Written by Sam Hendrian
The house smelled of cats. Not in a good way. The urine in the litterbox and the urine in the toilet could no longer be distinguished, and the mold on the stovetop mixed unevenly with the melted ice from the many Stouffer’s frozen dinners that had simmered above it. In short, an old lady lived there. And this old lady was now dead.
No one was left to mourn her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; her parish priest would certainly attend the funeral by proxy. As would the remnants of the Bible study she had been a member of for the past 20 years. But her husband? Nonexistent. Her children? She avoided scandals like MSNBC News. Her friends? Dead for the past five years. She had nobody but God; hopefully he existed to welcome her home.
All of her belongings were cleared out by a moving service within a matter of two hours. Most of them were donated to Goodwill. She was buried next to her parents in an insignificant cemetery in an insignificant town where nobody believed in insignificance because religion gave them all the significance they would ever need. Would anyone come to visit after the burial was complete? Probably not. Not yet anyway.
***
Dana Jenson had always possessed a heart too big for her body. This resulted in her getting about 10-12 hours of sleep every night; she just couldn’t handle the indifferent world after the sun went down. She’d grown up a devout Catholic and was now lapsed, yet the sense of moral obligation never left her. But oh, how hard it was to have a conscience when one actually looked at the people around them. There were so many souls crying out to be seen, so many individuals drowning in the ocean of collective assumptions. Dana had to learn from an early age that she couldn’t help everyone – maybe she couldn’t help anyone – but she still could not escape her altruistic disposition. Of course, no good deed went unpunished, and she was wary of selfish motivations simmering beneath. But it still seemed like the lesser of two evils; better to be kind to people even if you were only doing it for your own personal fulfillment.
She had been mulling over the same idea for two weeks now, which usually meant it was a good idea: What if she started a club for like-minded people who wanted to mourn those who had no one to mourn them? Deceased widows and unhoused individuals and prisoners and other human afterthoughts? It wouldn’t necessarily do any physical good or even spiritual good, but perhaps it could help heal the world in some small way. She had been taught since childhood to live by example, and what better example could there possibly be? Validating the sanctity and beauty of each human life, no matter how overlooked and forgotten?
Although the truth was she didn’t know many like-minded people to start such a club. She’d scared away most of her Catholic college friends after posting too many thirst traps on Instagram in her era of sexual insecurity, and the majority of her current acquaintances kinda sorta believed in eugenics, at least if it was explained with enough euphemisms. But she couldn’t possibly lead such an initiative entirely by herself; her own mental health was too fragile.
Still she remained excited and even possessed by this idea; she wondered if it might be the reason she was born. A certain sense of futility may creep into the equation eventually without belief in an afterlife – she was going through a period of agnosticism that didn’t make an exception for astrology despite her peers’ insistence – and she understood that the dead people she’d be mourning might have zero sense of gratitude. But she wouldn’t really be doing it for them; she’d be doing it for all the living people who still had no idea how sacred each life was.
She made a preliminary poster on Canva, supposing she could start by pinning it up at Catholic college campuses and maybe outside a few local parishes. She was wary of putting it on social media lest she be mocked and/or accused of having a savior complex. But surely someone out there would understand what she was trying to do.
Her plan was to meet every Saturday morning in a park and look at local death notices in the newspaper. Some detective work would be required, as would a few preliminary projections; loneliness looked different for different people, even in death. But plenty of opportunities for beauty might present themselves; Dana was already fantasizing about putting roses on an unmarked grave and showing the deceased person some love they never received while alive.
After finalizing the posters, she began hanging them up outside of every Catholic school and church within a 10 mile radius of her apartment in East Hollywood. She put her email address and social media handle at the bottom so that interested parties could reach out. This remained a bit of an emotional gamble – she used to leave love poems with her email on them at Barnes and Noble until she received an anonymous email telling her she was being creepy – but it still seemed like the only way to reach people without the added anxiety of a face-to-face interaction. She’d always assumed that door-to-door salesmen and street missionaries were somewhat sociopathic; a truly empathetic person could instantly sense when someone had zero interest in what they were saying.
