This is a story
About pain and sadness
But there is also a hint of irony.
It depicts my first and last time
Inside that presumptuous building on the hill.

I had seen it many times
Played on its playground as a child
Gone to its annual carnival as an adolescent
Its daunting shadow had watched me
With eyes of judgment
Many times before.

Finally entering through the doors
Was some kind of out-of-body experience
Mostly because of what I was there for.
The funeral of a friend was the dreary occasion.

How I miss him so
And it is still an offbeat feeling
When I think about him now.
I feel a twinge in my chest cavity
Every time I replay a memory of him.
It literally hurts my heart.

Anyway, I walk into the church
Decked out in black
My makeup has been replaced by the stains of tears.
I never felt uninvited,
As I imagined I might.
But I didn't quite know what to do.
I look ardently for a friend to sit next to
Or even an acquaintance.
No such luck.
I had to teach myself Catholic rituals
I was once again, alone.

Looking around as I entered, I saw people
Dipping their fingers in some kind of Holy water
And crossing themselves.
They seemed to be whispering something
But I couldn't make it out.
I did make a travesty of that practice
As I attempted to imitate them
Muttering some chicken scratch to look like I knew what I was doing.
I, apparently, got too much on my fingers
And some of it dribbled onto my freshly ironed shirt.
Awesome start to the day.

I sat next to two amiable-looking people
And kind of kept to myself.
The service was very sweet and honored him and his family
Wonderfully.
However, when we had to drop to our knees for prayer
I was a little bit late the first time
And the little padded areas
That you kneel on
Would not unlock themselves from the pew the second.
Great.

The worst part may have been
That during the ceremony
I could not cry.
I could not understand it.
I had sobbed for the days prior
So why, now when it's appropriate,
Can I not shed a single tear?

I feel insensitive
I also feel the sanctimonious glares of those surrounding me.
Eventually, droplets started bleeding from my eyes like crazy.
Am I crazy?

Finding a friend to drive me back to school
Proved to be easy
He held me as I bawled
While everyone else had stopped
Stone faced.
Why am I the only one
Who's emotions come and go
At the very wrong times?

Such a wreck
Such a paradox
Such a tale of heartache
For my first time in a Catholic steeple.