Arthur Kirkland is dead, and his friends and aquaintances mourn his death.
"He was a great man," Francis Bonnfoy says through his tears. "He wasn't just my best friend, he was my rival. He pushed me to give my best." He shudders through a sob, and manages "I'll miss him."
One by one, the people who loved Artrhur Kirkland stand up to speak.
"I've known Arthur for many years now," Alfonso speaks up, "And he never changed, his convictions, his core was always the same. He never let the circumstances twist him. He treasured his family, he loved to garden and drink tea all the time. Even when we fought, he never gave up on the ones he treasured. That's who I want to remember him. A great father, a good friend, and a man who never forgot who he was. "
One by one, they pour out their memories, their regrets, the picture of the way they want to remember the late man.
"We often fought, but he was my brother. I loved him, and I wish I'd told him it more."
One by one, people at the funeral walk that aisle to the front, to stand in front of the coffins and say their goodbyes and mufflers sobs into sleeves and tissues.
Arthur Kirkland is dead, and everyone has something good to say about him.
Until Arthur Kirkland's youngest son takes the stand.
"When I was little," Peter Kirkland, only twelve years old, starts his eulogy with such a strange phrase for one still so little, "I used to ask Dad to take me to push me on the swings. And then, to play ball with me, or take me to the movies, or even just go for a walk with me." He swallows, but continues in a steady voice. "Truth is, all I really wanted was to spend time with my dad."
The audience awws a little, and a few start crying silently again, at the words of a little boy who loved his dad so much. All but Peter's brothers, faces grim and eyes fixed emotionally on their youngest brother. Peter blinks several times, like he's trying not to cry, and bravely continues.
"But everytime, he told me the same thing. 'Later, Peter, I'm busy right now'."
There's a sudden tension in the air, like the mourners are noticing something isn't quite right. Peter drives in the final blow with a cracking voice.
"And eventually, I stopped asking, and now he's dead. Later never came."
And Peter, twelve year old Peter, turns away from the coffin and stumbles to the arms of his oldest brother, who catches him with a grim air. The second youngest brother stands to say his piece, and all eyes turn to him, hopeful for a distraction from the depressing announcement just made.
Leon speaks just as flatly as Peter
"Ever since I was little, I knew I was different from everyone else. I'm adopted, for starters. I'm the only Asian, the only one with black hair, the only one who speaks Chinese and English, and the only one who has two fathers. I knew I was different, but my brothers didn't care. From the moment I was adopted, James and Jet were my best friends, and when I met Mathew and Alfred, they welcomed me as their brother just the same."
For a moment Leon's dark eyes unfocus, staring out over the crowd like he's seeing memories of the past.
"Even when I spent holidays with my birth Father instead of their family, even when I wasn't there for their birthdays or Christmas, they didn't get angry or resent me. Even though everyone knew I was different, my brothers never made me feel that way."
Leon's eyes focus again, sharply darting down to the coffin.
"But Dad - Arthur - never let me forget it. Never forgot to correct me that 'I this household, we speak English, Leon' when I spoke Chinese, or 'eat like a civilized person, Leon, this isn't China' when I struggled to learn to use a fork for the first time, or 'I took you in when your father threw you away, the least you could do is stay with your real family' when I spent holidays with my Father instead of him."
The air settles heavier as the attendees realize that Leon isn't there to provide a distraction, but to push the growing snowball.
"My brothers made me feel like family, but Dad made me feel like an outcast in that same family. I never felt like I was his son, just a trophy he won to prove he was somehow a better person, or a better father, than my Dad. He never told me he loved me once, even till the day he died. "
Leon's lower lip trembles as he finished his speech with a shaky breath, and an older Chinese man rises from his seat on the pew to catch his son in his arms and muffle his sobs in Leon's shoulder.
There's an almost palpable feeling of unease in the air as the next child rises up to speak, and the crowd realizes the snowball isn't going to stop until it crashes.
James takes the stand next.
"I loved - love - Dad. He was always there to hug me when I had a nightmare, or praise me when I did a good job, and take me out for secret ice-creams for just the two of us."