By the end of the day, she’d already received two emails from elderly parishioners expressing interest in the club. She felt both excited and disappointed; weren’t there any empathetic people out there her own age? Anyhow, she’d give it another week before officially changing the name to The Morning Old People’s Club.
***
Two weeks later, she had five official members in her club, and only two of them were elderly. They planned to meet at Pan Pacific Park the following Saturday morning and browse the local death notices over donuts and coffee, which seemed a bit wrong but hey, you gotta focus on the right you’re doing while you’re doing wrong.
“This is such a sweet idea, dear,” the inaugural member Judith said while taking a year-old pack of raisins out of her purse and beginning to snack. “I can’t imagine dying with no one to mourn me.”
“Neither can I,” agreed Robert, the other elderly churchgoer in the group.
Dana turned to the three college girls in the group – Jane, Emily, and Maddie – hoping for equal validation. But they all just nodded their heads ambiguously, perhaps feeling a bit awkward about being there. She decided she had to take hold of the conversation: “Before we officially begin, I want to clarify that this club isn’t only about mourning lonely people. It’s also about finding people who are still alive and could use a friend so that when they do pass, they won’t be in the same predicament.”
“We should go to a nursing home then,” Jane chimed in.
“Or a prison,” added Emily.
“Yes, I like those ideas,” Dana replied, already sounding a bit defensive. “But one step at a time. Let’s start by looking at the local death notices.”
“I’ve already got them pulled up!” said Robert with heightened enthusiasm, perhaps proud of how skilled he was at using a smartphone. “What exactly are we looking for? The shortest obituary?”
“That’s a start. Usually obituaries list people the deceased person is ‘survived by.’ If you notice the words ‘survived by’ missing, then that’s a potential candidate.”
The only member who’d yet to speak was Maddie, a self-proclaimed Instagram activist. Dana expected her to defect by the end of the morning. She just sat there avoiding direct eye contact with everyone like a spy, perhaps thinking of how she could turn the experience into a post about white-privilege-gone-wrong or something. Or not.
“Maybe we should also talk to some funeral home directors. Or someone at the closest morgue.”
“That’s a great idea, Maddie! I guess obituaries will only tell us so much.”
“My best friend’s sister’s ex-husband is a funeral director,” Judith added. “Although I’m not sure where.”
“And there’s a morgue not far from my apartment,” remarked Robert in another display of slightly misplaced enthusiasm. “They’re pretty straight-to-business over there, but I suppose one of them might talk to us.” He then started perusing the obituaries that he had pulled up on his smartphone. “Hmm, this lady doesn’t have the words ‘survived by’ in her obituary. It’s barely even two sentences long.”
Dana looked excited, perhaps too excited. “Ooh, where is she buried at?”
“Forest Lawn Cemetery in Hollywood Hills.”
“That’s where Bette Davis is at!” Judith said with even more inappropriate enthusiasm than Dana and Robert.
“How far is that from here?”
“About four miles.”
“Maybe we can go there next week.”
“Why not today?” Judith seemed quite eager, most likely due to Bette Davis.
“Well, they probably haven’t finished the funeral services yet.”
“I thought there wouldn’t be any funeral services for her.”
“Even so, they’ve still got to finish the burial process.”
“But that doesn’t take long.”
Dana tried to see all this pushback as a positive thing; clearly the passion was mutual. But she didn’t want to waste the morning bickering, so she put her foot down: “Let’s not go anywhere today. It’s most important that we first come up with a specific plan of action for the next few weeks, and that we discuss whatever loopholes might arise.”
“There will always be loopholes,” Emily said, clearly the resident cynic in the group.
“I know,” Dana replied, a repressed cynic herself. “But let’s try to minimize them.”
Everyone nodded their heads, suddenly intimidated by Dana’s boss-bitch energy. Mission accomplished! Although she’d never prided herself on being a “boss bitch” of any kind. It was not her goal to inspire fear, only agreement, except they were often seen as the same thing, so she was in a complicated spot. Maybe she wasn’t meant to be a leader. Certainly she had no desire to be one. Then again, the best leaders were those who didn’t want to be in a position of power.
