Obituary

 

'The funeral will take place on February 4th at the local crematorium. A simple service to be followed by...'

There were no details about the death. Just the usual platitudes.

 

'After a short illness.'

 

'Surrounded by family'.

 

'At peace.'

 

Memories, or half memories, surfaced.

It was so long ago.

We had been such good friends.

Water under the bridge and such like inane comments.

We were at primary school together;

He came to my wedding;

I to his.

Then he moved up North. We kept in touch for a while, sending photos of the children and bits of news. Then it was just Christmas cards. And then, well I'm not sure what happened, he lost my address I lost his.

But there were no regrets no 'I must get in touch with Martin.'

He just sort of faded.

Sad really.

After all that time we spent together.

 

His sister's comment that he is now at peace makes me smile. He wasn't a 'peaceful' person. Not that he got into fights or caused trouble but he was big and loud. I remember him telling the most awful jokes, and those shirts he wore! Strange how I can picture a particularly obnoxious orange shirt that he loved, but to try and picture his face is another matter. I must get the photos out to jog my memory.

We went on holiday together one year.

Camping.

We were teenagers,

so it was the pub,

a club,

girls.

And then back to the tent.

Somehow!

 

I'm sure at the time it seemed great. Details have vanished.

Except for Martin's shirts.

I remember now that time he tried to grow a beard.

'Girls like hirsute men,' he'd said. I nodded, getting the dictionary out when I got home to look up hirsute. Never forgot the word, can't remember having used it much since though. But the beard he grew was awful, a bit like a badly made sparrow's nest, and the best of theirs aren't any great shakes!

He did like words, swallowed a dictionary Si used to say.

Where is Si now?

They were good times!

 

Weren't they?

 

Mags, I had a thing for her at one time, long blonde hair, green eyes staring out from between incredibly long lashes. Now I can picture her, but not Martin. Strange, and a little sad.

She hadn't been interested in me then. I seem to remember she had a 'thing' for Si. Silly sod was completely oblivious and I was really jealous.

Mags, Martin's sister suggested in her letter that I might like to go to the funeral, a chance to meet up with old friends, talk about old times. I don't know. Will there be anything to talk about?

Funerals are sad but the 'get together' afterwards is even sadder. They seem to be full of 'what ifs' and 'if only s.' Regrets, especially about not keeping in touch. And the usual comments.

'You've not changed a bit. Just a few grey hairs and your wife's good cooking shows. But still I'd know you anywhere.'

Or the classic, 'Do you remember when...' and of course you nod your head, smile and make some fatuous remark.

Details forgotten of a life once lived and enjoyed.

 

It would be good to see Mags though. The 'what ifs' they might be good. Would she remember that kiss I tried to snatch? Will those green eyes be as bewitching?

Or should my memories stay as 'my memories' and not be sullied by what others remember?

I don't know!