By Cami Yee
There had never been a worse time to sneeze. To understand how I got here, we need to track back into the winter nights of November where the cloudy sky and rainy weather hounded us wherever we went. The chilly breeze nipped at our faces as we walked through the crowded streets of New Francisdon, exploring the vast beauty of the city of dreams. My best friend, Faith, and I had decided to book this trip last minute and were enjoying every second of the journey. So far, we had eaten 40 different flavors of ice cream and tried the Francisdon special, fried cookie dough dunked in chocolate, but anyway, let us get back to how I managed to sneeze in the worst possible moment.
We explored the twinkling streets of New Francisdon, viewing all the iconic architecture the city was known for. As we walked through the cobblestone covered streets, the rain began pouring in sheets of water, drenching on-goers with shivers. Frantic stall owners dove to shield their wares with tarps, as buckets of droplets poured down from the sky. The once-crowded streets began to empty as tourists and locals alike fled for cover from the hail that began to fall.
“We should probably get inside,” I noted while looking at the stormy sky.
“Huh, what a great observation,” dryly responded Faith who was drenched from head to toe. “If only we had bought umbrellas WHEN I SUGGESTED,” she said as she wrung out her jacket, which produced buckets worth of water that seeped into the ground.
I grinned sheepishly, recalling the argument over an expensive umbrella, and continued trudging, our clothes rapidly absorbing the freezing droplets from the sky. I avoided Faith’s murderous death glare and led us toward a crowd of people gathered outside the church.
“Here seems good,” I concluded, as we approached the procession which took place under the safety of the overhang. Faith looked at me mouth agape.
“There?” She questioned, “To the church?” I nodded in response. Faith’s eyes widened and her eyebrows furrowed, showing a look of concern.
“That church?” I nodded.
“You know the church is up a huge hill right?” I nodded.
“And it’s a billion stairs high?” I nodded.
“Are you high?” She asked, I shook my head no.
“Would you rather climb up these stairs or remain in the pouring rain?” I asked pointedly, raising my eyebrow.
“Screw you,” Faith muttered as she began to climb the stairs.
About five minutes later, I realized that this was a horrible idea, but could not lose face in front of the aggrieved Faith. Honestly, if looks could kill, her death glare would’ve killed me years ago.
“I. HATE. YOU.” Faith panted out as she struggled up the stone steps, attempting to avoid slipping on the sleek surface. Thank goodness I’d been using the stupid stairmaster. Also, Faith had fallen quite a few times as we journeyed our way up the stairs. That’s why she was upset. After what seemed like an eternity, we finally made it to the top with the ceremony. Surprisingly, during the ten minutes it took us to get up the stairs, they remained huddled under the canopy. I smiled triumphantly at our victory, while Faith made retching noises and flipped me off.
As we joined them in huddling under the protection of the large overhang, we were suddenly swallowed by the procession, which for some reason was dressed similarly. With solemn expressions on their faces, people moved in all around us, shuffling toward the entrance of the church. Faith and I were luckily able to stay together through all the people and obediently followed the flow of the people squishing past doorways into the grand church hall.
“Um. Cami.” Faith whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I think we just crashed a funeral.”
“Are you serious?” I looked around and suddenly began to piece everything together. The black clothing. The facial expressions.
“No, actually, I’m just messing with you,” Faith responded sarcastically with a straight face. “YES I’M SERIOUS. WE JUST CRASHED A FUNERAL. WHAT THE HECK ARE WE GOING TO DO?” She pressed.
“Uh, ok. We can, um, just go back outside and find another place to stay until the storm passes,” I concluded logically. But, of course, with our luck, as soon as I made that decision, the main doors to the church slammed closed, sealing our only escape path. I sighed heavily, then informed Faith, “Guess we’re staying,” earning yet another death glare from her. If I had a dollar for every glare I’d ever gotten from her, I’d be rich, but that’s beside the point.
