I glanced at her.
Behind her veil, she was composed.
But my eyes dropped.
Just for a second.
To her body.
To the way she held herself.
Subtle.
Protective.
She’s been hiding something from me.
From everybody.
She would turn when I touched her. Cover her stomach. Blame her bloating on eating.
I ain’t say nothing.
But I knew.
And that knowing sat heavy in my chest.
I looked forward again.
Not here.
Not now.
The casket sat at the front.
Closed.
A man like Marcel doesn’t get displayed; he gets remembered.
I stood there for a second.
Not grieving.
Not broken.
Just… acknowledging.
It was done.
Everyone made their speeches. I listened. I watched my mother say two sentences and stepped down.She was over it.
When it was my turn to speak, I stepped forward.
Everybody was watching.
Waiting.
Measuring.