The rest of the morning was rather nonproductive, but Dana was grateful for that. At this point, she just wanted to get to know these fellow do-gooders. She ended up liking the other young adults despite her initial negative assumptions, and the old folks weren’t bad either. They were a band of noble misfits, the best kind. Although historically speaking, misfits took a long time to get anywhere; were they doomed to brick walls and dead-end streets? Time would tell.
***
They met at Forest Lawn Cemetery the following Saturday. After paying a visit to Bette Davis’ grave to appease Judith, they found the fresh tombstone of a lonely person they had read about in the paper. Her name was Rita Swanson, and she had died at 88 with no spouse, no children, and only a smattering of obligatory acquaintances from church. There was a single rose on her tombstone, probably left by the cemetery staff, but there would soon be many more.
Judith was the first to speak as she released a bouquet of roses from her hands: “88 still seems young.” Robert nodded his head, while the younger ones looked a bit perplexed.
“I dunno, I’m not sure I want to live that long,” Emily admitted. “Golf is boring.”
Judith laughed. “There are plenty of other things to do in retirement. I haven’t played a single game of golf in my life, and I intend to keep it that way.”
Robert seemed slightly offended. “What do you all have against golf?”
“I like golf,” Jane said, trying to play peacemaker.
“Me too,” added Maddie, annoyed that Jane had beaten her to the peacemaker role.
“Can we get back to what we came here for?” Dana was in no mood to mince words. “88 or 28, life is always too short.”
“Agree to disagree.” Emily was proving herself to be quite stubborn.
“Would anybody like to say a few words?”
“How can we if we didn’t know her?”
“You all have a good imagination.”
“But that would be dishonest.”
“Honesty is overrated.” Robert said this with a haunted look in his eyes; he had heard stories of friends betraying friends during the Holocaust and never forgot them. “I’d be happy to say a few words.”
“Thanks, Robert. Go on ahead.”
“Well, from the picture I saw of her in the paper, she seemed like a kind woman. Maybe too kind for her own good. Someone who gave more than she ever received. I certainly wish I knew her. We probably would have been friends.”
“Too late for that,” smirked Judith.
“I know. But I… I do believe in Heaven. Maybe we can be friends there.”
“I don’t believe in heaven.” For whatever reason, Maddie felt the need to play devil’s advocate.
“Okay. What do you believe in then?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Typical.”
Dana rolled her eyes. “Do you have anything else to say, Robert?” She refused to let the conversation go off track again.
“No, I think that will do.”
“Thank you. Anyone else?”
All the young women just shrugged their shoulders, unmotivated to make up a lie about an old lady they never met. Judith opened her mouth and then immediately closed it; apparently she was unmotivated too.
“Alright then. Let’s move on to the next person.”
“Why so quick?” Maddie seemed a little offended.
“Well, do you want to say some words of mourning, Maddie?”
“No. I just feel like we shouldn’t be so… efficient.”
“I agree. Let’s have a moment of silence.” They all went silent, Robert and Judith retreating into a silent prayer. Dana started muttering a “Hail Mary” and then stopped herself; she wasn’t ready to become an unlapsed Catholic just yet. After the silence went from reverent to awkward, Dana continued: “May she rest in peace. And happiness. I hope we get to meet her someday.”
Everyone else nodded their heads and then started walking onwards. Except Robert, who took another moment of silence.
“Are you in love?” teased Judith.
“No. I’m just sad.”
Empathy promptly replaced the facetiousness on Judith’s face. “Me too. I don’t envy her fate.”
“Well, we’ve all got it coming. Even when we die with other people, we still die alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re usually the only ones leaving this planet. We may die around other people, but they ain’t coming with us.”
“I see. But does it really matter?”
“Let’s have this conversation later.”
Dana repressed another eye-roll. “I couldn’t agree more. C’mon, let’s go!”
Everyone followed Dana to the next underappreciated grave of choice: a flowerless resting place for an allegedly mean Vietnam War veteran named Harold.
“His was one of the most uncharitable obituaries I’ve ever read,” remarked Robert.
“It must have been written by one of his ex-wives.”
“Or his estranged children.”
“That’s beside the point,” Dana practically begged. “Would anyone like to say a few words?”
