Chapter 1

I sat at my great grandfather’s funeral and tried to figure out who all these people were. I’d never seen any of them, that I could remember. But that wasn’t the weird thing. The weird thing was afterwards, so many people I didn’t know came over to meet me and give me their condolences.

I’m Mick. I turned 18 just a few days ago. Actually, my birthday was the same day that my great grandfather passed away. I was named James, after my great grandfather, but everyone called me Mick, short for my middle name, Michael. I was the only male in the family tree after my great grandfather. James was my mothers’ mothers’ father. He had three daughters. They each had three daughters. I had two older sisters.

I guess that was the reason that my great grandfather took an interest in me and my life. At first it was just a card on my birthday. My mother had a scrapbook with all of the cards in them. There was one for every year on my birthday. For every year that I passed a grade in school starting in kindergarten. Then every time I made the honor roll in school, which I’d done every year. If I really had to think about it I could count on two hands the number of times I got less than an “A” in a subject and none of those was on a final grade.

The last card was for my acceptance to college. I remembered it because it had a large check that I was to use to get an apartment off campus and pay for the first year’s lease. I did so and moved out of my mother’s house without any ceremony or tears on my mother’s part.

I must have been greeting people I didn’t know for almost an hour after the memorial was over. My mother stood next to me, on my right, and my grandmother on my left the entire time. Each person who approached me greeted me, introduced themselves and shook my hand. It was the same every time. Like I said, it was weird ... No ... it was ceremonial.

Another thing that was weird was that each succeeding couple, and they were all couples, that gave their condolences got older and older. The last couple must have been close to one hundred years old. When the man shook my hand he spoke to my grandmother in a language I didn’t understand. They both nodded to him and he and his wife left.

I looked up at my mother and then my grandmother.

“Is that it?” I’m afraid I sounded desperate.

“Yes, Mick,” Mom said. “We need to close the casket and speak to the mortician, then we can go to dinner.”

I sighed and nodded while I stood up. I walked to the casket and was approached by the mortician and another man who spoke to me as if he knew me...

“Mr. O’Dell’s wishes were that young Mick should be the one to close the casket,” said the man.

“What do I do, just pull it closed?” I asked.

The mortician replied, “Yes.”

“No!” The strange man said quickly.

“First, you must say your final farewell,” the stranger said.

“Why?” I asked, a little tired of the weirdness and the whole ceremoniousness of the funeral.

“Mick, it is as it must be,” the stranger said quietly yet very seriously.

“Who are you and why should I listen to you?” I asked firmly.