Chapter Seventeen

Weeks have gone by as if they've never existed. As much as I hated going to Parity Cemetery, I found myself not dreading it nearly as bad as I first had been. Of course, I warned Mr. Parity that I couldn't keep coming in the morning. School was still a priority, and though he didn't understand it, he assured me I could come directly after school.

The last time I got a full night's sleep, has been far to long. 

I have even been able to tolerate Mr. Parity. Not to say that I like speaking to him, but I certainly don't hate it. He is a strange one, but a strange one with such eccentric thinking. As long as he treated me equally, I was fine.

I stood in the front hall, watching as Mr. Parity was secretly drowning his newest guests in like a plague. I find myself watching him more than I should, the way he knew exactly what to say to a crying woman, it was like I was watching a player at his finest work.

He knew how to win over the gay men, and the ladies.

The gay men. It was so strange watching Mr. Parity speak to them. They succumbed to him quicker than most women. For a few days, I even pondered if Mr. Parity liked men as a sexual preference. I thought, maybe, it'd explain a lot. Unable to hold my curiosity, I couldn't help but ask him. 

"Sexuality?" He asked, as he slipped his mask off, and set it on the table with the moldy rag, "Professionally that isn't a question you should be asking your boss."

"I don't consider you a boss." I stated, "Just a blackmailer."

He glanced at me, giving me a not so amused look. I smiled in return.

He took out his usual pack of cigarettes, and began to smoke, "Are you really curious about my gender preference in the bedroom?"

"No." I lied. Of course I wanted to know. "I just saw you were quite into those gay men that came in today."

He breathed out a puff of smoke, and scoffed, "Then you should get your eyesight checked, Miss Adler, or at least you assumption quality upgraded."

I leaned against the wall, "So you're into women?"

He nodded, "Depends on what your definition of 'into' refers to." 

"Sexually." 

He didn't seem shocked by my answer, he only said, "Well aren't you nosey." A small grin crept onto his face.

I shrugged, "I don't see you as someone who could tolerate anyone, really."

He leaned back in the chair, and sighed, "I've only ever found women to be appealing, does that answer your question?"

I felt a small, selfish feeling of satisfaction, and I wasn't sure why. Was is because I got an answer, or was it because of what the answer was? 

Why did I care so much anyway?

Not wanting him to see that I was actually happy, I nodded my head, and walked out.

Since that day, all I've been doing was watching him. Thinking over and over how an eighteen year old was handling his own cemetery by himself. How he was so enthusiastic about symmetrical perfectness, and yet wasn't gay-or feminine-in any sort of way. Men don't care about that kind of stuff, surely they don't.