“Oh, I guess I will,” Emily jumped in. “Sorry you had to go so soon, Grandpa.”
“Just because he’s old doesn’t mean you have to call him ‘grandpa.’”
“Sorry if that was offensive. Anyways, I’m sure you were a good person. Or at least you meant well.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Whatever. Well, I hope you’ve met God or whoever you believed in. And I hope they let you into the good afterlife, not the bad one.”
“Okay, wrap it up!” Judith seemed to find Emily’s GenZ sensibilities annoying and was eager to shut her up.
“Rest in peace.”
“How cliche.”
“Hey!”
“Now’s not the time,” Dana intervened. “You can argue when we get donuts later.”
“Ok, okay.” Everyone seemed disappointed, possessing an undisclosed fetish for gossip. “Dana, do YOU want to say anything?”
“Hmm...” Dana took a moment to collect her thoughts, which always leaned sincere even when she wanted to lie. “I’m sure this was a good person here despite his flaws. Who knows.” So far she was failing miserably; she should have paid more attention in English class. “But that doesn’t matter. A person deserves to be mourned, whether they were a good person or not. So that’s what what we’re doing here. Mourning an anonymous person who may or may not have been terrible.”
***
The next morning, Dana considered officially canceling her club. It seemed to be doing more harm than good – at least among the club members – and her own PTSD from being a savior-complexed delusion artist was returning full-swing. Why bother? Dead people were dead, and even if they were alive again in some form of afterlife, surely they didn’t need the sloppy mourning attempts of a bunch of strangers. Best to quit while she still could; Judith and Robert might soon be counting on her for points in Purgatory.
“Don’t quit yet,” Judith emailed back in a tone of desperation. “We’re just getting started!”
“I know, but it’s just not working.”
“It’s too soon to say that.” Judith was a quick email-responder. “You’re doing a lot of good.”
“And a lot of bad.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn, girl! Do you realize how unique your whole concept is?”
“Uniqueness doesn’t equal goodness.”
Two hours later, Dana and Judith were having coffee together; Dana possessed a limited tolerance for email battles. “So dear, could you elaborate more on what you said about uniqueness not equaling goodness?”
“Sure. Look, I’m all about being different. I’ve never fit in with the status quo. But I’ve also done a lot of ‘unique’ things that turned out to be terrible.”
“I can’t imagine you doing anything terrible.”
“Well, relatively-speaking. Let’s just say you wouldn’t have wanted to know me two years ago. I was pretty cringe.”
“What does ‘cringe’ even mean?”
“Embarrassing and delusional.”
“There are far worse crimes.”
“I dunno, weren’t most genocides in history started by delusional ideals?”
“My goodness, Dana, you sure know how to exaggerate.”
“It’s true!”
“Not for you. You don’t have an evil bone in your body.”
“So thought every evil person at the start.”
Judith shook her head. “Look, none of us can escape the pain of trial and error. And I suppose a few unlucky individuals don’t make it out alive. But you have and will continue to grow from your mistakes. You’re a good person, Dana.”
Dana started to tear up, years of repressed fears overtaking her. “M… Maybe right now. But I’m so scared of the evil that lives within me. It could come out at any moment.”
“But you still have the choice to deny it.”
“Do I though? Sometimes, I… I get so angry at strangers for no good reason, and I think how easy it would be to stick out my leg and trip them. Or I see a super hot guy, and I think how much I’d love to grab his ass. I know I still have a choice, but what if impulse takes hold of me before reason does?” She started crying even more. “I… I’m just so tired of being scared of myself all the time.”
Judith leaned across the table and hugged Dana. “You won’t have to be for much longer. This trial will strengthen you, like every trial does. Don’t be afraid.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know. But miracles happen often.”
“Not often enough.”
“You’re too young to be this cynical!”
“And you’re too old to be this optimistic.” Dana instantly wished she’d bitten her tongue, but Judith seemed to take it in good humor.
“Maybe so. But I’d rather be optimistic than cynical.”
“So would I. But that’s just the card I’ve been dealt.”
“Surely you’re more creative than that.”
“I used to be. But I’m too tired to bring my imagination to its fullest potential.”
