Part 11

Friday, March 31

The limousine took them to the cemetery. An usher took them into the chapel filled with flowers, and amongst them a plain pine box yawned open. The smell of flowers, pine sap, and expired ordnance of myrrh from past observances filled their noses. Andy sneezed. A half dozen somber strangers stood nearby awkward in their dresses and suits, garments somewhat old and somewhat disheveled. They were Harper’s university colleagues and doctoral candidates who didn’t know he was her husband.

“Good morning,” said Lee unsure what to say. He was unprepared to entertain strangers and forgot to introduce himself.

“It is such a loss,” “She was such a wonderful person,” and “She will be missed,” they uttered the polite remarks to no one in particular and shook Lee’s hand. The words meant less than lint, but Lee focused on gratefulness for their effort of taking the day to celebrate Harper. At the front of the room, Andy sneezed again.

Lee sat in the pew in front of the pine box, thinking about how this was the last moment Harper would be here with him in any recognizable form. The antidepressants dispensed at the hospital made his breath deep, but they couldn’t whitewash his mind or change the fact that a part of his soul would be incinerated in the next few moments, and there was nothing to be done about it. Just like Lee Jr. those few years ago. One repetition after another.

It seemed there was a separate heart for each moment of a man’s life. A heart for each moment, for each object, and for each person. Hearts, large and small, to be shattered like crystal at moment’s notice. Lee’s shattered hearts would soon turn to ash and lay together beneath that early spring’s mud.

The funeral director moved the proceedings in a dignified, somber manner. The words rang numb in Lee’s ears. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run. Andy sneezed.

“My nose is constipated.”

“Congested.” Lee smiled.

“Congested.” Andy repeated.

“It’s time, Lee.” Andy nudged Lee, and Lee stood up and walked up to the plywood pulpit. He rubbed his forehead. Constipated he thought to himself. He smiled at Andy.

“It’s never right for any person to end in a room like this. Harper is one of a kind. I know most of you know her as some obsessive perfectionist, which she is. Certainly irritating, but some of you are here because of the things that she achieved, the things she was able to do easier and better than most. Irritating is certainly a way to describe her. Her mind is certainly irritating – irritatingly brilliant and annoyingly analytical. Even as an engineer, I still cannot comprehend the sleight of hand her mind can present, and arguing any point being almost always futile. Her mind is some divine flowchart with infinite input points focused on the challenge at hand. It took me about a decade to realize that she was always right, so please don’t blame yourselves if you still have a bone to pick with her, because you are certainly wrong. That’s just Harper – the Harper you know.

“The Harper you likely never met is one with a heart that’s tender and sweet. There is warmth that glows brighter than her intellect – a glow of joy and kindness able to torch away self-doubt, pain, and fear. Some of you may have experienced it when she got excited about new ideas, new research breakthroughs. There is fire in that. Even she doesn’t believe in God, but in those moments, she is a god, a god-like emanation, a Divine Gobstopper, with a hard skin and soft centre. Thank you.”

Some laughed. Some laughed through tears. Andy sneezed. Lee sat down and loosened his tie. “They are gonna burn her. I can’t believe it. They’ll actually do that. I asked them to put nail polish on. IT will burn on her nail. Jesus Christ, what have I done?”