Nothing ever appeared in the newspaper about Hank's funeral. Then, in the middle of the week, Boyce called and said he and Sammy managed to obtain a few phone numbers for me. They gave me Hank's ex-wife's number, his still-living mother and father's phone number, as well as both sisters.
I called them all up, beginning with his parents. Every time they said the same thing to me: "There is no funeral." I explained at each phone call that this was stupid, and if it was a matter of paying for what food I ate at the services I could do them one better: bring plenty of Arby's for everyone. That pretty much ended the conversation with everyone but Hank's ex-wife. She said, "I know it's stupid. I don't know what's wrong with those people. Wait, what did you just say about Arby's?"
Hank's ex-wife told me that his family decided not to have a funeral with Hank. She told me they cremated him, and she had no idea what they were going to do with the remains. She didn't think they would do anything with them at all. I asked her if she could get them for me then, and she asked me again who I was. Then I asked her again, and she asked me if I was going to do something weird with them. I told her that the last coherent thing Hank said was to apologize to me, and he was my friend, and the least I could do in return is put his remains somewhere. She told me Hank was a good man, that she never thought Hank wasn't a good man, and I told her I know he was.
Last night Hank's ex-wife called me and said she had a whole box of stuff that his family gave her when she went asking for it. She brought it to the Sleep Center since I worked on Saturday, and then I called Boyce and Sammy. We spent some time behind the Sleep Center going through some of Hank's stuff. His remains were in a small box, and we all thought that was weird. Sammy thought it was weird that such a small box could hold a person's remains. Boyce that it was weird that if we dropped it we couldn't tell Hank from the rust on the side of the dumpster. The only thing I thought was weird was that Hank's voice was somewhere in that dust. I didn't mind that his brain and teeth were in there. His voice shouldn't be in there, though.
Other than the small box of his remains, Hank's ex-wife pointed out that there were a couple journals in there, too. We read a couple of his last entries, but they were mainly just jagged, deep marks in the paper with random words like, "Wheel" and "Chariot" and "Martian." Sammy pointed out that among the jagged marks was the word "ROBIN" over and over. It could have been a person's name, but I think Hank was one to appreciate the American Robin even if other people take it for granted. We decided not to go through the journal, but instead to burn it when we get rid of Hank's remains, which we're doing tonight. I'm waiting right now for Boyce to come pick me up. I actually have Hank's little box of voice and lung right here in my lap.
It's been ten minutes since that last sentence.
Ten minutes since that last one. Boyce is late. I don't mind. Boyce and Sammy got Hank's family's phone numbers by calling Rex Tugwell and telling him to go through Hank's file. Rex told them to make me do it instead, but Sammy pointed out that Boyce was, at that moment, stripping bark to gather earwigs. Then Rex got them the numbers. Sammy and Boyce are my friends.
Ten minutes since that last one.
That's, Boyce! Bye, Hank.
