novembre

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etienne's funeral

Chapter One. I think there are a lot of people who are walking around shell-shocked by life and I�m beginning to be a lot less embarrassed about it.

Dorothy probably decided to trust me when she saw me at Etienne�s funeral. I think she looked down the pew at me, nervous and plucking at my black blouse, and she decided I was good people. That�s my phrase, not hers. Good people. She nodded to herself and saw to it that I was passed the sympathy card for Etienne�s family, even though the woman docked between us kept avoiding handing it to me. The memorial was held in a tight little chapel with high narrow windows. There was very little natural light or air, and the women kept fanning themselves and rocking. This was the kind of place where call and response was acceptable. People lined up to the right of the pulpit and waited quietly in order to say their piece, even if their words were in shards. Etienne moved back here from New Orleans after the floods to be closer to her daughter, who lived in the central valley. She said she had people here. She told me this during a smoke break. I smoked a lot then, and I always smoked in the same place, so the shared bits about our lives began to build into a working relationship. When I met her, she was open and nervous. I would be parked with my book and pack of cigarettes on the low, heavily whitewashed brick fencing, underneath the sad molting tree by the side of the library, my feet shushing the wood chips aside until there were two oversized footprints that hit dirt underneath. I�d read until the security guard passed by me on rounds, and we�d exchange pleasantries, and then I would go back in. The groundskeeper would talk to me too. He asked me to move to Mexico with him on a regular basis, and I always smiled like it was a big joke even though I knew he was serious. And one day he wasn�t there anymore, and I figured he retired. Sometimes people just disappear. I never knew his name, but he was kind to me in a gallant way, it never felt seedy even though I was young and blond.
After a while, the guards got to know me and we began swapping stories about our days, our moods. They always seemed surprised when I asked after their days, even after we�d struck up a rapport.

Sometimes I would monitor the computer lab on the second floor. The low ceilings and heavy fluorescence obscured any calming effect the windows had, and people would get antsy.

[Describe funeral, the eulogies/testimonials, the grave coworkers and city employees testifying, (Name?) the tall gangly security guard crying as he spoke, people nodding, a respectful gleam in their eyes like they looked at me anew, nodding at what I wore �I dressed up�I was the whitest person there. Second whitest, if you go by skin color and count Christine Saed, which we don�t, because it�s a running joke between the librarians that she thinks she�s a black man. (reference the email I sent Dorothy) Segue into Etienne protecting me in the computer lab at work, and work, the library library library and how Jamie restructured it, and then back to me driving to Dorothy�s.]

1:27 am - 10.23.09

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