Buried Enlightenment

I stumbled down another gravel road with cars parked all along each side. I figured I was on Roseberry St. because there was a lady sweeping the sidewalk in front of the restaurant with the red door that brewed good coffee, and I figured that lady was Mrs. Maldonado. It must've been because she bid me a good morning, like she knew me, or like she really wanted me to purchase a cup of the eatery's coffee.

I said hello when I walked in; to whom, hell if I know. A publicly jumbled retort replied, but some arms waved in the air where the cooks were, so they must've known I was a regular, which was great, but I was clueless. I just know I liked the smell of the place, but not the people in it. Not even myself.

The coffee arrived - so did questions.

"Did you hear about Mr. Dreg?" Mrs. Maldonado asked.

I murmured something that must've been a "No" as I tasted the coffee, but instead of a taste I just got a new numbness, but it was an awakening numbness, so it was either bad coffee or Irish coffee.

"Si', he died," said the blurred lady that was starting to form into Mrs. Maldonado, but I was still ready to punch it if it wasn't her.

"There's a wake?" I asked as I dove back into the bad coffee.

"Right now," Blurry Maldonado said. "Across the street, at Mr. Garza's funeral home?"

It made me wonder, which made me ask, "What time is it?"

"Enrique!" the Mrs. Blurry Maldonado shouted. "Qual es el tiempo?"

"Nine!" the voice said.

I walked across the street - Garza knew me too well, so he let me in.

"Was he a friend?" he asked.

"He was somebody," was all I could say. "Is he ready for show?"

"Yes."

"Can I see?"

He was apprehensive, like always, but - like always - he let me have first look. He always let me have first look when it was someone I knew.

There he lied, in his pearl casket. I tried to remember who he was, but I couldn't; but, apparently, my tongue could because I started licking the back of my mouth, gathering saliva, and as I opened my mouth to pay my respects, the only thing that came out was a gigantic gob of spit that landed right between his eyes.

I was satisfied. I bid Garza a good day, and a good show, and muddled my way some place that was serving other things besides bad coffee and bitter dead.