Act 1, Chapter 1, Part 4: Upended

Heroes are borne in times of adversity, such as the precarious moments preceding a ruined funeral. Here, we witness a stillbirth. Start blinking and don’t stop until this is over, it makes the scene appear to be from the 1910s, and it slows down the action a little.

Barry’s stumble billowed into a full-blown one-man melee, his fists and feet flying every which way. Mud scrapings spattered against gravestones, disturbing long-untouched resting sites. Despite the admonitions to not raise a ruckus, Barry screamed. He also crashed with each bounce, grunted like an ape, and dented a new casket (aren’t they always? Where do they market used caskets?). This might have been enough on any normal day, but his roll also knocked over the unsuspecting priest and half the assemblage, dark-clad bowling pins screaming at the overall sight.

All he saw was sky and mud and canopy and a frock and grass and the insides of his eyelids. The mud cooled his cheek, inside and out. An angry staccato beat punctuated his eardrums. His heart? No, his heart still telegraphed on a different frequency. What was this, this fading beat? Barry spat the mud out of his mouth, then sat up, only to see people either running around in a controlled, respectful disarray, or sitting in the mud, bewildered and drenched. Jenna had also disappeared.

He looked up at the casket, now upended, its lid gaping open. It had disgorged the quiet passenger inside, now draped awkward and bent like a rag doll. Somehow, the good father had ended up in that man’s arms, and their heads lay close to each others’ crotches. Were the priest so inclined, he could have sucked the sawdust right out, and broken several commandments in the process.

***

“If you were sitting in my chair, which part would you have more trouble believing, the broad daylight grave robber, or the retarded grave digger who crashed a funeral?” Sal threw the file folder down on her desk. “No, wait, don’t answer. I can’t believe I had to ask you that question.” She picked up the file folder, threw it at Barry. Papers whipped around him. “You’re on two weeks probation. Pick those up.” As he gathered up the papers, Sal drummed her fingers. “No, one month. That sounds right. Now give me that file and get the hell out of here.”

Could he fight? Sure. Could he win? No. Barry slumped on the back of the fourteen bus, leaning against a window that countless others had leant their heads upon. He’d had to beg Sal for bus fare, after discovering his wallet had disappeared. Probably got buried. In a month, he’d have to go back and dig up that man, see what was left in his grave.

What went wrong? Well, that encompassed far too much. What went right? At least he got a half day. Hopefully he’d also get paid. They arrived at his apartment, trapped deep within a dilapidated building hidden in the urban thickets. He opened the door, now hanging on one hinge, trudged up squeaky stairs, entered a long hallway that looked to be his universe for the next month. Stopped at his door, unlocked it, stepped in.

“Hi honey.” Jenna stepped out from behind the corner. She tossed him his wallet, conveniently emptied of any and all paper bills. “Your nice landlord let me in after I told him I forgot your keys.” She smiled and held out her left hand, that ruby ring resting loose on her ring finger. “He was so happy to hear you’d gotten engaged.”