A few people relax in their pews, clearly believing they had escaped the tense atmosphere of earlier. The smarter majority remains tense, knowing the other shoe is just about to drop when James huffs a bitter laugh and continues on.
"He called me his "Golden Child."
For the first time Arthur Kirkland's sons react, the eldest's face twisting with either hurt or disgust, and Jet clenched his fists in his lap like he knows what's coming next and hates it. Peter has a strange look that looks like he wants to be sympathetic, but is really more resentful, and Mathew closes his eyes like if he can't see he won't have to hear James's confession. But James's words are impossible to ignore when he speaks.
"I love Dad, and I think he thought he loved me. But he didn't even know me. And he didn't know Jet. When he looked at us, he just saw our older brothers, and the mistakes he'd made with them. Then he used us to pretend he could fix them. To pretend that if he gave me enough ice-cream, he could un-hurt Mathew, to pretend that if he disciplined Jet enough he could un-spoil Alfred. "
There's a heavy bitterness in James's voice, matched only by the sour expression Alfred makes when he hears the words, but the eldest Kirkland child stays silent. He knows it's not his turn to speak.
" He called me the golden child, but I wasn't. I was just as bad as my brothers, sassed just as much, got into trouble just as much, didn't even get that good grades. But I was always the 'golden child' because he needed to pretend he was doing a good job as a father. And I was expected to play along like I didn't see what he did to my brothers."
The bitterness has turned into open scorn, and James sneers at the casket.
"I think he thought he loved me, but he didn't. Because he didn't even know who I am. And I think I love him, despite everything, but I'm not sure, because I never really knew him either."
Tears are welling in the corners of his eyes, and when James opens his mouth to try to continue, he makes a strange choking sound, like there's a lump in his throat he can't talk around, and his best friend and brother closest in age to him pushes James towards the seat as he takes his brother's place.
Jet doesn't beat around the bush, or speak sentimentally like his siblings. He speaks bluntly, with a casual tone, like he's making dinner conversation and not speaking ill of the dead. Like he's not spilling Arthur's Kirkland's dirty secrets over his corpse.
"Like what he said, Dad didn't really see either of us. We were just Alfred and Mathew 2.0. No matter what James did, he was perfect. No matter what I did, I was bad." Jet shrugs, like he hasn't just said the most heartbreaking thing. "So I stopped trying to be good. Stopped trying to impress Dad, stopped trying to get him to love me. I realized I was happier if he was just my landlord and not my dad."
The entire congregation might as well have been dead too, for how silent the room is. Jet looks towards Alfred with a wry smile.
"And when I stopped thinking of Arthur as my Dad, I eventually learned to stop resenting Alfred for being born first, which was lucky, I guess, because it turns out I have a hell of an older brother." He seems to remember himself and turns his eyes toward Mathew. "A hell of two older brothers."
Mathew flushes in a way that should be pleasure or embarrassement based on the words, but looks more like shame and guilt, and Alfred tries to quirk what ends up being a stiff and humourless smile in return. Jet takes pity on his older brothers and smiles at everyone else in a softer, yet sad, way.
"I didn't even miss Dad all that much. I had my two older brothers, and I always had James, even when he was mad at me, and then later I had Leon and Peter. I was never lonely."
Finally, Jet acknowledges the elephant in the room, or rather, the casket, for the first time all night.
"I still don't miss him, even now he's gone forever."
Satisfied with his speach, Jet saunters back to his seat, and the Kirkland children either can't hear, or are pretending they can't hear the increase in sniffling and quiet shed tears that have restarted since James first spoke.
Mathew moves to say his part, and someone in the crowd whimpers out a "-Don't!" like they can stop this train wreck from happening. Mathew hesitates, but Jet tells him "Go ahead" so he finally speaks.
"I..." Again Mathew hesitates, like he's not sure what he planned to say before and now is floundering for the words. "I, uh...Dad is... I'm -"
When it becomes clear that Mathew isn't going to get ahold of himself anytime soon, Alfred snaps at him with irritation from his seat. "Just say what you want And hurry up!"