“Then rest. How many hours of sleep do you get?”
“Too many.”
“Then you need a different kind of rest.”
“So death?”
“My God, no!” Judith was about to lose her patience with Dana, albeit in a loving way. “Your heart can’t keep up with your body. So go somewhere your heart can recharge.”
“I can’t afford a vacation.”
“It doesn’t have to be a vacation. It could just be lying in the grass all day. Or going for a long hike. Just find a way to take care of yourself! You don’t deserve to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
This last statement really hit Dana; was she really trying to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders? And was she actually capable of self-care? She did lie in the grass and go hiking every now and then, but she quickly grew restless. She felt a constant need to feel like she was contributing something to the world, otherwise her sense of purpose evaporated, and she became even more melancholic than she already was. Was the only solution to suffocate the one consistent thing that kept her waking up every morning? She sure as hell hoped not.
Anyhow, Judith ultimately won the argument; Dana decided to keep her mourning club afloat for the time being. As long as Judith and the others were interested, she would not let them down; maybe they were planting seeds for a tree that would grow much taller in the future. But for now, it was looking like just another Charlie Brown tree, and there was nothing wrong with that; Dana was still enough of a Christian to have the “mustard seed” parable ingrained in her soul.
They continued to visit cemeteries after doing some obituary-perusing, and they even made it to an empty funeral home or two, although the funeral home directors eyed them with suspicion, unable to fathom the prospect that they were there for charitable purposes. It really was heartbreaking how many embalmed bodies were not gracefully tarnished by the tears of loved ones; it was sights like these that made even the most hardcore atheist hope that God and Heaven existed.
After one of their outings, Dana went to her favorite coffee shop and saw several people practically bowing in worship of a cute puppy chilling next to their owner. Ten feet away lay a man with no shoes, dirt on his face, and a smell that suggested showers were a distant memory. More passersby continued to gather around the dog and shout “Aww” in a variety of beguiled tones, but not a single person bothered to acknowledge the adjacent afterthought of a human being. Dana teared up; apparently most people’s compassion reached its peak in the presence of cuddly canines. Both sad and a little angry, she smiled gently at the human afterthought and then offered to buy him a coffee; it was the least she could do to compensate for the surrounding apathy.
She started to wonder what her own funeral might be like. Theoretically her parents would have beaten her to the grave, and her friends may be as flaky as ever. Might some new spawning of the Mourning Mourners Club need to be called upon to give her a proper send-off? She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but who could say; people always changed, and often in the worst ways. That’s why it was so scary to love anyone; they usually ended up disappointing you and making you doubt whether the affection you shared was even real in the first place.
But it was too soon to be having such thoughts. Well, it was never too soon to prepare for death, but that was beside the point. As long as she was still among the living, life needed to be her main priority. She would do as much good with this Mourning Mourners Club as she possibly could, even if it was mostly delusional good.
Although delusional good clearly wasn’t good enough for everyone in the club. The following week, all three fellow GenZ-ers quit. “We just don’t feel it’s the best use of our time,” announced Maddie, who had been selected as their spokesperson. “But we wish you the best of luck with it.”
“Thanks,” said Dana semi-sarcastically, not motivated to get into a fight right now. “I hope you soon find better uses of your time.”
Judith and Robert were quite scandalized by the girls’ departure:
“I always knew they were narcissists!”
“Your generation doesn’t know a damn thing about commitment.”
“It’s okay, I never really trusted them,” admitted Dana. “Onwards and upwards.”
“I guess it’s just the three of us now. Which cemetery are we going to next?”
“I’ll let you decide.”
“We haven’t gone to Hollywood Forever yet!”
Dana rolled her eyes at Judith. “Let me guess: You want to see Judy Garland’s tombstone?”
“Just real quick! I was named after her, you know.”
“Oh, I guess we can go there.” This became a weekly tradition: finding a cemetery that happened to have some legendary celebrity buried there. Dana had never been much of a film buff, but she understood the appeal of fame to Judith and Robert, and she was in no position to let them down; they were the only people keeping the club going.
