The wake of Teddy Volkoff went off as expected. There was a small crowd using the death of an acquaintance to cash in AA chips for cheap beer and worse company. The neighborhood Masonic Center was chosen because of its religious neutrality, as Aunt Vikki was organizing and she was even less religious than Dad had been. His coffin sat in the back of the center’s multipurpose room, and the crowd was made to look even smaller as they jostled over the basketball lines that adorned the flooring.

The group was overstated in their dress, their actions, and chiefly in the manner in which they each maneuvered around the room. They had mostly organized into recognizable clumps, his coworkers, tipsy alcoholics from the center, and a nervous looking bunch that could only have been workers from the center here to make the mourning crowd look larger. However, the masonics were the only ones not avoiding contact with the estranged daughter of the deceased. I catch Aunt Viktorya’s eye from across the room, and hastily made my way towards the casket. I didn’t want to cause a scene, not today.

I was interrupted by a ruddy man and a slurring shout of a single word, “LUCY!”

The manager of MacArthur’s Motors made his way towards me. By his gait, he could

have fit in with the coworkers or the “anonymous” mourners.

“ Sorry about that old man of yours, he was a damn fine salesman, damn fine.”

“Thank you, Mr. MacArthur.”

“Our profit margins won’t be the same without him. That old bastard could trade a BMW for a Kia. Speaking of, I got a Kia that would be just great for you, I’d give you two percent off sticker, you know, for your old man.”

“Mm hmm.” I replied, backing away, but MacArthur matched me step for step.

“ Say there lil Lucy, let’s get you a drink.”

“No thank you.”

“Come on Lucy. For your pops.”

“No.”

“Now this is getting rude of you Lucy.”

“I’m sober, and my name is Lucya. Now if you’d excuse me.”

I got away from the man and walked towards the casket, faster this time. I caught myself instinctively rubbing at my finger for comfort, but only found a thin white line where my wedding ring usually sat. After she dropped me off a safe distance from the center, I knew Nancy would be waiting for me, parked down the street by the stone wall. I knew she wanted to come with me, but I couldn’t do that to my father, even once he’s gone. My mind drifted to an all too familiar thought, how much he would have liked her if things had been different. I felt a pang, and I again found myself missing my wife.

I rubbed at the white line where my ring usually sat, in hopes that my wife’s strength would pass to me. I took a deep breath, and began to read the small sign that rested in front of the casket. A print of an old employee of the month photograph had been enlarged, and I saw the sternness of my father’s smile and the warmth of his eyes rendered in black and white for dramatic effect. A script-like font next to the photo detailed the contents of the wooden box;

Ivan Fyodor “Teddy” Volkoff

1948-2002

Мы найдем мир. Мы услышим ангелов.

Мы увидим, как небо сверкает бриллиантами.

We shall find peace. We shall hear angels,

We shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.

Anton Chekhov

I read the sign over and over until it was burned into my mind, in hopes that his favorite poem would endow me with some of his own quiet resolve. I said a silent prayer that the hold he had over me had passed along with him, and forced my feet towards the small wooden box.

The casket was white, and the carnations atop it were a vibrant red. I studied each curve of it meticulously, but I soon ran out of distractions. Eventually, there was nothing to look at besides the casket’s occupant, and I slowly peeked in the open half.

It was him. It was actually Dad.

I grabbed the side of the box, and my grip almost succeeded in stopping the shaking slowly traveling up my arm. I forced myself to breathe. I wouldn’t let these people see me cry.

My father was always a large man, but here in this box he was almost unrecognizably small. He used to tower over my mother and me, nearly as tall as a door, but with a large, soft gut and a softer voice. I remember tucking against his stomach as a child, giggling and tucking in to watch evening shows together. I’d have a juice box, and he’d have a coffee.

That same stomach had changed in the years since I saw him last, as it now was nearly sunken completely, without the trademark belly bulge. He was still a tall man, but his plumpness had almost vanished completely, leaving behind a gaunt remnant of the man I knew. Death didn’t become him, he was left impossibly pale. The only color he had was the gentle pink of his cheeks, like how they were before Mama passed. It had been so long since I’d seen him without the ruddiness in his cheeks. It had been a long time since I’d seen him at all, I guess.

His face was never redder than the day I left. I closed my eyes in hopes of blocking out the memory, but I could still hear the way it sounded. The sound of the bottle shattering. The tires squealing on pavement.

My hand was gripping the side of the casket too tightly now, my hand was nearly as white as the box itself. I needed to let go.

I took a deep breath and took in more of the man in front of me. His wide neck had been stuffed into an unfamiliar white collared shirt. Judging by the ill-fitting sport coat that accompanied the shirt, he wasn’t the one that purchased them. I wonder if Aunt Vikki had bought it especially for the occasion, as he hadn’t bought any new clothes for himself after Mama passed. Then again, maybe things had changed in the last few years.

When I left, his closet consisted of fifteen colored polos for his job at the dealership, a ruffled dress shirt I only recognized from a grainy photo of him and Mama in front of City Hall, and a decade old Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt from when Mama and I went for my ninth birthday. And, of course, every last piece of Mama’s clothes.

