Part 2

     And so Hank sat, motionless, barely breathing, at his own brother’s funeral in overalls. It was quite a scene, no doubt; everyone was glacing back at the destitute sibling of the deceased as if he were some sort of animal that wondered in off the street.

     The stormy weather continued; bolts of lightning could be seen not far from Littleton Baptist, and the roar of thunder nearly shook the congregation. Reverend Johnson even made it a point to comment on the forecast in mid-eulogy, but his remark was met with little or no recognition from the expressionless faces occupying the wooden pews.

     It was then that Hank had had enough. Slowly, he rose out of his creaky pew and began to shuffle back towards the rear of the sanctuary. His movements were nonetheless met with stone cold stares, but Hank had vanished before many of the funeral’s attendees could turn around and catch a glimpse of the elusive Johnson brother.

     The thunder and lightning had stopped, and the rainfall had been reduced to a sprinkle by the time Hank exited the building. Hank took a big wiff of moist, humid air when a horrific image caught the corner of his eye. It was that Daryl Johnson kid. Always with that ugly dog of his, marching right up to the church as if he owned the damn place.

     “Hi there Mr. Hank!” Daryl cried.

      “What are you doin here?!” Hank responded viciously.

     “Ain’t you got no sense boy, out in a storm with that mutt and with no shoes on!? What on God’s earth ails you?”

     Daryl met Hank’s usual greeting with an all to well rehearsed rebuttal,

     “Well, I figuired I’d go and get me some Cokacola from the store,” Daryl responded,

     “But it’s fancy meeting you up here Mr. Hank, I’d figure men like you’d stay away from God’s house much as possible.”

     Hank was rather taken aback by the comment, for he himself had forgotten why he was even at Littleton Baptist to begin with.

     “Gene’s dead.” He replied slowly, “funeral’s today.”

     Hank turned towards his truck and began to shuffle away as he usually did. Half stunned by Hank’s apathetic reply regarding his brother’s death, Daryl felt compelled to reply ” Oh….sorry to hear that, Mr-”

     A tremendous roar of thunder filled the cloudy sky. Daryl’s dog, Gypsy, quickly engaged in a terrible fit of barking.

     “Shut that damn dog up!” Hank snapped, as Daryl began disciplining his noisy companion.

     ”I’m sorry Mr.Hank, it’s just the thunder, he-”

     “I don’t give a damn! Shut that bastard up!” Hank roared. Daryl stood with a blank look on his face as Hank kept walking towards the parking lot. Hank continued on towards his vehicle, got in, and left Littleton Baptist, Gene, and that damn Daryl Johnson behind him – for the last time, he hoped.