But a sense of failure continued to creep into Dana’s soul, particularly regarding the fact that she had yet to fulfill the second goal of the Mourning Mourners Club: befriending lonely people who were still alive. She supposed they could pause the cemetery visits and start playing bingo at nursing homes instead, but even care centers weren’t the true epitome of loneliness. No, to find people who were completely forgotten, you had to go to back alleys and the front stoops of abandoned restaurants, places where people were not only homeless, but were also practically dead to the world. Why did they keep on going? Perhaps the fear of death; the devil you knew remained better than the devil you didn’t.
Then again, going up and talking to random unhoused people posed a genuine safety risk, especially considering all the mental health struggles that were potentially at play. “No good deed goes unpunished” might be taken to its worst extreme. Now was not the time for the lapsed Catholic in Dana to come out, but come out it did. There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend. Was this what she was being called to do? Even if it was, she couldn’t bring the other members of the club into it. Perhaps they should continue playing it safe for the time being.
“Why are we playing it so safe?” Judith was never one to beat around the bush.
“What do you mean?” Dana asked even though she knew exactly what Judith meant.
“Why aren’t we talking to LIVING lonely people? You know, homeless folks and such?”
“I’ve thought about it. But I don’t want you and Robert to get murdered…”
“Why would we get murdered? That seems a little stereotypical.”
“I’m not trying to be stereotypical. But people living on the streets often have serious mental health problems. They could snap and slit your throat.”
“What about your throat?”
“I’m not so worried about me. It’s what I’m supposed to do with my life.”
“Nonsense. That’s the extremist Catholic in you talking.”
“I never was an extremist. Just devout.”
“That can often manifest itself the same way though. Give yourself some grace, girl! Again, you don’t need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“I know. But I can at least carry some of it.”
“But how can you if you get yourself killed?”
“Fair point. Okay, I’m not gonna go up and start talking to random homeless people. Maybe we can play bingo at a nursing home.”
“I know a few places! Although they’re not as lonely there as you think they are.”
“I’m sure there are a few exceptions. Especially those with dementia.”
“Dementia can make you the happiest person on Earth.”
“Or the most miserable.”
“I suppose.” A tear entered Judith’s eyes; clearly she’d known people affected by the disease. “Well, when would you like to start?”
“Next Saturday would be good.”
“I’ll make a few calls.”
“Thanks!”
***
The next Saturday, Dana had a lovely morning playing bingo with Judith, Robert, and a witty assortment of elderly residents. No one seemed to be particularly lonely, but such a complex emotion didn’t always manifest itself visually, so Dana tried to give the smiling faces the benefit of the doubt. Still something was missing; the Morning Mourners Club had yet to reach its full potential. Perhaps they could volunteer at a homeless shelter? That would be a safer, more controlled way of interacting with the loneliest of the loneliest. Then again, it might come off as a bit scripted and tone-deaf; Dana remained haunted by her savior-complexed days in high school and college.
“We need to volunteer at a homeless shelter,” Robert finally affirmed.
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But might we accidentally come off as patronizing?”
“How so?”
“They’d probably figure out pretty quickly that we’re there trying to make them feel better. And therefore they’d feel worse.”
“I think you’re overthinking it.”
“That’s a habit of mine.”
“Then break it! Don’t become like everyone else in your generation, always speculating but never actually doing anything.”
Dana laughed. “Let it all out, Robert!”
“I don’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended. I agree with you. Let’s go talk to some homeless people!”
Of course, this was easier said than done. Just like whenever you went looking for someone, they never were there; it was Murphy’s Law, Dana supposed. They could go to Skid Row, the homelessness capital of any city, but that might genuinely put them in danger. Eventually they stumbled upon a kind-looking but clearly isolated older man making a bed of newspapers on a bus bench. Robert was the first to approach him.
“Can we get you anything to eat?”
The man managed a slight grin and then shook his head. “I’m alright, thanks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ve already eaten.”
“From where?”
“Robert!” Judith and Dana looked like they wanted to crawl under a rock.
“From Jack In The Box. I’m not completely broke.”
“Then how come you don’t have a home?”
Make that two rocks that Judith and Dana wanted to crawl under. Dana attempted to swoop in to the rescue, “I can’t even afford a home, Robert.”
