Saturday, January 21, 2006

Eulogy 3: For Jessica Elisabeth DeWarner, as told by Jeffery Montovia

Hi. You don’t know me. My name is Jeff Montovia. Accent’s on the toe, not the vi-a. Three syllables, not like the preacher said it.

I was in the crash with Jessica. She was in 21C. I was 34F. There were 56 people on flight 488, and 34 of us survived. After everything calmed down, we, the survivors, got together and kinda drew straws to get 22 people, to send one to each funeral. To let them know what it was like in the end, you know, in case there were any questions. Like tying up loose ends.

I don’t really want to say that stuff up here, it’s pretty traumatic, I don’t want to get anybody crying. It’s pretty awkward, actually. I mean, I don’t even know if I saw Jessica on the plane. I don’t really know what to say. I’m a lot older than her, we don’t have that much in common. I mean, most of the pictures show her in her car or skiing. I walk to work and I’ve never seen snow, so…

Wait a second, let me start over.

I’m sure she was a great person. Or maybe not, I don’t know, I never met her. Maybe all you people hated Jessica. I dunno. I can’t say her life was “cut tragi-cally short” either, or any of that stuff in the paper. Maybe she woulda had a big skiing accident or crashed her car next month or something. I can’t see the future.

Now, wait a second here. Wait a second. Calm down, lady. I’m just gettin’ to the good part, here. Calm down.

Yeah? So what if I had a drink this morning? This is tough stuff here, lady. It’s tough. Y’ dunno …

Oh, yeah? Do you know what it’s like, what happened? Do you know? I’ll tell ya.

That stuff about your life flashing before your eyes, thass’ all bullshit anyways. This is what it’s like. Everything’s moving around, bouncing, and you got that thing, that orange cup thing? With the bag onnit? It’s strapped to your face. You can’t see anything. You donn’ wanna see anything. Nobody looks out the window. Butcha can hear it, right before it happens. It’s like right before god claps his hands, it’s like waiting, ya know? Right there. And you kinda hunch over, like this, see? And you close your eyes. Everyone does it. And get quiet, no praying, or anything. And it’s like right before you sleep, and you can’t tell how big anything is? Like your head’s a balloon and it’s inflating? And your eyes are closed, and you can feel them. Everyone. An’ they know you’re there, too. An’ everyone’s the same. All the same. Thass’ why I’m here. Not for Jessica whassername. Thass’ me in there. That’s me.

I don’t care what you wish, lady. Thass’ it. I’m gone.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Dear mysterious internet person,

I like how these turned out. I mean they were already good, but they've had a good polish now. A good "polish" does not mean like the sausage, though maybe it does mean that, too.