In Search Of Dreams

Episode 7

The parade of mourners is now dancing back up
the street, having la!d the body to rest. Aaron,
Marcus, and a handful of other musicians are
currently playing a rousing rendition of “When
the Saints Go Marching In,” and most of the
people are singing along.

Marcus is fascinated by his first jazz funeral. It’s
a celebration of life, not a morose, mind-
numbingly dull affair, and neither is it the heart-
wrenchingly painful experience that his father’s
funeral was a year and a half ago. If I’d known
about this, maybe Da’s funeral would have been
tolerable.

He looks ahead through the crowd and sees
someone that might be familiar. Is that… no,
couldn’t be. Could it?

“Aaron,” Marcus sidles over to his friend, talking
and playing at once, “you know that girl up
there? The short one in dark blue?”

“Yeah, that’s Lori. Her pop is the one we just
buried. Why?”

“I think I met her last month…”

Oh, no. If I’d known that it was someone I knew, I
never would have crashed the funeral. Now I feel
a right pillock. I’ll have to find her and apologize.

“You think? “

“Aaron, you know me mind is always a bit
jumbled. But yeah, now that I see her and you
put the name back in me head, yeah, that’s
her.”

“You meet her brother, too?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “He wasn’t as nice as she
was.”

“That’s Elliot,” Aaron nods.

“Where’re we goin’, anyway?”

“Goin’ to they house.”

Moments later, they approach a small, two-story
house, tidy but modest.

“We’re not all going to fit inside,” Marcus
mutters, his feet stopping as he watches people
file in, many stopping to hug Lori and Elliot or
touch their elbows or shoulders consolingly.

Some people linger in the front yard, some head
to the backyard; some don’t stay and head to
their own homes.

“Come on, we gonna have a smoke.” Aaron
grabs Marcus’s elbow and pulls him to the
backyard.

“I don’t smoke,” Marcus mumbles, but follows
anyway.

Marcus observes the interactions of the
mourners. He’s surprised to hear much laughter
as people reminisce about Lori’s dad, sharing
stories. This is the kind of funeral I want.

He thinks about going inside, but he doesn’t feel
right, since he wasn’t invited.

“Marcs, you alright, man?” Aaron asks, noting
Marcus’s pensive demeanor.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just amazed at the difference
between this funeral and the last one I was at.

Back home.”

“Who’s was it?”

“My father’s,” Marcus says, and something in his
demeanor stops Aaron from asking any further
questions.

Marcus turns and sees Lori come out the back
door and sit on the steps of the back porch. She
looks wrung-out, tired, and hot, waving a paper
fan to make a breeze for herself from time to
time. She probably wishes everyone would just go
home and leave her alone. I know that’s how I
felt. He absently hands the tambourine still
hanging from his hand to Aaron and walks over
to her.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

She looks up, surprised. “Marcus, right?”

“Yeah. Sorry about your da.”

“Thanks. What are you doing here?” she asks,
then realizes the question might be rude.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s me who should apologize. I crashed
your father’s funeral.”

Lori giggles, taking Marcus by surprise.

“Can I sit?”

She nods, and he sits beside her on the step.

“It’s all right,” she says.

“Aaron told me he was going to a jazz funeral,
and I had never heard of that before, and…”

“It’s all right, Marcus,” Lori says, interrupting
him. “I don’t mind. You were curious, and that’s
understandable. Thank you for coming and
saying hello.”

“Well, once I was sure that I did recognize you, I
couldn’t just hang out and pretend I’m not here.

Thought I’d at least say hi.”

“Thank you.”

“Was your father ill?”

“No. It was an accident. Don’t really feel like
talkin’ about it, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem. I know how that feels. Me da died
two years ago.”

“Is that why you came here?”

“Part of. America’s not the only place with
problems.”

“Ireland has problems, too, I know,” Lori nods.

“I’m a teacher,” she tells him. “I teach
kindergarten, but I still keep up with the news, in
case they have questions ’bout things they hear
around.”

Marcus nods. “Border Campaign. My father got
caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Wasn’t even involved.”

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want,”
she whispers. “I’m not sure I want to hear right
now, anyway.”

“Okay,” he says. “It’s hard for me to talk about
anyway. But the short version is, me mum
decided that we should get out of there. Come
to America. Land of opportunity, right?”

Lori chuckles a mirthless laugh.

“All we had left was each other. Packed what
we could carry, and left.”

“How did you land here, in Memphis?”

