Caught In The Act Of Mourning
A Flash Fiction Story
By Teddy S Bower
Dressed in a conservative black suit appropriate to the occasion, I entered the church. It was then that I first noticed him.
Young
Diminutive pocket boy
Unbelievably cute
Perfectly proportioned
Bubble butt
Immaculately tailored suit
Dark hair
Blue eyes
Designer stubble
Animated
Delicious, infectious smile radiating from mischievous, twinkling eyes
Stunningly adorable
‘He works for the funeral home,’ I thought as I stood in the queue to receive the program he was passing to the mourners. As he handed one to me I reached out to shake his hand. It was not something I would normally have done considering the occasion. Without hesitation he grasped my hand in return, turning the full wattage of that adorable smile on me as he did so. As our contact continued for a moment longer than necessary I thought I felt a charge pass between us through our physical connection then it was over leaving me questioning exactly what it was that had just happened. I was forty-seven. He was what? Twenty-five? Not bloody likely! Leaving him to his task I moved into the sanctuary choosing a place on the center aisle near the back.
Honestly, I didn’t intentionally stare at him but three times as he went about his duties during the service he caught me looking.
The first time he tilted his head slightly and held my eye for the briefest of moments before continuing his task.
The next time he smiled before shifting his gaze. It didn’t seem in the least flirtatious, nor was I expecting it to be, yet there seemed to be something intangible happening between us in these shared moments.
At the close of the service as he and his ancient, cadaverous looking coworker dismissed the mourners row by row he caught me looking one final time. He studied me impassively for a few seconds before breaking into his patent grin. This time, adding an intentional wicked twist, he winked. Winked! I was so busted! I blushed, suddenly feeling like a pervert. Refusing to indulge in self recrimination I grinned back, rolled my eyes, and shrugged my shoulders slightly as if to say, “Okay, so you caught me!”
Immediately his smile broadened, his dimples deepened and his twinkling eyes fairly danced. Lifting his hand, he pointed an index finger at me and pulled the trigger with his thumb. Clasping my hands to my heart I feigned being shot. We grinned and the moment passed as he dismissed my row and I exited the church.
Later on in my bedroom I removed my suit and, as was my habit, went through the pockets removing all items before hanging it once again in the closet. As I inserted my hand in the right hand pocket of the jacket I felt a small card. Withdrawing it I read:
Ransome-Rose Funeral Home
Justin Rose - Associate Director
Phone: 555-357-1634
email: justin@ransomerose.com
Puzzled, I turned it over. On the back I saw written in pen:
Text me ~ 555-730-1532 ~ Justin ;-)
The End