Full Circle

Full Circle
By Stephen Patrick


"Stevie, don't pout," his mother begged. "I need you to be strong for everyone."
Stephen's jacket was a size too small and the stiff collar scratched his neck. He was constantly working it loose only to have his mother come by and tighten it. Everyone else seemed uncomfortable, too. Even though he was nine years old, Stephen did not understand the sea of black suits and dresses swirling around him.
His mother said everyone needed to pay their respects and sort through their feelings. Stephen could not imagine his Papaw wanting him to be trapped in the itchy suit or packed into a room filled with strangers. That kind of suffering could not possibly be respectful.
Stephen's noticed that his mother never ventured into the velvet-walled room where his grandfather lay in a wooden box. When he poked his head inside, his smelly Aunt Hester grabbed him by the arm and ushered him back to the reception table, choking him with her strong perfume. Lunch and dinner were arranged on a long table covered with Tupperware, Corningware and plastic ware. Every conceivable vegetable had been baked into a casserole and a pink ham was graying in an open pan. The adults drank coffee and tea, but Stephen had two quarters in his pocket that were destined for the soda machine.
Dr. Pepper in hand, he sat on the back steps of the funeral home and balanced a Styrofoam plate on his knee. While he chewed through a rubbery mystery meat, he overheard his mother talking to her sisters.
"All of it?" said Aunt Hester.
"Dad always cared for strangers more than family." Stephen's mother answered. "It's who he was; stubborn, foolish and too blind to see the way people were ripping him off."
The words sickened Stephen and he gave up on his dinner, dumping the plate into the trash. His Papaw was one of the best men he'd known in his short life. Papaw had never met a stranger and Stephen always smiled when his Papaw would give a complete stranger enough change for a cup of coffee.
Aunt Hester continued. "... just a damn fool with his wasteful ways. Always giving our money away for no good reason. You remember that drifter that milked him for a thousand dollars for a plane ticket or something? Probably bought booze with it."
More family members joined in and the room was filled with hate-filled tales of squandered wealth and a fool's money. Stephen tried to listen, but the voices mixed together into a venomous chorus ringing out the failures of his grandfather. He turned away and saw a man leaning against a water fountain near the janitor's closet. The man wore grimy jeans and tennis shoes and his plaid shirt had faded far from the red and blue plaids the designer had intended. Stephen looked away quickly to keep from rousing the mysterious stranger.
While the crowd in the reception room exchanged barbs about his Papaw, Stephen quickly ducked into the next room. He quickly realized it was the same room as his Papaw.
Stephen crept closer and saw his Papaw in a pool of satin and silk. He saw the simple wedding band on his finger, the one he used to spin when he was thinking. He also saw the silver links of a necklace peeking from beneath his starched shirt and subtle blue tie. Somewhere beneath the layers of coat, vest, and shirt, Papaw's silver cross was still close to his heart. He wanted to grab it, to hold like he had done only months before, but he was afraid.

Stephen heard footsteps behind him and turned to see the dirty stranger walking toward him. Stephen started to back up, but there was no where to go. Another man came in behind the first stranger.
"Stop!" Stephen screamed.
The grizzled stranger startled and pressed his index finger to his lips.
"Don't raise no ruckus. Jus' gimme a second, OK?"
"Don't you steal nothing from my Papaw!"
"Steal something?" The man pulled his hand from of his pocket. Between his fingers was a freshly printed airline ticket. "I'm just returning what I owe." The man turned around and set the ticket stub on Papaw's casket.
The stranger's eyes filled up with tears and he knelt beside the casket. "I'm sorry, Sir. I meant to come back, but times have been hard since Cassie died. I got another month with her before the cancer took her an' I did what I said I'd do. I stayed with her 'til the end."
The man turned toward Stephen. "Your Papaw let me go home." He ran his dirty hand through Stephen's hair.
Stephen wiped the hand away. "What's he gonna do with a ticket? He's gone." Stephen could hear his mother's voice in his words.
"It's not about the money, Son, it's about the givin'. Your Papaw did so much for me, I'm just givin' back what I can, tryin' to get my own piece of that peace I saw in his eyes."
Stephen's eyes locked on the airplane ticket and the man disappeared back down the service entrance and out the back door. He then realized that the voices from the reception area were gone. They had stopped when the stranger came in. Everyone had been watching in silence from the doorway as his Papaw's act of kindness came full circle.