Chapter 7: Franky and his Polaroid
Of all the voices that filled the church pews with their solemn mumbling, Sara's was not one of them. She sat with her face in her hand at the furthest end of the front row on the right side of the room.
Wirt took several minutes to spot her, and when he did, he glanced up behind him at his father, who was chatting with a coworker. Wirt nudged him and pointed toward Sara, and his father nodded permissively.
"Hi, Sara," Wirt greeted, taking the seat next to her. She just raised a limp left hand. She was staring at the wall, as if adamantly refusing to look at the closed casket and the flowers resting upon it.
Wirt frowned and looked down at his lap. He absentmindedly began picking small bits of dust off his black suit pants, and he looked at his dad, who'd sat down on the left side of the room.
He began looking around at everyone sitting at the pews, all of which were either weeping, hugging, kissing, or passing over Tupperwares of food that must be microwaved for later.
"Jason didn't come, he-" Sara sniffled, and Wirt looked over at her, "-he had a birthday party to go to."
"Oh."
Sara buried her face in her hands. "I don't think she's coming."
"Who?"
"Mom." She rubbed the tears from her eyes. "She said she'd come here on the nearest flight but she said she'd be here at noon."
"Oh..." Wirt picked at his nails uncomfortably, not knowing how to respond.
As if to end the depressing silence hanging between them, the clock read 5:31, and everyone began shuffling around to take a seat. As soon as the music started, Sara bolted into the hallway.
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You could hear the laughing and the slamming of Poker chips upon the dining room table from outside, it was so loud and obnoxious.
Wirt winced and slowly opened the door with Stephen close behind.
"They're upstairs," Wirt said, "I'll go get 'em right now."
He darted up the stairs to his room and gathered all the VHS tapes from next to his TV. He carefully balanced them in his arms and, with his back to the wall, he slowly descended the stairs, tongue in his teeth with concentration in his hopes not to drop all the tapes.
Stephen was already at his side, taking the tapes and turning to take them out to the car.
"Wait a minute," Wirt muttered, looking over at Jonathan and the several other men at the table.
Then, cautiously now, he looked over at the glass cupboard next to the TV, in which Jonathan had trapped the VCR,
as well as the copy of Radio Flyer inside of it.
Wirt took a deep breath and walked into the living room. He knelt down next to the cupboard and slowly opened it, taking the bulky VCR out and setting it softly on the carpet.
He plugged it in and winced as it started up with several loud chugs and clicks. With the click of the 'EJECT' button, Radio Flyer freed itself, and Wirt anxiously pulled it out, scrambling upwards and approaching his dad. He added it to the stack of tapes and smiled. "Okay, that's all."
"Alright, see you later." He ruffled Wirt's hair and shut the door behind him as he left.
Wirt took to returning to pack the VCR away back into the cupboard when he heard low laughter his way.
He looked up, and Jonathan and another man, with dark, spiky hair and a greasy beard, were mumbling to eachother whilst looking over at Wirt with sly grins.
Wirt's faced turned bright red and he looked down, suddenly shaking and wanting to run.
He peeked up at them again, and to his sudden horror, Jonathan was handing the stranger the key to the garage.
Then, he stood up, and Jonathan ordered, "Come on, Wirt, go with Franky over here."
"Yeah, buddy, let's go, I gotta show you something."
Wirt held back the urge to throw up the casserole he'd eaten at the funeral, and stood up. He slowly trudged his way over to the man, and he became light-headed as the man's hand on his shoulder led him to the garage.
The only thing this man had to show him was that he was as horrible as Jonathan was. Wirt didn't move as his jacket, tie, shirt, and pants were pulled off of him, he only tried to swallow back his tears.
He did the same things Jonathan did, but the only difference was that this man had a Polaroid camera, and he used it to document everything.
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Atop the branch of a tall tree, a few feet away from the tavern, a blue bird examines her wings, grumbling in sorrow and frustration.