Funeral Extra Add-On

As we walked toward my flying broomcycle, Mr. Porcupine kept digging his paw into the trash bag and eating.

The koala watched him for a while.

“Can I have some?”

“No.”

“I’m hungry.”

Mr. Porcupine barked at Koala and pulled the trash bag closer to himself.

“You should have asked for your last meal.”

“I forgot.”

Mr. Porcupine reached into the bag and took another bite.

The koala moved closer and tried to stick his paw into the trash bag.

Mr. Porcupine yanked it away.

“Get your dirty paws off my Happy Meal.”

And just like that, they started fighting. Well, more like cat fighting.

They were slapping and scratching while I tried to separate them without getting bitten by the koala or impaled by Mr. Porcupine.

“Stop it! Both of you!”

Meanwhile, the black cat noticed that Mr. Porcupine had dropped the trash bag.

The black cat snatched it and started devouring everything inside, including the Happy Meal box.

I finally managed to pull the other two apart.

“That’s enough!”

Mr. Porcupine immediately looked around for his trash bag.

It was gone.

“YOU GLUTTONOUS CAT!” Mr. Porcupine yelled.

“If it weren’t for those iron claws, I would end whatever is left of your nine lives!”

The black cat raised his middle claw.

Mr. Porcupine took a step back.

As you guys might remember, Mr. Porcupine’s Plan C involved using the black cat’s iron claws to dig their way out of Alcatraz. That was the entire reason Mr. Porcupine had been feeding the black cat Flintstones iron gummies every hour to accelerate the growth of his claws.

“That’s enough. Everybody hop on the broomcycle.” I said.

The three critters climbed onto my broomcycle, and we flew across the Bay.

We eventually landed near a little sandwich stand.

I bought myself a heavily onion sandwich and turned toward the three of them.

“You stay here.”

“Where are you going?” the koala asked.

“I need some privacy.”

“To do what?”

“Eat. I don’t like to have an audience when I devour my food.”

I could have bet my broom on it: Mr. Porcupine was already thinking about taking off with my broomcycle if I didn’t come back within a reasonable amount of time.

I had planned for this, so I left a mousetrap where the key goes.

“I have to say goodbye to someone.”

“Who?”

I started walking away with my sandwich.

“Someone not very special.”

“What about taking something to drink?” the koala asked.

“I’ll just swallow my tears.”

I found a quiet spot on the rocks overlooking the Bay and sat down with my onion sandwich.

After everything that had happened with those three, I just wanted a few minutes alone.

I took a bite.

There were a lot of onions.

My eyes began to water.

What I didn't know was that the mysterious man was directly below me.

He was alive.

And floating in the Bay.

A tear rolled down my cheek, slipped from my chin, and fell toward the water.

The mysterious man caught it in his hand.

He looked at it.

After everything I had put him through, he was certain he knew what it would be.

A crocodile tear.

He tasted it.

But to his surprise, it wasn’t.

It was the tear of a clown.

Behind all the jokes, insults, and the countless times I had whacked him over the head as if I were trying to fix a broken television, there had been something real.

I had actually cared a little, but enough to feed his ego.

He looked up at me from the water.

I was still completely unaware that he was there.

“I knew it,” he whispered.

Above him, completely unaware that a supposedly dead man was conducting an emotional analysis of my tears, I took another bite of my onion sandwich.

More tears streamed down my face.

He closed his eyes.

Love.

Longing.

Dirty thoughts.

Up on the rocks, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Jesus Christ, these onions are strong.”

A few minutes later, I thought I heard wings flapping.

Then I felt something tugging at my hair.

Another tug.

Then chewing.

I slowly turned around.

The mysterious man was sitting behind me.

Chewing my hair.

I stared at him.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“You know,” he said, continuing to chew, “ancient weirdos believed witch hair was medicinal.”

“Get my hair out of your mouth.”

“I thought you died!”

“No. Well… I was dead. When I was planning my funeral, I made sure I signed up for the Jesus resuscitation package.”

“But you must wait three days,” he said.

“Why?”

“They want you to be absolutely sure you want to come back to this dimension. Which is reasonable. I mean, who really wants to live in this world? Half the population is addicted to something just to get by, and the other half is pretending they’re not.”

“To think I died just to find out you feel something for me.”

“The only thing I feel for you is nothing.”

“So you died just to find out you were wrong?”

“Nah. I wasn’t counting on that mermaid killing me.”

“She didn’t even want to flirt. She just drowned me immediately, as if she was meeting a quota.”

“I thought my irresistible looks would protect me.”

“You’re pale, you dress like a widower, and you’re easily seduced by any supernatural women.” I said.

“You’d think all those stories about sailors and lonely men being lured to their deaths by mermaids were just town gossip,” he said.

“Sometimes you really have to experience something yourself before you believe it.”

“But they’re so beautiful. And hypnotizing.”

He sighed.

“If I saw another one, I honestly don’t think I could resist.”

“You got drowned by a mermaid.”

“Yes. It’s painful to die.”

“I recommend you don’t walk late at night close to the water.” I said.

“You’re easy prey for their agenda.”

“You stand out like a beacon from across the bay.”

“I have Dracula’s complexion.”

“You have the complexion of someone who was already dead before she drowned you.”

“This beautiful milky complexion is what first caught your eye inside that goth church. You couldn’t look away. Could you? he said.

“I thought I was walking into the light, and for a moment, it gave me a false sense of peace. I thought it was finally all over.”

“You don't think I found pictures of you when you were younger on your old MySpace account? You were pale too. You looked dead too.” He said.

He tried to pull me closer, but I shoved my 24-inch onion sandwich between us.

“Perhaps a kiss from you might change my ways.”

“I admit I'm not perfect. The flesh is weak.”

“The flesh was also dead three days ago. And you still have algae and seashells from her in your hair, and here you are demanding a kiss as if I’m running a kissing booth.”

“Kiss me and break the spell.”

“A kiss from me will turn you into a frog, Prince of Darkness.”

“I wouldn't mind.”

“You wouldn't mind being a frog?”

“I wouldn't mind living in your pond.”