My mother died the other day. I went to the retirement home where she lived for the funeral. I sat up all night with some of her friends from the home, and in the morning, she was buried.
I went home, and since I had the day off from work, I went for a swim. I met Marie at the beach. We had always fancied each other, but nothing ever came of it.
We went back to my room and made love. She asked me if I loved her. I said it didn't matter but I didn't think so. That made her a bit sad, I think. Later we went to the movies.
Then, yesterday, while I was at the beach, I shot an Arab. I hadn't intended to, but the sun was so hot and bright, and he pulled a knife, and the sun reflected off the blade.
Now I'm in jail. My lawyer asked me if I felt any grief at my mother's funeral. When I told him no, he told me to keep it to myself.
In our society, he says, any man who doesn't cry at his mother's funeral is liable to be condemned to death.
Stop giving me flashbacks of World. Lit. my junior year of high school. That's a time I do not want to remember!