The Gathering

Well, I did it. I went, just like I promised I would, except I didn’t bring a date. I stood there on the porch watching the crowd of people. Good turnout, actually. I saw Andy. He saw me, too, but barely acknowledged me – just a quick nod. I guess it was too much to expect to be introduced to his wife.

“And how do you know her?” she’d ask him later.

“Um, er …” he’d hem and haw.

I saw Rob, too. Hardly recognized him in a suit. Last time I saw him he was waddling out to the pitcher’s mound to yell at the umpire. He looked different without a hat. He waved. That was nice. I guess he’d have no problem introducing me to his girlfriend, but he didn’t. I wanted to tell him that we googled him last week, but I don’t think he’d find it too funny.

Your brother opened the door and invited us all inside. It was quiet. We found our seats quickly. I was surprised how much he sounded like you; it startled me when he talked. And did he talk, and talk, and talk, just like you described him. I didn’t mind too much. I just closed my eyes and listened. No one seemed to think that was strange.

I could see you, well, not really. I could see where you were, but from where I sat I couldn’t really see you. I saw your wife. I saw your kids. I saw your sweet dad. He waved to me. That made me smile.

And then we were invited into the next room -where the food was.  It was enough to feed an army, of course. La Cucina Cubana: picadillo and ceviche, beans and rice. Albondigas and tamales, flan and rice pudding, and those cute little guava hats you like. Somebody really put on the dog, but we both know it wasn’t your wife. Of course, I didn’t eat a thing. You know me, always watching my waistline.

I said my hellos, shook hands with lots of people; I don't remember a one. When the crowds died down, I snuck back up front to say a few words to you, but you were already gone.

Here. I brought you some flowers today. It’s silly to bring flowers to the dead, I know. Next time I come back I’ll bring you a beer.