photo by Joe Mazza and Brave Lux

Monday, March 12, 2012

The Bride At Every Funeral

The Bride at Every Funeral
by Jacob Juntunen

JOHN
I had just won a smallish biggish deal award in poetry circles when my father died. It wasn’t unexpected. I knew I was a finalist, and it was a pretty good poem that got published this year. I’m nominated almost every year. And Dad had been fighting cancer all winter, so his death wasn’t unexpected either. It was a grey slushy day when we had his viewing.

(MICHELLE enters)

MICHELLE
I’m so sorry for your loss. But it’s so good you could be with him in the hospital in those final moments.

JOHN
Yeah, thanks, Aunt Michelle.

MICHELLE
Family’s so important at a time like this.

JOHN
Absolutely. And at least there’s a little good news to take my mind off it.

MICHELLE
The Gunterman Prize for Verse?

JOHN
I guess they have to give it to you after nominating you half a dozen times.

MICHELLE
That poem; I saw it in Leaves of Grass Monthly. It really moved me. I’m glad your father got to know you won the prize.

(MICHELLE exits)

JOHN
That was my Aunt. She always got on well with me and my Dad. Supported my writing, helped out when he was in the hospital. Her son, though, was a total asshole.

(LUKE enters)

LUKE
John!

JOHN
Cousin Luke.

LUKE
Bad news, man.

JOHN
But at least there’s some good news to take my mind off it.

LUKE
Oh, so my Mom already mentioned—

JOHN
Well, it’s just a smallish, biggish award—

LUKE
Who’s the best writer that ever lived?

JOHN
Oh, just because of this prize I don’t think we can say—

LUKE
Seriously. Who’s the best writer that ever lived?

JOHN
Uh, T.S. Elliot?

LUKE
Because of Cats? No way. Best selling author ever.

JOHN
Um. God? The Bible? But I appreciate what you’re trying to say, I mean, Leaves of Grass Monthly is a pretty big journal—

LUKE
Stephen King. No one has sold more than him. He is the literary master of our age. Of any age. You find Romeo and Juliet on clearance for a dollar, not It. Fucking clowns still terrify me.

JOHN
Well, that’s genre fiction, not really the sort of thing I do—

LUKE
Exactly. We can’t all be Stephen King, right?

JOHN
Right, so, I’m just keeping my mind focused on the good news here. It’s probably like a rule that they can’t keep nominating me for the award—

LUKE
You know what sucks, though? It won its share of awards, Stephen King has won tons of awards, but not the Pulitzer. Can you believe that? Stephen King has never won a Pulitzer though he’s sold more books than the Pulitzer authors put together.

JOHN
Well, hey, sometimes those smallish biggish deal awards really keep a writer going.

LUKE
Right. Exactly.

JOHN
So the good news? That will perk me up during this dark time? Maybe a congratulatory—

LUKE
Yeah, so I guess if Mom told you, the cat’s already out of the bag. My book is selling like wildfire on Amazon! For Kindle and paperback.

JOHN
You self-published?

LUKE
And I’ve already sold a thousand copies. People are making their living this way. Cut out the middle-man, you know? Anyway, it’s horror, of course, the real genre of our times. I’ve got some copies with me.

JOHN
You’re selling your book at my father’s funeral?

LUKE
It’s a great way to take advantage of the family discount.

(LUKE freezes)

JOHN
So I balled up my fist and threw it against his face for the thousands of poets in the land that would have chewed off their writing hand for the smallish biggish prize I won; a mass of disembodied arms in black sleeves and white cuffs held me back while I screamed “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” at him; but like Hercules bending to his tasks, I wrenched out of their vice-like grip, felt my enemy’s hair between my fingers, and pulled his shrieking head into the crisp air and softly falling snow; I shoved him down into the rushing gutter. I nearly finished the first stanza of “Prufrock,” but felt it more appropriate to stop at: “Oh, do not ask, ‘what is it?’”; and I slammed the door. Inside, nothing but silence, blank faces staring at me like white faced clowns, until a few cousins began slow applause, which gradually built and built—

(MICHELLE enters and LUKE unfreezes)

MICHELLE
Did you tell John your good news?

LUKE
Mom’s real proud to finally have a writer in the family.

MICHELLE
Isn’t it amazing? You should get him to sign a copy for you before he gets too famous.

JOHN
Thanks for paying your respects.


Read full lengths by Jacob Juntunen here!

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