“Fortunate coincidences,” Marcus says. “We were
in New York for a couple months. Paperwork,
you know. Medical tests, make sure we weren’t
bringin’ in anything nasty.”

“You didn’t want to stay in New York?” Lori
asks.

“Nah. Too busy, too crowded. Too dirty. The
only jobs Mum would have been able to get
would be scrubbing floors or washing clothes,
and neither of us wanted that for her. We were
released and me ma asked me where we should
go. I told her I didn’t much care, but if I could
pick, I’d pick someplace that was warm.” He
smiles at her.

Lori notices for the first time that the peculiar
Irishman doesn’t seem bothered by the
oppressive heat. “And you settled on Memphis?”

“That was the fortunate bit. There was a priest
there, you know, doin’ the Lord’s work? He heard
us talking, and told us he had two train tickets
to Memphis that were going to go to waste
because he could no longer go.”

“Right,” Lori nods knowingly.

“I know,” Marcus nods. “I mean, he’s not
supposed to lie, being a priest, but it just
seemed a little too convenient. Maybe he
thought we wouldn’t just take them. And we did
offer to pay him for them, but he said no.”

“Of course he did.”

“Probably walks around with train tickets in his
pockets all the time, him,” Marcus chuckles. “So
we took the tickets, he said a prayer for us, and
we came here.”

“Did your mama find something better than
scrubbin’ floors or doin’ wash?”

“Yeah. We got a hotel and then… what was that
phrase I learned? Oh. We hit the bricks,” he
grins, and his lopsided smile is the kind that
cannot go unanswered.

“Me mum is tenacious. She’s also smart,
friendly, and can type. She hit six companies
until she found one willing to take her on as a
secretary.”

“Good for her!” Lori nods approvingly.

“And I work there, too, part-time, as a courier
and errand-boy. But really I’m a musician.”

“I remember. Piano, right?”

He nods. “So I work a few days at Carter
Law, and spend the rest of the time at
Gareth’s. That’s where I was today.”

“Carter Law?” she asks, quirking her head
at him.

“You remember Rob? The bloke who knocked
you over?”

“Of course.” She holds up her arm, bending it
up, flashing her elbow at him. “All healed, see?”

He grins and nods approvingly. “My mum is his
father’s personal secretary. He took her on even
though he didn’t even have a secretary before.

Now he can’t live without her,” Marcus smiles
proudly.

“And that’s where you met Robert?” she asks.

She had been curious about how these two
strange white boys who appeared to be so
different from each other had gotten to be
friends.

“Yeah. We just got on right away, even though
we have almost nothing in common,” Marcus
chuckles. “He started right in makin’ fun of me
accent, and all I could do was laugh and
laugh…”

“I love your accent.”

“Sometimes I try to practice, to try to get rid of
it. You know, to blend in more.”

“Don’t do that, Marcus. That’d be denyin’ who you
are, turnin’ your back on your kin, your heritage.

It’s who you are, and don’t you dare change
who you are for anybody.”

“Whoa. All right, I won’t!” he chuckles, surprised
at the passion behind her words. “I was pretty
bad at it, anyway. Robert just laughs harder
when I try, and no, I will not give you a
demonstration.”

She laughs. “I should give you his handkerchief
back so you can give it to him. I got the blood
out of it,” Lori says.

“He told you to keep it,” Marcus says.

“He only just said that ’cause he thought it was
ruined,” Lori argues.

“No, he didn’t. Robert may be a rich white boy,
but he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean.”

Lori ponders this concept for a moment, still
thinking she should run upstairs to her
apartment and get the hanky.

“Marcs! If you want a ride back to Gareth’s,
we’s leavin’!”

“Bugger,” Marcus curses, looking at his watch.

“Didn’t realize it was that late. I have to go or
I’ll be late picking up Mum,” he says. “Yeah, just
a minute!” he shouts back to Aaron.

“It was nice talking to you, Marcus. Don’t feel
bad about crashin’; I’m glad you came. Maybe
we’ll meet again under happier times,” Lori
says, standing with him.

“Hope so. Sorry again about your da.”

“Thank you.”

“Would it be all right if I gave you a hug?” Marcus
asks carefully.

She shrugs. “Sure.”

He steps down one step so she is more level
with him and hugs her, holding her for just a few
moments, as proper as if he his hugging his
grandmother. “Keep your chin up,” he tells her
once he’s released her.

“Irish!”

“I’m coming, keep your trousers on!”