by Del Lobo

Created on: May 19, 2010

Visitation Room Number One

Mathew Clayton was one of the first to arrive at the funeral parlor. At least, the first one to be attending the memorial service of Colonel Roderick Clayton. Matt checked the telegram and realized immediately that he had made a mistake about the times and had arrived almost an hour early. As soon as he hung his coat in the front foyer closet, he noticed that the closet was divided into sections for Visitation Room 1, 2 and 3. Knowing how important his father always felt himself to be, Matt knew right away that he would be ushered into Visitation Room 1.

'Thank goodness it's a closed casket' Matt thought as he sat in a soft velour upholstered armchair towards the end of the room. The overpowering scent of lillies hit him as he walked past the shiny mahogany casket. He dared not think what this whole event must cost and immediately went into the mode of wondering what his own casket might look like. Unfinished maple, he felt sure. It was sturdy, organic and he loved the fact that it was local.

Matt hadn't seen his family in over 20 years and he doubted that anyone would even recognize him. When he first heard about his fathers death from an Aunt who was also considered a black sheep of the family, Matt had made his mind up to light a candle for his father at the cathedral. He had no intentions of attending the funeral until the telegram arrived at his home in Niagara and his wife got her hands on it before he did.

'don't let that idiot family of yours rip you off for what is rightfully yours' she told him, pointing out that receiving a telegram from Colonel Clayton's attorney meant business.

'I haven't seen them since 1989, doubt I could face them' Matt whined.

'you'll face them because your father's estate is being settled right after the funeral, do it for us, do it for the kids' Monica had told him firmly.

Some people didn't mind waiting for this or that but Matt had never been good at it. If he saw a long queue at the bank or store, he avoided it by leaving and coming back at a time when he thought he'd be served faster. Monica, on the other hand, didn't mind waits.

'I walk around with a book of short stories, or my knitting project for the waits in the doctors office' she told Matt and he marvelled at the patience his wife exhibited.

He smiled at the thought of pulling out a bag of knitting right here and now. If his father could see through the thick walls of mahogany, wouldn't that please him? What about a book? Maybe he could pull out a novel and read. It would only confirm for his father that his son hadn't changed one bit.

'you've inherited all your traits from your mother's side of the family' the Colonel used to tell his son swinging his arm as if to hit him.

A tear rolled out of Matt's eye and slid down the shiny fabric of his tie onto his black pants and sat there like a pearl waiting to be picked up and admired. He looked at his watch and only twenty minutes had passed. He wiped his sweaty palms on the velour, got up and went closer to the casket where he stood silently, his posture rigid and unmoving. Then, he saluted, turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

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