But I don’t blame him. After fifteen years married they were all but symbiotic. From as early as I can remember we were a team, with Mama taking care of me, and Dad taking care of her. Our family was a unit, but a linear one, where Dad loved Mama and Mama loved me. Mama used to tell me the story of how they met before bedtime, with more and more of the details added as I got older. He was a quiet man with a decent job quickly aging out of the allure of bachelorhood, so when her mother overheard his thick accent she knew she had to get a man from the old country for her own daughter. Mama would always laugh when she’d explain, “Because at twenty-five, I was dangerously close to spinsterhood!” So, Baba of course brought her daughter to meet the young man at the used car dealership. Shortly after arriving, Baba left with a pre-owned Chevrolet and Mama left with a brand-new husband. Shorter still afterwards the failures of 1970s birth control brought me into the picture.

After Mama passed Dad all but shut down, where his only escapes were in the form of daily trips to the dealership and the warm welcome of a cool glass. When we did actually cross paths, hamburger helpers and takeout meals became our only common interest.

I backed away from the casket and made my way across the faded stripes on the floor, passing under an especially dusty skylight. I wondered if the sky would be clear enough to see stars tonight. Glancing up at that dirty window, I couldn’t help but be reminded of an ill-fated camping trip I took with Mama and Dad so long ago I could barely remember. They did their best to hide their worry about the streets being snowed in, but I was content simply to listen to them talk and stare out the car window at the brightness of the stars and the falling snow. Soon enough I’d fallen asleep and was only awoken by my father lifting me from the backseat.

“Look aнгел,” he said, pointing to the sky, “we shall see the sky sparkling with

diamonds.”

Ангел. He used to call me aнгел, his angel. My composure was failing as I took a shaky inhale and blotted the wetness from my eyes. My stomach gurgled uneasily just thinking about the good times we’d had, and the time I’d wasted when I still had a chance.

A sudden thick accent broke my trance as my Aunt Vikki smoothly addressed the crowd, “Excuse me, may I have your attention please.”

I hadn’t heard her voice in years. It was curt, and each word cut the air with her accented English.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming today to honor the life of my brother Ivan, or Teddy, as many of you better knew him.”

There was a dryness to in my mouth, drier than it had any right being. God, I needed a drink. The drink table was only a few feet to my left, and there was a longing in my gut pulling me closer to it. No. I had to be strong. I had to hold myself together. The exit was only a few feet further than the drinks, and everything that could hurt me was in this room.

“Ivan had many names and even more titles; Brother, Friend, Husband, Father.”

My head snapped up as I heard mention of the last word. Father. A role he only played for me. My indirect mention called forth a bead of sweat that slowly ran the length of my spine.

“ He was a quiet man by most accounts, but a family man nonetheless.”

My eyes darted towards the exit. The illuminated sign of the exit door gave off an inviting glow, only a few tantalizing steps from me. I pulled at the hem of my dress, the thick polyester was sticking to the sweat of my leg. The whole crowd seemed to move as a hundred pieces of an individual thing, like a swarm of ants slowly engulfing me, swallowing me whole. A man sniffled. A woman sneezed. They were so loud.

Deep breaths. I told myself. Just breathe. I ran through the exercises Dr. Valdeep showed me. I counted to myself, 1….2….3…. I reached three hundred and lost count.

Aunt Vikki finished with a prayer and opened the floor for anyone to say a few words, but I was already bolting towards the door.

The high heels I’d bought especially for the day weighed like shackles, as it seemed that for every step I took the door got further away. I could hear my heart beating in a syncopated rhythm with the smacking of my shoes against the wood floor.

Thud-thud-thud-clack.

Thud-thud-clack!

Thud thud thud clack. Thud-thud-thud.

Thud-thud-thud- smack!

Finally, the door was open, and I’d made it into the cool freedom of the night air. I saw Nancy was illuminated by a streetlight not fifty yards away, and a wave of calm rushed over me. She sat reading in the driver's seat of our old Chevy; she was an island and I was in desperate need of friendly shores. If I could get to her it’ll be okay. I’ll be okay once we’re together. The potholes that adorned the street kept trying to pull me in, but I didn’t stop running, she was tantalizingly close.

Thirty yards away.

Twenty-five.

Twenty.

“Lucy!” came a single word through the thick air, but from the wrong direction. I willed my legs to run, faster than I ever had, but I felt myself come to a screeching halt.

“Lucya.” came the accented voice, correcting herself.

“Hello Vikki.”

“You left quickly.” she observed, slowly advancing towards me.

“Yes, I need to be getting home, it’s a long way back.”

“Of course, I’m sure he would understand.” she paused, stopping in her tracks. “Is that her?” she almost whispered, gesturing to Nancy, who’d stepped out of the car behind us.

“A friend. Just drove me as a favor.”

The weight of the lie hung in the air between us as Vikki nodded slowly. She began to back towards the service. I was surprised to hear my own voice.

“ I liked the poem you chose.”

“What?”

“The poem for the plaque. The Chekov.”

“Oh. Thank you.” there was a long, stagnant pause before she looked up and continued, “We shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.”

I nodded in reply. She turned to walk away, and I watched for a moment before I began to head towards the safety of my wife’s embrace.

“ Lucya.” came Vikki’s voice through the night air. She paused before continuing, her voice colored with a familiar trepidation. “Would you and your friend like to come for dinner next week?”

It seemed like I was living in the split second afterward for hours before I managed to answer. “I’d like that. I’ll give you a call.”

“Alright then.” she replied, as she stepped inside.

For the first time that evening, I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I turned back towards my wife as she ran to me, calling out “Oh Lucya, oh my angel.”

I thought about my father as I finally reached her outstretched arms. I thought about my mother as they wrapped around me. I thought about my aunt as I looked over her shoulder at the star-studded sky. I thought about all of us. I thought about that poem.

We shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.

We shall hear angels.

 

We shall find peace.