“But you have one.”
“Yeah, but I’m renting. And even then, I’m living paycheck to paycheck.” She turned back to the newspaper-blanketed man. “What’s your name?”
The man looked slightly suspicious of the question, but he decided not to reply with snark. “Harry.”
“I’m Dana, and this is Judith and Robert. It’s nice to meet you, Harry. Are you sure there isn’t anything we can do for you?”
“I’m good. Unless you’ve got a million dollars…”
Dana sighed. “Maybe someday. Although I’m an artist, so probably not ‘til after I’m dead.” Harry smirked and then started to shiver, which made Dana tear up. “Have you gone to any shelters?”
“Yeah, a few. But they usually have a time limit.”
“But I’m sure there are some programs…”
“I’ve tried every program. Didn’t work. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Harry lay down under the newspapers, and Dana knew she was in no position to argue right now, even if Harry didn’t seem to be seeing the whole picture. But did she see the whole picture? Probably not. Anyhow, now was not the time to go there. “Well… Have a nice evening, Harry.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Sorry, that was a dumb thing to say.”
“You’re good. Hope you have a nice evening too.”
Harry turned away from them, and they took it as their cue to leave with even more Catholic guilt on their consciences than usual. “Well, that failed,” admitted Judith point-blank.
“At least he didn’t try to kill us,” said Robert in a weak attempt at humor.
“That was awful,” Dana concluded in between tears. “I feel even more helpless than I normally do.”
“Don’t feel helpless, Dana.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Why don’t we go to a prison instead.” Robert was all about moving forward. “Inmates are the loneliest of the loneliest.”
“I agree,” said Dana. “But I don’t know a prison that would let us in.”
“I know one!”
“Of course you do, Judith.”
“Just let me make a few calls.”
***
Two weeks later, they were in the parking lot of a correctional center on the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles. Dana was quivering with fear – this was definitely way out of her comfort zone – but Robert and Judith seemed to take it in stride. Apparently this wasn’t their first rodeo.
“You don’t have to go in,” said Judith, sensing Dana’s fear.
“No no, I will. This is just very new to me.”
“Don’t spend a lot of time with convicts, eh?” said Robert in another weak attempt at humor.
“No. But it’s not that I’m scared of them, per se. I’m just scared of saying the wrong thing.”
“There is no wrong thing. They’ll just be happy to have someone from the outside world talking to them.”
“I suppose. But what exactly did they tell you on the phone, Judith? Like, are we gonna be behind glass and such?”
“Nah, this ain’t that kind of prison. We’re gonna be in the cafeteria!”
Dana gulped. Maybe she was a little afraid of the convicts. “For how long again?”
“Just 30 minutes. I brought some cards in case any of them want to play poker.”
“Is that allowed?”
“I don’t see why not. It’s not like we’re playing with money.”
“Okay.”
Dana limped out of the car and followed Judith and Robert to the entrance of the correctional center. Her life started flashing before her eyes, which might have just been her anxiety talking, but she knew there were some dangerous men inside. Could something bad happen while the security guards were momentarily distracted by sensual fantasies? Well, she’d find out momentarily.
“Welcome in!” The front desk clerk was friendlier than Dana expected.
“Uh… Thank you.”
“You’re here to have lunch with the inmates?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful, they’ve been expecting you.”
“They have?”
“Oh yeah, they’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
“Oh. That’s great.” Five minutes later, the three amigos were in a dusty cafeteria that smelled like an old elementary school gym. Dana tried not to make direct eye contact with anyone, certain that they would shower her with suspicious frowns. But when she finally sat down at a corner table, she dared lift her head and saw that there was hope on a lot of the faces there. Maybe the unexpectedly friendly front desk clerk was right; they did desire the company of three savior-complexed strangers.
“What church are you guys from?” a presumptuous man named Danny broke the ice.
“We’re actually not from a church,” Dana replied. “We’re an independent club.”
“A club where you talk to prisoners?”
“Among other people. Just anyone who might be lonely.”
“Everyone’s lonely. At least we have some community here.”
“That’s good to hear. But you still get lonely sometimes?”
