“Let me make this perfectly clear, you cannot begin a death notice by saying ‘It’s about time’!” he painstakingly instructed as his beady little eyes poked up over the rim of his glasses in a groundhog style. He judged me with a ferocious mix of condescension and incredulity.
I wasn’t about to let him decide how the feud should end. I had waited a long time for this and had spent a lifetime preparing for this moment. God willing, I was here to witness it and was not going to be denied by hard-earned right to gloat.
“Then let’s go with ‘finally!’” I countered in this inconvenient battle of wills. Who was he to judge me anyways? Surely he knew the whole story as everyone else in this myopic town did. Everyone had witnessed our lifelong contest with all of the see-saw victories and tug-of-war glories. This was now my moment and it was to be savoured just like those tart cherry candies that jolt you with a sour sting of reality but then reward you with a most pleasurable sensation of near orgasmic satisfaction. It was the ultimate last word; a victory enjoyed with the tingly feeling after the sharp, stabbing bittersweet.
“Or,” I ventured as I glanced at my to-do list, “’he took his sweet time’ or perhaps ‘at last’.”
By now his fact was purple with disbelief, shock and I thought just a hint of curiosity as he droned “That is no way to speak of the dead! Life is a celebration and in death we honour that celebration!”
Indeed I was celebrating for this was not just any life and not just any death we were talking about. It was him, and if you knew you would do the same. Don’t expect praise and flowers from me after all this time. Honour! They could honour him with a geranium up the ass for all I cared.
“You know who this is for don’t you?” I asked.
“No, who?” his less purplish face and groundhog eyes scanned my face curiously.
All I had to do was mention his name and an immediate resonance welled up in his eyes as they popped back below the glass frames. He knew full well the whole sordid tale of our lifelong feud just as the rest of this myopic town did. I had taken my place in the annals of history among the many other perpetually defeated souls who yearned for their tart cherry candy with its what-goes-around-comes-around-flavour.
“I would suggest we might consider ‘it is with a great relief’” in his temporary role of referee he knew, and he declared me the winner.
“You decide what copy works best.” I headed out to locate some geraniums.
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