The Funeral

His father had passed away. George Trotter, the patriarch of the town's church was gone. They mourned for weeks. Henry was cut up about the whole thing. He never saw it coming and in the midst of the madness he had to preside over his own father's funeral. They had an open casket, Roberta's morbid wishes. His dad's body lay in a wooden box beside the church’s podium. It always seems to be raining when there's a funeral in a movie, but the sun was shining on this day. Spring had irrupted and now the older kids could ride around with their tops down and the children could ride their bikes without getting stuck in the mud. All of this freedom released, but he had to preside over the funeral. His heart pulsed, needed some type of freedom, but there was none. This constricting feeling, why was it so severe.

Okay so Roberta was being weird about the whole situation, and some of the older colleagues were really standing on top of him, but a lot of the townsfolk were supportive. Some of them had a decent relationship with George. He had passed one some of the similar lessons to the local children that he had given to Henry. It wasn't always about religion either, George loved his family, loved the town and his congregation and it didn't need to be a symbol every day, it was home. Henry could feel it in his heart. He didn't know what to believe. He felt like he wanted the church to just be his home today. He just wanted to be alone. No congregation, no Elizabeth, no pregnancy, no Mother, and no open casket to reveal some body that was missing the man that animated it. And everyone was wondering what he would say about his father. That's another thing. This job isn't even about helping people anymore. Between himself and the congregation he has developed into being so charismatic that his words lost meaning and he's just supposed to put on a show. He didn't want do it. He wasn't going to make a reputation for himself. He just needed out and there was this terrible timing. When they had all entered the church he was waiting in the back. He hadn't had time to look at his father. He knew he wouldn't like what he saw, but the possibility of closure sounded like such a necessity. They had just dropped his father off though. Immediately the mortician set his father's body up to look presentable. Henry was there for that, but the intimacy couldn't be made and so Henry kept a stone face and made little eye contact with the corpse. Then it was time to get dressed, set himself up, the basic ritual, at which point the town came in. He wanted to tell Elizabeth. He'd broken down in front of her several times, but they hadn't really talked about it. He needed her, he needed to be held, some arms to fall into, but she was pregnant and despite the fact that it was there decision,he assigned her some blame for it. This helped add to that shit-feeling that was going to get far worse once he ran away. He needed to be helpless, like a child, but of course that's always hard to do in the presence of a child. Even though Corry wasn't born that belly told him he was a Father and thus Corry might as well have been already born.

So when they all had walked in and Barry had sat down at the organ and begun to play, they were surprised to not see Henry walk out and great them with his usual sense of pride. Barry kept on playing. Henry got out of there. He got in his car and was out of there. The hills seemed to dive up and down so fast that he could have been on a horse. He accelerated so high that at one point he felt that he had lost control and had been chosen as overseer of this land. Ultimately Henry was a mere viewer. You can drive 10,000 miles and still be where you are.