As the guests began sitting down, Faith and I attempted to inconspicuously follow the crowd while our shoes squeaked and squealed, leaking rain water. With its high painted ceilings, tall arches, and impeccable architecture, the beauty of the church was honestly unparalleled and would have been much more appreciated if not for the dire situation we were in. I nudged Faith and we followed an older woman down to the left, filing slowly into expensive looking wooden chairs.
We sat down uncomfortably shifting around on the hardwood surface, trying to avoid getting more water than necessary on the chairs. Faith wayfaired the chairs and apparently they were $250 a piece. Yikes. We awkwardly stared around the room and at each other as the funeral began. They had a live orchestra and everything, carrying out mournful tunes that made me want to jump off the hill. As the casket was carried in by what I’m assuming was the person’s family or loved ones, the churchy guy went up to the podium and began talking, the audience immediately went silent.
“He looks funny,” Faith whispered, and we burst into a silent fit of laughter.
“We are here,” he began dramatically, gesturing grandly with his arms, “to celebrate the life of Salvator, Sal, Monella.” Faith and I looked at each other and started laughing again at the name.
“No shot that’s what his actual name is,” Faith snickered.
“I know,” I responded, tears streaming down my face.
The funny looking church guy continued, “Sal wasn’t just someone you could rely on for a good laugh—he was the kind of person who brought people together, whether it was over a meal, a story, or even a joke that you couldn’t quite believe.” The guests around us seemed transfixed by the church guy’s words, hanging onto every last syllable. I shifted in my chair a bit more, shivering a bit from the cold rain that hadn’t completely dried from my clothes.
He continued, “Sal had a unique ability to bring people together. He was always there to lend a hand, whether it was fixing something around the house or sharing an unsolicited opinion about the latest trends. His presence was undeniable—just like his enthusiasm for trying new foods. Let’s just say, you always knew when Sal had been in charge of the menu at any gathering,” at this the crowd politely laughed.
The church guy continued for a good 30 more minutes, for so long, Faith actually fell asleep during it. Finally, after listening to the guy’s annoying voice for ages, he concluded, “Rest in peace, Sal. You’ve left us with memories that will linger, and perhaps a few digestive lessons along the way. But most of all, you’ve left us with your spirit. And that’s a recipe we’ll carry with us forever.”
At this, the entire crowd began sobbing and bursting out into tears of joy, sadness, grief, and happiness. I honestly could not tell you which because of the intelligible noises coming from all of them. Some of them were shouting “bravo!” at the minister priest looking dude and others seemed to be drunk and cursing him. Who knows.
Once the crowd finally quieted down, the minister guy took to the stand to say one last few words, “Now, I would like for everyone to take a minute of silence to honor, for one last time, Salvator, Sal, Monella.” I sniffed, laughing again from the mentioning of the deceased (I am sorry Mr. Sal Monella please don’t haunt me). As the room hushed, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, I felt an itch in my nose, it felt prickly, and I began panicking, realizing that I was going to…
“ACHOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I sneezed. Right in the middle of the procession’s minute of silence. There had never been a worse time to sneeze. I felt every single face in that room, all of Sal Monella’s family members, loved ones, co-workers, teachers, sons, daughters, whoever was in that room, turn slowly to stare at me. My eyes widened and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment and then I sneezed again.
I sneezed a grand total of seven times over the course of 30 seconds. Everyone’s eyes were wide as if they couldn’t comprehend the fact that I had sneezed at the esteemed Sal Monella’s funeral. Faith started cracking up laughing and then abruptly stopped as soon as she realized no one else was laughing. We looked at each other. They looked at us. We looked at them. They looked at us. We looked at them. This went on for about five minutes before someone from the crowd noticed that they didn’t know us, then a tidal wave of sound crashed down upon us as everyone else realized that they didn’t know us either.
After everyone understood this, we were quickly kicked out of the warm church into the hail, which had started to pelt down stronger than ever. We were once again, in the hands of nature, and were drenched and out in the cold.
“I hate your sneezes,” Faith remarked.
“Me too.” I asserted.