Men in black suits, women in dresses of sorrow, and photographs of remembrance cluttered the room with a closed casket at the fore. Tears of sadness reverberated over the volume of the solemn music. Dimly lit lights amplified the melancholic mood among each of the occupants sitting in the red velvet seats. Two families joined for a momentous moment in their lives, but not for joy, for the loss of one of their own.
Rare was it to see these two families in one room without debating on the current politics of the world or personal religious beliefs that they felt the need to share. For once, silence and a mutual feeling of gloom fell upon these patrons. Two moments in ones life brings two families together in peace. Most anxiously, there is the wedding. A moment of rebirth, beginning a new life with the one you love and allowing your family to witness that sacred event. The other is why this group has gathered today.
A funeral. The loss of someone dear and close. Most commonly it is a feeling of sadness and regret that brings someone to a funeral. Saddened because the departed had left this life before they had a chance to say goodbye or finish their goals. The regret comes from the fact that no one is perfect. You regret, when some dies, being mean to that person even once in their life or regret not apologizing for the silly mistake you made on their birthday. Rarely does someone arrive to a funeral with a smile on their face, unless you’re in the mafia.
Southern California. This is a place known for its year round sun, breast augmentations, beaches, celebrities, and unending nights of club life. Only here can you find a son arrive to his fathers funeral with no sadness or regret. A pair of sunglasses not found in a liquor store with a car that has a two year waiting list to acquire. Malcolm Knoll did not share the unanimous feelings that the rest of his family held for this funeral.
A song and moment of silence later, the occupants rose from their seats to carry the casket to the hearse. All eyes fell on Malcolm who stood in the back of the room, expected to assist the other three men carry the coffin. A glass of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in another, he leaned against the wall, staring back at his kin and gave a half smile with a raise of his glass.
“Good riddance,” he said under his breath.
* * *
The funeral guests now traded one room of gloom for another. This room lifted the spirits ever so slightly with its tall windows and view of the Pacific. It was a clear blue day for Southern California today, coincidentally reflecting the mood of one specific guest among the feuding families. Food was laid out for everyone to enjoy and an open bar to help with the pain.
He counted the seconds perfectly before his mother marched to his side with indifference in her eyes and a posture that screamed, “What do you think you are doing?”
“Hello, mother. It is nice to see you as well.” Malcolm replied with a cigarette wedged between his lips.
“You were supposed to help with your dad’s casket.” Her tone was stern, but at a low volume as to not disrupt others.
Malcolm wrapped his fingers around his tricep with an expression to mimic pain. “Well, I tore a muscle yesterday and I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”
She quickly slapped his shoulder. “This isn’t funny, Malcolm.”
“It’s a little funny,” he retorted, removing the cigarette from his mouth to release a cloud of smoke into the atmosphere.
The two glared at one another with years of disagreement behind their eyes. Charisma Knoll was well known for her strict parental skills, giving everyone reason to believe that her only son would grow to become a rebellious teenager. Fortunately, they were all wrong. Unfortunately, their time frame was only a little off with Malcolm postponing until his twenties to catch the rebel bug.
Malcolm and his father were never bosom buddies and his mother was always the one he could open up to. It was when he was the age of twenty-three that Malcolm and his mother began fighting more often than not. He soon got a good job to support himself and quickly moved out on his own. Aside from a few phone calls for the next year, Malcolm and his mother slowly lost contact. This being the first time they had seen each other in seven years.
“Would you take those sunglasses off?” Charisma snapped, reaching for the glasses.
Malcolm reacted out of years of practice, leaning backwards. “Hey, hey, hey, hands off. These cost over a hundred dollars.”
“Well, have a little respect. Take them off.” She crossed her arms.
A half smirk was plastered on his face. “I would, but the sight of all these people makes my eyes hurt.”
“These people are your family and friends of your dad.”
“Oh come on. Dad didn’t have any friends.”
She could only glare at her son with such distaste that she almost couldn’t stand to be by his side.
“Shouldn’t you have a few more tears? You know, playing the role of the grieving widow and all.” A single gulp and the remains of his scotch was gone, followed by a final drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and walking away.
The brown haired thirty year old with a five o’clock shadow exited the luxurious family owned building and walked across the sand toward the water. He rolled up the pant legs of his jeans, took his black Converse All-Stars in hand with his socks, and slowly walked along the meeting point of water and sand. He reached into his blazer pocket, removing a pack of cigarettes, and lit another with his Zippo.
