Old Friends
Jacqui Wiley
“Old friends are a treasure. Young people think friends have to be their own age, oh… and current. A true friend is a treasure. That’s why Bernard, it’s a great idea to attend your own funeral.”
Bernard laughed. “You will, Granddad; you’ll be the one in the coffin.”
“I will, and with your help I’ll be in it before I have to go into it.”
“What? You want me to…?”
“No, I don’t want you to kill me.”
“You’re going to kill yourself? You know I’ve no access to drugs?
“I should hope not, young man. Listen Bernard, different types of people attend funerals. Chief mourners, the ones that are actually heartbroken, and the ones that are pretending and hoping their name is on the will. They are under the heading of ‘family’. Neighbours who attend out of obligation, or in fear of no one showing up at theirs, or people talking about them if they don’t attend. The ‘Grubers’ or ‘Freeloaders’ come for the free food and drink. The gossipers come to see what dirt they can get on the family and others there. You’ll find they will attend both wake and funeral and if it’s a cremation, you’ll probably see them following the funeral procession.”
Bernard looked shocked.
Granddad continued, “And the ‘craw thumpers’ the auld wans desperate to atone for their sins and be allowed in the pearly gates. Most of them will have one foot in the grave. There’s a few that actually have respect, the ones perhaps who considered you a friend and then there is ‘old friends’.”
“Do you have any of them left, Granddad?”
“You young pup, I’ve more than you have.”
“Who? Bert? He only calls for a free lunch and the Westmeath Examiner. You even say he’s too mean to buy his own.”
“He calls for company. He’s been lonely since his Nancy passed. She was a terrier; she never could let things go. He loved her though. She wasn’t my cup of tea, but she was his milk and three sugars. He misses her. I’ve grown fond of him. Good friends are hard to find. Some are like flowers, they might not last long, but they do make a difference while they are here. In life, count yourself lucky if you can count your real friends on one hand. Old ones that turn up out of the blue, maybe after years and continue as if they’ve never left. Now me lad, they are real friends. You, Bernard, you are my best friend.”
“You’re my granddad and you’re a good 70 years older than me.”
“You’re my grandson and I see you as my best friend. Age is just a number, always remember that. Well, after the legal age, anyway.”
Bernard looked confused.
“You’ll know what I mean one day. Embrace love. Don’t be looking at the wrappers, look within. Go with your instinct. Let the future take care of itself. Don’t spend your life worrying about what others think of you and settle for shiny shoes that will constantly pinch you. Find a friend to grow old with and if you’re not interested in commitments…find lots of friends to grow old with.”
“Granddad.” The 14-year-old turned crimson.
“So, Bernard. Are you up for a bit of fun? Will we see what ‘old friends’ your auld granddad has. Will you help me plan my funeral?”
Jacqui Wiley is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 11am and on Wednesdays at 7.30pm in the Annebrook House Hotel. Mullingar. Aspiring and fun writers welcome.