I hear the sound of a trumpet, which signifies the arrival of the priest and the start of the ceremony. In the front there is the coffin, and people put their goodbye letters, candles and flowers on top of the lid. When it's my turn to walk up to the coffin, a sudden rush of emotions finally hits me. I have felt numb for a while now, but the funeral is a perfect trigger for the grief and guilt to finally hit you.
My grandma used to have a giant cardboard box of photos from my family members, and when I was little I would look at them for hours and admire my great and great-great grandparents. Once I came upon a picture of my great grandmother lying dead in a coffin and my grandmother explained to me that opening a casket for the "final goodbye” was very normalised in the 1930s, especially in the countryside. It seemed logical to me that that type of habit would be long gone by now, so I kind of put it in the back of my mind and never thought about it until now, when a person next to me whispered that the coffin was about to open. What? The person who has been stabbed and dead for a while now is going to be revealed for us to see him? Is that a normalised tradition brought back to life? Who would want to see the consequences of pain and torture on a person?
I turn to Travis’s mother and she seems unphased about the opening of the casket. I am scared of hamsters and the sound of train horns, so seeing a corpse is going to twist my stomach for sure. The priest is talking about Travis’s life and morals, but I dream away and relive the favourite moments we spent together. I swear I dissociated just for a moment, and suddenly the people are getting up because the casket is starting to open. I am not in a rush to see my dead ex-boyfriend, so I stay still in my seat and wait for the crowd to go up to the coffin first. I turn my head down and look at the bench in front of me. I hear the sound of people in the crowd, their small steps and very quiet smalltalk calming down as they are waiting for the casket to open.
Then they open the casket. And—oh my god! I don’t know who let out that startled scream, but seriously? I mean, yes, I know Travis was stabbed—multiple times, actually—but c’mon, people, a little respect? I turn to Josh to ask what he thinks, but before I can, someone grabs my arm and drags me toward the casket. And that’s when the next shocked "Oh my god" comes from me. There are pictures lying where Travis’s heart should be. It’s not big, just as big as a regular Polaroid. Two men are in it. And for some reason, they aren’t wearing any clothes. They look like they just finished... something. Oh. Something. Oh.
And the chaos erupts. Everyone starts to push forward, wanting to get a better look at whatever is making the others so shocked. My curiosity gets the better of me, so I make my way to the casket as well, and when I finally manage to get a good look inside, the first thing I notice is his face. I already knew it looked bad, but somehow the wounds look even angrier and bigger now. I really don’t understand why anyone would want to say goodbye to Travis in this state. But I quickly get over it and start to look for something else, because surely this wasn’t the thing that shocked people that much. And then I see it.
On his chest there are three photographs. They are an average size, the kind of size you get in a random photo booth in your local cinema. The quality isn’t the best, but it’s good enough to recognize two naked men, doing something you usually do with another naked person. One man is shorter, white and kind of chubby, with dark black hair and a goatee. Even through the photo you can sense the kind of scary, overpowering aura, the kind that gang members give off, if you’ve ever met one. When I look closer I see a small scar running from the side of his face, to his nose, making him look even more dangerous.
I expected the people would be shocked when they see their dead friend, lover, coworker… But the way people gasp when the casket opens shakes me. It isn’t even a gasp but the majority of the people genuinely scream. I freak out and take my eyes away from the bench, stand up and fight through the crowd to see the most stomach twisting scene I've ever seen in my life. His eyes are closed, the wounded body is clothed in black clothes, so any leftovers of blood aren’t visible, but on his chest there are polaroid photos. Photos I've never seen before. The scariest and weirdest images I’ve ever seen in my life.
People, including me, genuinely start to panic. In the photos there is a clear picture of my ex, performing a sexual act together with a person whose face is cut out from the picture and is… A MAN! What the actual fuck? Who put that next to him? Who put pictures of my ex doing something strange into his casket? Who would publicly humiliate a person whose right to live was taken away?
The Travis I knew was a very personal guy when it came to intimacy, so the idea of him posing for that type of pictures is just very strange to me. I try to take a better look at who the mysterious guy in the picture is, but I don't recognise him at all. The background of the photo looks like Travis's apartment and the image of the third person is too damaged to realise if it’s even a woman or a man, so there is no way to tell who it is. If I am honest, I don’t really get a clear view of a photo, because the detective, who seems shocked to the core, very quickly takes the pictures out of the public eye and puts them into his black leather bag.
People are freaking out and crying, I am so scared and mostly shocked I start to shake uncontrollably. The detective, who obviously isn’t in his right mind, tries to ask people questions about the mysterious man, but I can tell that every single word we hear now goes in the right ear and leaves the other. Honestly, I don't know if any funeral was ever over with so quickly, but in the span of fifteen minutes after the discovery of the photos, we close the casket and put it into the ground with the sound effects of one song, then all the funeral guests shake hands with each other as we try to make as little eye contact as possible. The crowd of people dressed in all black, and wearing heavy perfume and smudged mascara starts to move back to their cars. So do I. The only difference I see is people returning to their car in couples, talking to their partner or a friend, maybe to Travis's family member. I think talking to someone who has seen the same horror as I would have help me process shit, but even in my right mind I can’t make small talk.
An old lady walking in front of me turns around and puts her hand on my shoulder. She asks me if I am doing fine. I smile at her and barely squeeze out the words: "yeah, I am fine, I hope you all are doing okay as well.” Then we come to the parking lot and I turn to the right to find my car. The majority of people go away, and I quickly unlock the car and barely open my door to sit down. I am on the verge of passing out. I can't see properly, my throat is on fire because of the shuffled cries I've been holding in. I can feel the hot tears forming in my eyes, and the sweat wetting my bra, and how my head feels so heavy. I look at my hand, which shakes even worse than it did before, my knuckles are cold and purple. I am not an expert in driving and, if I am honest, I barely even passed my driving test in the third try, so I know there is no chance of me driving back home in a condition like this. I drink the water from the water bottle opened two days ago, put my seat back a little bit, and lock myself into the car.
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