He walked a few feet before spinning on his heels to get a look of the memorial taking place from afar. It was a nice quaint building with three walls made of glass, allowing the sun to reveal itself to those inside. Waves crashing against the sand added ambience to the structure, making it prime real estate property. Naturally, the Knoll family emblem was displayed on the Northern and Southern exterior walls for all to see. Malcolm rolled his eyes in disgust.
He shifted his gaze towards the sight he loved most; the West coast display of the sun setting beyond the horizon with a large body of water in the foreground. His feet carried him a few more feet before his laziness got the best of him. Keeping his blue eyes on the horizon, Malcolm stumbled backwards until his a** was firmly nestled into the sand coating of VeniceBeach.
The world seemed to stand still in his drunken transitional phase between soberness and intoxication. A long distinct pause between lapping waves caused him to ponder his existence. An effect the ocean had on many people if they would take the time to admire the scenery. Childhood memories sped across the cerebral cortex interstate of his brain, forcing various emotions to the surface. A beer he had just removed from his coat was quickly disposed of by means of being thrown at the water.
“That was a waste of a perfectly good beer.” An unfamiliar female voice spoke from behind, prompting Malcolm to turn and find a lovely young lady in a long black dress.
“Not entirely. I’m sure sharks or some fish know how to party.” Malcolm retorted.
“You’re Malcolm Knoll, aren’t you?”
Malcolm struggled to his feet, fighting to get his balance. “And who might you be?”
“Kara. Kara Angel.”
“You definitely are.” Malcolm was referring to her astounding appearance. “What brings you to this fine gathering of shallow, self-loathing, closed minded misfits?”
She pushed a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. “I was your dad’s assistant.”
“Sleeping with him?”
She reflexively shook her head in denial.
“You’d be the first.” Malcolm reached into another pocket and removed another can of alcohol.
“Are you okay? This seems to have you going through a mess.”
He jerked his head at her with a look of confusion in his eyes. “What, you mean the beer?”
“And the three glasses of scotch with a shot of tequila.”
A slight chuckle escaped his lips. “You’ve been watching me.”
“I notice things.” She nodded.
An escape of air sounded after Malcolm popped off the top of the beer. Without hesitation, he pressed the opening of the can to his lips, pouring the amber beverage into his mouth, quickly consuming every last drop in the span of seven and a half seconds.
“If you must know, I only came ‘cause of the open bar.” He tossed the empty can to the ground.
She squinted her eyes. “So, the passing of your dad had nothing to do with it.” Her tone was condescending.
“Not even a little bit.”
She stared with disbelief.
Rumors were all she ever heard of the Knoll child. Stories from Garret Knoll were all that Kara had to go on. The lazy son that lived at home until he was twenty-three, sucking from the money giving teet that were his parents and not getting a real career until he was twenty-four. A son that argued with every thing that was ever asked of him, just to satisfy his mantra of laziness and stubbornness, while the cholesterol and stress of his parents rose with every waking morning. Through the grapevine it was unattractive and appalling, but here, in person he was slightly attractive with a hint of charm hidden under his rough shell of rebellion.
His rebellion spanned beyond just his personality towards his parents. It carried over into the way he dressed and the way he carried himself. It was a rebellion against the world. Converse All-Stars worn with slightly baggy jeans and a t-shirt under a blue blazer. It was edgy and different. Something the world was slowly losing, but needed more of; a person who stood up to the capitalism of this country to knock people back into a realm of realism where trends aren’t the only popular ideas.
“Do you need a ride home?” Kara asked.
“I have a car.” Malcolm pointed towards the water.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m Irish.”
She shook her head with a smile of amusement. “You have Irish in you which doesn’t prevent you from becoming drunk. And yes, you are drunk.”
Malcolm stared into the brown eyes of this stranger, squinting, trying to get a glimpse of her soul while he attempted to form a witty retort in his drunken mind. Drawing a blank, he was forced to get a ride from Kara, the former assistant of his late father. Walking through the sand, Kara carried Malcolm’s shoes in one hand while she tried her best to keep Malcolm from stumbling across the beach with her other.
Suddenly stepping onto level ground, Malcolm’s balance became even worse as he nearly stopped his fall with his face. Having Kara by his side was the only reason he wasn’t being rushed to the emergency room with a broken nose. These thoughts wandered through his head, but no attention was paid due to his current state of mind. One of the only thoughts capable of being formed into words were:
“W, w, which car is yours?” Malcolm began stuttering.
