was in high school, I had a friend who would always claim that he had premonition dreams. He said that on some random nights, he'd wake up in a cold sweat and would have to wait a few minutes to catch his breath before he could fall back asleep. Now, I'm not sure how true his claims were as he never gave me any real examples of dreaming up the future, but what he said to me one night, while we were just sitting around and talking, really shook me. He told me that the dream he had the night before took place in a funeral parlor. Few people were there to pay their respects to the dead and he said the few people that were there seemed annoyed at the fact that they had to take the time out of their busy lives to attend. He said he was overcome with a feeling of immense dread as he approached the plain, dark wooded box of the deceased. When he got to the foot of the casket, and knelt to say a prayer, he looked inside to see who had crossed the last threshold. And the person inside that box... Was me.

At first, I kind of laughed it off. Who does he think is? ******* Nostradamus? But after a only a few moments of contemplation, I was overcome with immense sadness. How could no one show up to my funeral? Why wasn't my shoe family there? Why does he get to live longer than me? Why was he so calm when he told me this?

He told me this six years ago. And every once in a while the thought pops back in my head. After so many years of sporadic contemplation on the subject, I've actually learned to cope with the idea. As crazy and insane and unknowable as the matter is, I've come to terms with the thought that not many people will show up at my funeral, whenever that may be. I figure it like this; would I rather have lots of people grieving and crying and wailing uncontrollably at my coffin-side who probably didn't know me that well at all and were more than likely acting, if they even cared to put on a show? Or would I rather have a few, a few who really knew me and every crease and crinkle of my heart and soul?