This week's Prompt was 'philosophy'. Again, touched upon tangentially...


Fashionably Late
by Winter


Tick...

...tock...

...effing...

...clock!

My chest was heaving as I sprinted the last block to the church, trying to draw breath into my lungs. It wasn't my fault, not this time. At least, not as much my fault as it usually was. First, I couldn't find my sombre dark suit, then my cufflinks had gone a-missing. To top it off, my best shoes weren't where I always kept them; left wardrobe, lower shelf to the right of the wellies.

By the time I was properly attired, the bells were already ringing. A horrible thing, to be late for a funeral! There would be tutting. There would be eyes rolling. There would be angry glares. Worst of all, my brother's disappointment. I had promised not to be late any more. In fact, I had sworn it, on my life.

If you ask my brother, he'd tell you I have let lateness become a habit bordering a philosophy. He'd tell you that I do it for attention, so that I can slam the doors open and gather everyone's eyes. Which sounds kinda gross.

He couldn't be further from the truth; I really hate attention. To have the party come to a halt and for people to stare at the last arrival, is not my thing at all. Most of the time, I try to laugh it off. Fashionably late, I'd say as if that excused everything. I never mean to do it, it just happens.

I couldn't find my car keys, either. Not on their hook by the phone. Not even in the cookie tin where I hide them every time I've read about car thieves being able to copy them from the street outside. And of course, no car. Had my brother borrowed it? Without asking first? He really should know better. He should have known I'd need it.

So I ran. I'm not a good runner, and every step made me later and later.

The church doors were open, so I peered in, still huffing like a steam locomotive. It was empty. A lone janitor was sweeping the floor, but he didn't even spare me a glance. I looked again, just to be sure. Still empty. Nothing to it, just start running again.

I was fairly sure it would be a slow cortège, but the funeral home was only a couple of miles away. No chance of me catching up. The whole way there felt like wading through molasses, and by the time I had passed by all the parked cars, including the stretched black limohearse, I felt pretty much done for. I took the time to calm down, since I saw that the funeral home doors were open.

Which suited me just fine. No creaking hinges to draw attention. Maybe I could just sneak in and stand behind everyone else, pretending that I had been paying my respects all along.

The crematorium was filled to the last seat. Organ music was playing as, at the far end of the room, the coffin was already slowly moving into the... furnace? Is that what it's called? Mom stood to the side, sobbing loudly. I felt my cheeks flush; why does she always bawl at funerals? Even when she barely knows the cor... deceased.

More surprising was that my brother was crying as well. Mr Stoic, losing it? I couldn't wait until we were out of here, so I could rib him about it. Still, I ought to be there with them. It was time to swallow the bitter pill.

I was still internally composing my apologies when my sympathetic pat on the back went right through him. I tried again, same result. Neither he nor mom reacted at all when I spoke to them. Then yelled. My eyes went wide, my breath hitched, and now I knew where my best shoes had gone. And my suit. And my cufflinks. And me, apparently.

I tried one more time to push my brother over, but to no avail. Shoulders slumped, I turned and walked out. Late again. I almost laughed. Very much late.