She pointed, while supporting the man over her shoulder, to a dark blue BMW. “And if you vomit in my car, I’ll kill you.”
“Okey dokey.”
* * *
It wasn’t uncommon for Malcolm to black out at the end of the day from drinking too much. It wasn’t even rare for him to wake up from blacking out without the pounding pain of a hang over. It was rare, however, for him to wake from his dreamless stupor to find a beautiful woman dressing herself and preparing to leave.
“What time is it?” Malcolm asked, rolling over to get a better look at his alarm clock.
“A little past six in the morning. I have work and you should go back to sleep.” Kara whispered.
His eyes went wide as he glared at this lady getting ready to leave his presence. “Yes, mother.”
She chuckled. “I’m sorry. I just…” she paused, staring back at the thirty year old son of her late boss. “I don’t usually do this. I don’t know anything about you.”
Malcolm sat up, pressing his back against the wall behind his bed. The urge for a cigarette kicked in and he gave into that guilty pleasure, lighting the tip and taking a drag. Kara sat at the foot of the bed with a look of regret in her placid eyes.
“What do you wanna know?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “Oh, come on. You don’t think this is going to happen again, do you?”
“So, just because it’s not gonna happen again means we can’t learn anything about each other?” He exhaled more smoke into the room. “And another thing. Why do girls always say, ‘I don’t usually do this’ when they clearly do?”
“I’m going to ignore that second question.” She slipped her feet into her matching pumps, “And yes, that’s exactly what it means. We’ll never see each other again, so no point in getting attached.”
“You act like I always do this.” She gave him a look that could shake the truth from the most dedicated compulsive liar. “Okay, I do. But how did you know?”
“I worked as your dad’s assistant for five years. You learn a thing or two about your employer’s family.” Her eyes scattered in search for her car keys.
“So, no second date?” Malcolm asked with his lips arching in an exaggerated frown.
“This wasn’t a date and no.” The keys were found on the desk beside the bed.
She made her way through the bedroom door and towards the front door. Malcolm jumped from the bed, pulling his boxer shorts to his waist while he followed. Before he could get his final words out, the front door slammed in his face. Unfortunately, for Kara, something so small never stopped Malcolm in the past. His stubbornness encompassed all aspects of his grim life.
He opened the door just in time to see Kara take her place behind the steering wheel. “You forget, I know where you work.”
Before she could react, the wooden door was already shut.
Malcolm turned on the balls of his feet with a smirk of success perched on his lips. Making his way into the kitchen, he began his morning ritual of eating an unhealthy breakfast before booting up his laptop to get some work done, and finishing with a short shower.
He exited the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist as he made his way for the stereo. Following a sequence of pressed buttons, a song with a decent melody and legible words escaped from the speakers placed at each corner of his living room. He picked out the appropriate clothes for a work-out and dropped them onto his bed. A few minutes passed before Malcolm was closing the back sliding glass door of his old-fashioned beach house. Placing the ear-phones into the appropriate ears, Malcolm fastened his Ipod to his right arm via Velcro and proceeded with his morning jog along the beach.
He wasn’t in the greatest shape ever and he even hated running. He would rather watch an egg boil, but he preferred to keep in shape. His eating habits were not the best that they could be and he, clearly, had no willpower, so the only thing he could do was work-out on a regular basis. Running gave him a reason to download music, a chance to listen to that music, and a reason to get out of the house in the morning.
He ran his usual mile and a half when he entered a small shopping center. Not much was here, but one place in particular he visited once a week, like clockwork. The sign above read, “Comics”.
Pushing the door open caused a bell to ring, alerting the manager that a customer had just entered. Malcolm made his way to the front desk, the manager already reaching behind him, into a cubby-hole.
“How’s it goin, Stan?” Malcolm asked, trying to catch his breath.
“Good, good. Yourself?” Stan placed a stack of comic books on the front desk.
“I’m good.” Malcolm removed his wallet from a sweatshirt pocket. “This everything?” He motioned at the stack of comic books.
Stan nodded. “Yup. How is the comic book writing business?”
Malcolm handed the manager the appropriate cash. “Oh, you know. Slow.”
The manager placed the cash into the register and looked up as Malcolm was walking out. “You really gonna run with that bag of comics?”
Malcolm shook his head. “Nah, I’m gonna take a walk up to my Moms place. Gotta pick up my car.” With that, Malcolm was out the door.
