In January 2019, I finished the draft of my first attempt at fiction. If you have followed me, you’ll remember that month I experienced my husband’s death. I put the writing on the shelf until the fall of 2021. With the assistance of my writing critique group, I began anew with the editing and rewriting process.

Eighteen months later, I am confident we are closer to the final version. In the hope of titillating and sparking some interest, I’m presenting a portion of a chapter from Bigoted Truths. As always, please give me your observations and suggestion in the comment area below.

Chapter Two

A friend of mine stopped smoking, drinking,

overeating and chasing women —

All at the same time.

It was a lovely funeral.

Unknown author

In high school, the coaches expected West Texas boys to play sports. Compared to Tommy Goodwin, my best friend, I wasn’t much of an athlete, but I played football and baseball. In my first two years of football, they had me playing left end of the bench. The coach put me in at least once a year, and he regretted it each time.

My senior year had me playing more, but with no more success. I played tight end, and after our second game, Tommy teased, “You’re supposed to block the defensive guys, not let them run over you. Hell, a tackling dummy would be better playing that position than you.”

“Shut up! I’m doing my best. If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t be playing this stupid game.”

Scholastically, schoolwork came easy. I’d catch hell from Mom if I came home with something lower than an ‘A’ on my report card. “If you put as much effort into paying attention at school as you do playing around, you wouldn’t get them low grades.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” My interest lay in being popular and making my classmates laugh. I rarely dated girls in high school, but when we had an event like homecoming and the prom, I’d talk Tommy Goodwin into double dating. He felt sorry for me because of my shyness around girls.

Throughout high school, Tommy and I would talk about going to college together. Tommy’s dad was a pediatrician and did his pre-med at the University of Texas in Austin. He went to the Baylor School of Medicine in Houston. His dad wanted his son to follow him and join his medical practice someday. Unlike me, with my dad’s profession, Tommy wanted to be a doctor.

I’d shared my feelings about being a funeral director with Tommy for years. Periodically he’d ask, “When are you going to tell your dad how you feel about working with him?”

“Soon—I will soon.” But procrastination came easier than talking to Dad. I knew that when I did, it would shatter his dreams.

When Tommy decided to go to the University of Texas, we talked about how we would room together and have fun at the university. The spring before graduation, I told Mom about Tommy and me going to Austin during the summer to check out the university and the dorms.

Mom said, “Oh, y’all going to school in Austin?”

I rolled my eyes, “What? I’ve been talking about it for two years. Haven’t you been listening?”

She looked over her reading glasses and shrugged, “How do you plan on paying for it? Did you get accepted at the university?”

That confused me like a goat on Astro Turf.

Is she saying they won’t pay for my college? Perhaps they can’t. Oh-shit! What do I do now?

The next time we were alone, I asked Tommy, “Are your parents paying for your college?”

His eyes narrowed, and he scratched his head, “Yeah, aren’t yours?”

“I don’t think so,” I looked down at my hands. “My mother acted as if this was something new. She wanted to know if I’d applied. Did you send in your application already?”

His mouth fell open, “Charlie, don’t tell me you haven’t?” When he saw my stare, he said, “Holy shit. I can’t believe you didn’t—.”

“UT and Baylor sent me a catalog and application, but nobody told me you had to send it in immediately. I thought I had plenty of time.”

Tommy’s face flushed, and he began laughing. “I can’t believe you’re so ignorant.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Charlie, you need to talk to your parents and Mr. Thompson. Maybe it’s not too late. Don’t waste time either, or you won’t be going with me next fall.”

After agonizing about what to do and a few sleepless nights, I went to our high school principal for advice. “Mr. Thompson, I’m all confused. I didn’t realize you had to send your application to the university by now. I’ve been busy helping Dad and didn’t read the catalog they sent me. Can you help me?”

“Oh—Charlie. I wish you’d come to me sooner. I noticed you didn’t get any request for your records from anyone. I took it for granted that you would work with your dad and not attend college.”

“No, sir. I’d planned to go with Tommy Goodwin to Austin. I don’t want to be a funeral director.”

Mr. Thompson leaned back in his chair. He said nothing at first as he looked out the window. “All these years I have known your dad, he has always talked about you working with him and someday taking over the business. Does he know how you feel?”

“I don’t know. He heard me talk about going to Austin but said nothing.”

Oh—shit. There’s got to be a way to fix this.

When he saw my deer in the headlights stare, he shook his head. “I’m sure you’re too late to be accepted in the fall semester. But I’ll check for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“In the meantime, talk with your dad and let him help you decide what to do. Be sure to tell him how you feel about the funeral business.”

“Yes, sir.”

I kept putting off my talk with Dad until a week before graduation. It wasn’t fear, but the thought of hurting him made the discussion excruciating. Dad didn’t act surprised that evening after dinner. “Dad, huh—huh, I need to talk to you about something.”

He winked at Mom and said, “Is this a man-to-man talk we need to have?” Before I could answer, he said, “Why don’t we go downstairs?”

He led me into the office and closed the door. Instead of sitting behind his desk, he sat next to me. For weeks I had rehearsed what to say to him. When we entered his office, those preparations went out the window.

My legs shook, and sweat popped out on my forehead. I swore you could see my heart thumping through my shirt. Attempting to overcome the cotton mouth, I swallowed hard and croaked, “Dad—Ah, I had planned to go to Austin for college and assumed Mom, and you’d pay for it.”

Dad smiled, “Well—you know the definition of assume?”

“Yeah.” I hung my head. “When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”

He chuckled, but his eyes remained somber. “Son, I wish we had the type of money where we could pay for college. Didn’t we talk about you coming to work here?”

Oh, shit! The dreaded question. Calm down and tell him the truth.

“Uh huh, you did.” Struggling to look him in the eye as I continued. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. So—I never told you I didn’t want to be a funeral director.”

Instantly his eyes widened, and he fidgeted with his hands. All the anxiety and fear I had bottled up exploded. It seemed my world suddenly went into slow motion. I heard a roar in my ears. Dad spoke to me, but I didn’t hear what he said.

The panic broke as Dad shook my shoulders. “Junior—Junior. Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

I followed his instructions, and my reality returned. His eyes never left mine as he rubbed my neck. His face softened when he spoke, “It’s not the end of the world. Let’s talk about it. I’m sure we can come up with something to solve the problem.”

Dad listened while I explained why becoming a funeral director wasn’t for me. “Dad, I watch you work long hours and come upstairs exhausted. I can’t imagine having to deal day in and day out with death and grief. You and Mom never go on vacations. I can’t remember the last time the two of you went out of town. How can you live in the tiny apartment upstairs?”

The more I talked, the more my rationale seemed shallow and thoughtless. Dad sat silently, but his shoulders slumped, and tears filled his eyes. The more I spoke, my feeble excuses even sounded ridiculous to me. My superficial objections did precisely what I wanted to avoid.

When I finished, he took a moment, wiped his eyes, and raised his head. I looked into those eyes that always showed me his love. Now I saw the hurt I had inflicted. I had shaken his world. But as we sat in silence, I watched as he gathered strength while he came up with an idea.

I gathered my bravery, sat straight, and looked into those caring eyes. He said, “Come work for me full-time this summer. I promise you I’ll show you everything about the business. If you still don’t want to be a funeral director at the end of summer, you can do whatever you want. Your mother and I will help you as much as we can. Deal?”

His eyes were still moist when he reached over, stroked the back of my head, and squeezed my arm. How could I say no to him?

“Deal.”