Mr. Dowry's Funeral

Sam thought it funny, in that moment, how television and movies always portrayed funeral scenes as rainy and gray and miserable. They always made it seem as though the entire universe was mourning the loss of the dead character in question, as if that person were just so important that the world itself was agonizing over how it would go on without them. Of course, real funerals were rarely like that. They were always depressing, sure, with weeping aunts and mothers competing over who could wear the most eccentric black funeral hat, and children who hadn’t quite grasped the concept of death tugging at their parents’ sleeves to ask when the deceased was coming back, so on and so forth. But the clear and beautiful weather of this funeral really seemed to contradict the notion that world might fall on its knees and sob over one person.

Or perhaps the world was just as indifferent to this funeral as the people attending it. David Dowry was a janitor at Sam’s old high school who’d worked there for around 30 years before his passing. Mr. Dowry was not a stereotypical, bitter old man janitor who tortured everyone around him, nor was he the fabled cool, suave janitor who was somehow friends with every kid at the school. He was just a janitor; a quiet, reserved janitor who showed up, did his work, and went home every day. He never really talked to anyone or attempted to make friends with the students or the other staff, nor did he offend anyone or become the source of wicked rumors accusing him of being a creep or a secret criminal mastermind. The most Sam had ever heard Mr. Dowry speak was one day her junior year, when the popular kids’ table had pulled up way too many chairs for one table in the cafeteria, and he very politely asked them to put some chairs back where they belong. That single event became the only time in school history when Mr. Dowry was the subject of any kind of controversy. One of Sam’s high school friends once joked that Mr. Dowry was almost like the school mascot; you’d completely forget you even had a mascot if he weren’t constantly lingering in the background.

So the mystery remains, then: why did so many people come to this damn funeral? Sam wondered grumpily as she squirmed in her seat, using her funeral program as a fan against the surrounding warm bodies in the mid-May sun. She was quickly regretting her decision not to leave for the event early, since “it wasn’t like it would be a full house.” No, it was not a full house, it was a full stadium, a full circus, and it was full of all of Sam’s old classmates. Sam was recognizing the faces of people she’d played with on the playground, ate lunch with, rode the bus with, danced with at prom, and crossed the stage with at graduation, all in their ultra heat-absorbing, funeral black attire looking just as bored yet dumbfounded as she was. There was Carter Calhoun, the only student in her school to get a perfect ACT score and who wanted to be an engineering major but dropped out after two semesters; Jasmine Porter, the basketball star who got pregnant sophomore year and claimed at least four guys in their class were the father; Tucker Phelps, who became famous around the school for putting firecrackers in the urinals (and for possibly being the father of Jasmine’s kid); Dana Reese, the school artist who painted the famous mural in the cafeteria (Sam had heard she got hired by some animation studio); Michael Robinson, the student body president whose speech about how Mr. Dowry’s “6 Chairs to a Table” rule was unfair had won the hearts of the entire school (and who, as fate would have it, was the actual father of Jasmine’s kid). Seeing them again after what felt like so many years was already making all the suspended high school memories and “Oh yeah!”s come rushing back like a muddy landslide carrying an entire village of debris.

Sam had to resist the urge to snicker as she thought about how seeing her old classmates sitting together again with their weary, expressionless faces reminded her of their old school assemblies, only instead of their principal boring them to death with talk of attendance and state-testing, it was the crusty old pastor giving a eulogy that sounded like one he Googled and printed off. She supposed she shouldn’t be too critical of the old pastor though, as it must be hard to write a eulogy about someone who no one still living knew anything about. She tried not to look behind her shoulder at the funeral staff member trying to discreetly set down an extra row of chairs. Clearly, the poor funeral staff hadn’t anticipated Mr. Dowry having such a profuse fan base either, as several staff members had to run extra chairs back and forth to the burial site drenched in sweat under their professional garb. Seeing as though Mr. Dowry had no children and his wife had died several years prior, they probably assumed it would be the usual handful of neighbors and distant cousins attending the funeral. That’s what Sam had assumed, anyway, before she had to spend at least 20 minutes finding a place to park at the funeral parlor.

Sam mulled it over one last time as the pastor began to make his closing statements. Why had so many of her old classmates come to Mr. Dowry’s funeral? The question had not soon raised itself again in her mind when a white glint in the corner of her eye stole her attention. Sam quickly glanced in the direction of the light, as not to stare, and saw Jasmine Porter sitting in the row across from hers. Jasmine had one hand pressed on the lap of her fussy little boy to her right, and the other clung tightly to a leather purse in her lap that had a glittery keychain dangling from the strap. Sam could just barely make out that the keychain was comprised of the words “Class Of” and the year she and Jasmine graduated high school. Sam suddenly remembered the joke her old friend had made way back in the day: Mr. Dowry was almost like the school mascot; you’d completely forget you even had a mascot if he weren’t constantly lingering in the background.

 Perhaps, Sam realized, she was asking the wrong question.

Why did I come to this damn funeral?

Sam thought about the moment she first learned David Dowry had died. She thought about all the memories of her younger years that blossomed forth one after the other when she remembered the soft-spoken old janitor, who had been there, lingering in the background as he always had for so many of them. The successes, the failures, the laughter, the tears, oh man, were there a lot of tears. She recalled the time spent with friends, the time spent alone, the time spent wishing she were alone or with friends. She recalled little sparks of memories, like what the old wooden trophy case with awards older than her parents collecting dust on the shelves, or the dimly lit gymnasium that perpetually smelled like dirty socks, or the cold, metal desks that were just an inch too small for high school students. She saw the faces of her friends, her parents, and her teachers all smiling at her like she was their favorite person. The memories that didn’t mean much when they first happened all tasted so much sweeter now as Sam realized like never before that life back then was never perfect, but it sure was good.

As Sam stood up with the rest of the congregation, she noticed a single tear fall onto the ground below her. She quickly reached to wipe her face, a single, quiet sniffle escaping her as she did, when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. It was Dana Reese, the artist, who had been sitting to the left of Sam and was offering her a small tissue with a caring smile on her tear-stained face. Sam returned her warm grin and accepted the tissue. That day, David Dowry was being buried, and with him, an integral piece of the puzzle of his students' memories was leaving this world too.