Mathew flushes again, and tries to speak again, only slightly more cohesively.
"I...am the younger twin. ." He shifts from foot to foot as he speaks. "Al... Alfred was always there, even before I was born. And I used to resent that, a lot."
A few people shift nervously or lean and whisper to another close by. It's a strange change that Mathew is giving his eulogy by insulting his brother and not his father and no one knows what to think of it. Alfred frowns at Mathew like he wants to tell him "Get to the point!" and Mathew, noticing, hurries to do just that.
"I resented Alfred because when he was around, it felt like I didn't exist, and he was always around. But eventually I realized it wasn't Alfred's fault. It was Dad's. Even though we're twins, and litterally identical, Dad made me feel worthless, like the only one he loved was Alfred."
Mathew finds his stride and his voice turns more confident as he speaks.
"I always felt invisible next to Al, but then Al left and I was still invisible, then Jet and James came I wasn't invisible to them. Even though James resented me because of dad, and neither of them liked me much at first," Mathew huffs something like a soundless laugh at the memory, "they saw me. They looked at me, acknowledged me. Even when James hated me, he didn't ignore me. And I realized I wasn't invisible because of Alfred. I was invisible because of Arthur. He never even gave me the time of day until Al left, and even when he did, half the time he just mistook me for Alfred anyways."
None of Mathew's brother say anything, none of them try to offer comfort. All of them know that isn't what's needed this time. All of them know that the hurt needs to come out before it can heal.
"Then later, I met Leon, and then Peter, and I realized I wasn't the only one who was invisible to dad. And I realized he would never see any of us. He never hit us, but he might as well have."
Several of his brothers react to this, nodding. Mathew's voice wavers when he makes his last statement.
"And now he's gone, and that hurts too, because I still loved him even if he never loved us."
And Mathew dissolves into tears, collapsing onto Alfred's shoulder as the older twin joins him to make his speech.
"When I left, Dad told everyone I ran away because I was being rebellious. That's not true, though. I left because he forced me too. He didn't see me as his son, he saw me as a puppet to live the life he always wanted. He took all of choices away from me. I was his favourite as long as I did exactly as I was told. But when I wanted my own opinion, my own life, he threw me away!"
Unlike his brothers who spoke in somber tones, Alfred has anger in his voice when he speaks.
"I still remember the exact words he said when he kicked me out. 'You're no son of mine'. " Alfred glares at the casket like he wishes Arthur would rise from the dead so Alfred can sock him in the face. "Yeah, well he was never a father to me either. To any of us. And then I came back, he said 'I knew you'd come to your senses.' But I didn't come back for him. I came back for my brothers, because they needed someone who cares. Because they needed Dad, but he wasn't there. So I came."
The anger in his voice is fading to reveal what it truly is: hurt. And he shows it, a rare vulnerability, as he glares at the coffin.
"And now he's dead, and he never once apoligized or changed." Alfred switches his gaze from the coffin to the crowd, and the anger is back, as strong as before. "So don't say that he was a 'great man' or a 'loving father' or that he 'treasured his family'. Don't you dare stand here in front of all of us and lie. He doesn't deserve it."
Alfred squares his shoulders.
"We don't deserve it."
And each brother rises from his seat in support of Alfred's words, and Alfred spits out his final words.
"Being dead doesn't erase what he's done, and pretending it does doesn't make you better people. It just makes you liars."
And Peter takes a step forward and grabs Alfred's hand, and Alfred follows the tug as the youngest leads the oldest down the aisle and put the church door. And without a single word, the rest of the brothers follow. Only James hesitates at the door, and look back at the coffin.
"Goodbye, Dad. We're going to live from now on."
And then the Kirkland boys are gone, leaving only a wooden casket and a heavy atmosphere hanging over the guests.
Arthur Kirkland is dead, and now everyone knows who he really is. Arthur Kirkland is dead, and his sons mourn the father they never had, not the man who passed.
Mathew wipes his red eyes, and Peter wipes his nose, and Leon swallows down the lump in their throat. None of them will cry for their father's death.
Their father died a long time ago anyways.
