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Life at a Funeral: The Tears and Joys of Saying Goodbye
I just wanted to eat my sandwich.
Picture this: a turkey club with Swiss, crispy bacon, lettuce, tomatoes, and mayo, between two slices of ciabatta bread, heated until the cheese just begins to melt. It was beautiful and well worth the fifteen-minute wait. The cafe was jumping in the middle of the day as hordes of zombie-eyed college students descended from the lecture halls into the basement for feeding time. I was no different. If freshman year taught me anything, I knew that I was better off spending fifteen minutes at the cafe than going anywhere else on campus. Plus, the club rivaled the euphoria of losing my virginity but lasted longer. The stress of college was getting to me and I found solace in my brief moments of solitude. In the ten minutes that I carved out to eat, I felt lighter. Focused. Free.
I threw my backpack on the chair beside me. It shifted, nearly tipping over, but I didn’t care. My rear-end barely touched the seat before the first bite circumvented my mouth and made its way to my soul. I licked my lips, while my eyes rolled back. It was excessive, but it was the beginning of October and our first round of exams was here. After my lunch break, I would head back to my room to recite notes made in chicken scratch on worn index cards; an anxious pre-exam ritual. I took another bite and a sip of my sweet…