“Of course. That comes with the territory. But honestly, I was more lonely on the outside.”
“Interesting.”
“Is that what got you in here?” Judith asked with no sense of filter.
“What, loneliness?”
“Yeah. I think it’s the #1 source of crime…”
Dana once again looked like she wanted to crawl under a rock, but Danny just laughed. “Not necessarily. A lot of crimes are committed in packs.”
“Like hyenas,” remarked Robert.
“Yeah, I guess so. Look, nobody can escape loneliness. Doesn’t matter if you’re in jail or the most popular kid in your high school. People aren’t built to understand each other. All you can do is try to understand yourself, which is hard enough as it is. Once you accept that no one else can really understand you… well, you’ll be a lot less miserable, I can tell you that.”
Dana nodded her head as tears started to flow. “I… I definitely get that. I’ve never really felt understood by anyone.”
“I understand you!” Judith chimed in with defensive presumption.
“I’m glad you think so. But I still don’t fully understand myself, so I doubt you do.”
“Oh, agree to disagree.”
The conversation continued for another five minutes, and then the three amigos mingled with some other inmates. All of the conversations were rather mundane – favorite food was the most popular topic – yet Dana could see that the inmates felt seen precisely because someone was taking mundane interest in them. For once, they weren’t being asked about what they did to get in there, or when their next court date was, or whether or not they had taken their meds. They were being treated as normal human beings, just as flawed yet beautiful as everybody else. Oh, how magical mundanity could be.
***
“I still feel like we’re failing,” Dana admitted to Judith three weeks after their correctional center visit.
“Why?”
“I mean, we’ve had some meaningful conversations with people. But we’re probably never gonna see them again. They’re still likely to die alone.”
“You don’t know that. And even if they do, they’ll have the sweet memory of the loving interest we took in them.”
“I guess so. But still…”
“I know. There’s always more we can do. But we’ve also done a hell of a lot more than most people would. You should be proud of yourself, Dana.”
“I don’t need to be proud of myself. I… I just need to know that I’ve done everything I can. That I… That I’ve made at least one person feel happy to be alive for the first time in a while.”
“You’ve definitely done that, Dana, even if you don’t have tangible proof. You’re a seed-planter. And seed-planters always get the short end of the stick. They rarely get to see the finished product. But I imagine you’ve planted quite a few tall trees.”
“Thanks, Judith. I don’t really believe you, but it’s nice of you to say.”
***
The next morning, Dana visited a cemetery all by herself. Not to mourn anyone in particular, just to sit and meditate on the cruel injustice of life and death. Why were people born only to die? Why did people love only to lose? Many had asked the same questions before, but they had yet to discover any satisfying answers beyond religious constructs. Did the “why” even matter? Was everything ultimately random? There was some comfort in arbitrariness, the detached grandeur of The Big Bang. But it remained unsatisfying.
Feeling quite lonely herself – an emotion she always felt in some capacity – Dana began to cry harder than she’d cried in a long time. No ghost took mercy on her, nor did she ask them to; it was only fitting that she should suffer alone. It was the ultimate act of empathy for all the people she was trying to help, all the forgotten souls who would remain forgotten despite her best efforts and intentions.
Then a ghostlike yet undeniably flesh-and-blood silhouette approached her from behind a tree. He had the untrimmed beard of a vagrant, the cynical disposition of a convict, and the wrinkles of a widower, yet it was impossible to determine who he was and whether he had ever meant something to someone at any time. But that didn’t matter; he meant something to himself, and this weeping stranger apparently meant something to him.
Sitting down next to Dana, the silhouette smiled the most angelic of smiles and then began crying too. Seeing his tears, Dana lifted up her chin and placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder; sometimes all a person needed to be hopeful was proof that they were not alone in their despair.
The End.
About the Author
Sam Hendrian is a Los Angeles-based filmmaker, poet, and playwright striving to foster empathy through art. From writing personalized poems for passersby outside of LA's oldest independent bookstore every Sunday, to making Chaplin-esque silent films about loneliness and human connection once a month, Sam lives to make other people feel seen and validated. More poems and films can be found on Instagram at @samhendrian143.