She Didn’t Deserve You
I guess it’s inappropriate to insult someone and call them a lying whore at their funeral.
“The wonderful Loretta Jones. Loyal wife to Vern Jones, mother of three successful children, and grandmother to one.” This is what it says on the funeral program.
The picture in the program looks beautiful. A woman. Maybe a mother of two beautiful children—a boy and a girl—who go to Richmond Public School, and eat dinner at six o’clock sharp, in their suburban three bedroom, three bathroom bungalow.
Not a woman who cheated on her husband.
The first time I saw Lori cheat on my grandpa was when I was nine. We were having a grandma-granddaughter date like we did every few weeks. Lori loved having me over because Grandpa was a trucker, and he would be gone for weeks at a time.
We went to her house to bake snicker doodles and watch Loonie Toons till we’d pass out. At least, that was the plan.
That night, we did bake snicker doodles, but when we were about to watch cartoons Lori said it was going to be an early night because she had a migraine. I passed out after the third episode, or maybe the second—it’s hard to tell because I seen them all 100 times.
I woke up in the guest bedroom, not Lori’s. I remember checking her room. The door was open, the bed was still made and her navy slippers weren’t by the door.
I heard voices downstairs—two voices.
I sat on the stairs and slid my bum from one step to the next till I could hear laughing in the kitchen. I slid until I could see around the corner with my left eye.
Lori was sitting in grandpas seat at the kitchen table, with her shirt off and her legs spread open like she pulled her groin and was trying to stretch it out. I remember her breasts hanging there like two raw pork chops—the right one, slightly bigger—just teasing the neighbourhood mutt.
His eyes were latched like a newborn baby feeding off his mother.
I ran up the stairs into the guest bedroom and hid under the blanket. I closed my eyes and all I could see is Lori sharing her boobs with someone other than Grandpa.
She came upstairs and whispered in my ear “I’m sorry hunny, I made a mistake. This will be our little secret.” She walked out my room and closed the door.
Lori and I never talked about what happened that night.
The funeral was almost over when grandpa took the microphone from Aunt Ethel and said, “I’m sorry Loretta. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the husband you deserved. You were the purest woman a man could find. I love you.”
-T
I guess it’s inappropriate to insult someone and call them a lying whore at their funeral.
“The wonderful Loretta Jones. Loyal wife to Vern Jones, mother of three successful children, and grandmother to one.” This is what it says on the funeral program.
The picture in the program looks beautiful. A woman. Maybe a mother of two beautiful children—a boy and a girl—who go to Richmond Public School, and eat dinner at six o’clock sharp, in their suburban three bedroom, three bathroom bungalow.
Not a woman who cheated on her husband.
The first time I saw Lori cheat on my grandpa was when I was nine. We were having a grandma-granddaughter date like we did every few weeks. Lori loved having me over because Grandpa was a trucker, and he would be gone for weeks at a time.
We went to her house to bake snicker doodles and watch Loonie Toons till we’d pass out. At least, that was the plan.
That night, we did bake snicker doodles, but when we were about to watch cartoons Lori said it was going to be an early night because she had a migraine. I passed out after the third episode, or maybe the second—it’s hard to tell because I seen them all 100 times.
I woke up in the guest bedroom, not Lori’s. I remember checking her room. The door was open, the bed was still made and her navy slippers weren’t by the door.
I heard voices downstairs—two voices.
I sat on the stairs and slid my bum from one step to the next till I could hear laughing in the kitchen. I slid until I could see around the corner with my left eye.
Lori was sitting in grandpas seat at the kitchen table, with her shirt off and her legs spread open like she pulled her groin and was trying to stretch it out. I remember her breasts hanging there like two raw pork chops—the right one, slightly bigger—just teasing the neighbourhood mutt.
His eyes were latched like a newborn baby feeding off his mother.
I ran up the stairs into the guest bedroom and hid under the blanket. I closed my eyes and all I could see is Lori sharing her boobs with someone other than Grandpa.
She came upstairs and whispered in my ear “I’m sorry hunny, I made a mistake. This will be our little secret.” She walked out my room and closed the door.
Lori and I never talked about what happened that night.
The funeral was almost over when grandpa took the microphone from Aunt Ethel and said, “I’m sorry Loretta. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the husband you deserved. You were the purest woman a man could find. I love you.”
-T