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Eat Dirt Cheap

Kenneth Schofer

    On the banks of the Chesapeake Bay sits a small town called Phoebus. There was a restaurant there called Fullers where one could hang out and “Eat Dirt Cheap”. It was the quintessential dive bar with killer Oyster sandwiches and the best dippy eggs south of The Mason Dixon line. There lived a peculiar group of smarmy men and women who shared the most macabre of jobs. They were paid to attend and participate lavishly at funerals. Phoebus was a traditional town, in a nontraditional place. Diehard locals believed that a funeral should be a gala celebration of a life well lived. Even if it was not. It was all about appearance with little regard to what comes next. This is despite the fact, that the some of the nearly departed preferred a drab dull affair. For reasons not known to many, It was their mission to ensure that the departed were sent off in the most vibrant and memorable way possible.
    They were mostly a rudderless bunch, but when needed, Ustina led the group, aptly named “Waking Life”. They were a dispirited crew of individuals with a knack for the bizarre. There was Alyosha, a retired craftsmen who always had a trick up his sleeve, and Sarah, an eccentric artist known for her unconventional sculptures made from recycled materials.
    One day, Waking Life received a request from the eccentric Ms. Defarge, a widow whose family can be tracked back to the French Revolution. They received what seemed like an ordinary request for their services. Madame Defarge wanted them to attend the funeral of a Mr. Sydney Carton and make sure it was a celebration of his unique life. The funeral was for a local who gave up his life for reasons that were unclear. That is if one was into literature.
    As the group known as Waking Life, arrived at the funeral, they were met with scandalous glances and furtive sneers from the somber attendees. Ms DeFarge seemingly passed the time knitting a multicolored cardigan. Dressed in colorful attire, they brought with them an air of liveliness that contrasted with the typical mournful atmosphere.
    Like most funerals, today were a somber affair. The sky hung grey and languid. The air was thick with salty wind driven sea air. A few jets from a nearby naval base flew over and nobody was quite sure if this was for the person being honored. Even Waking Life seemed confused, yet they remained in character.
    Alyosha, with a warm sparkle in his eye, pulled out a hula hoop and a canister of agate marbles and performed a series of mind-boggling magic that was loosely related to the life of the nearly departed. Ustina orchestrated a spontaneous art exhibit, showcasing a collection of vibrant paintings inspired by the life and varied interests of Mr. Carton. Little did anybody know that Sydney had painted a few. The service consisted of very little words and turned into a celebration of life for the participants. This is exactly how Waking Life planned it. The funeral-goers were captivated by the creativity and the stories behind each piece of artwork. It was a reminder to those in attendance that this was no dress rehearsal rather life itself.
    Waking Life found the concept of heaven and hell completely ridiculous. They thought the idea of heaven was the elite methodology of rewarding the downtrodden on someone else’s ledger so their goal was to embrace this life here. And if this could not always be done, that’s how life works out their goal was to make the sendoff a gala celebration.
    Whether fortunate or unfortunate, people in this harbor town had to make a living. Most people made their living, trolling the seas for its treasures. It was a hard life that very few escaped. The people of this town had strong hands, arms and back, they never seem to put enough time aside for folly of their desire. Neptune, the god of the sea, watched them head out and come back every single day, and some people died in the most unusual way as storms in the Atlantic seem to get bigger and bigger every year. And one such occasion was a gentleman named Ken Stringfellow. Ken died during an unusually late October storm when a rope tangled around his right ankle and was drug around the Chesapeake Bay for two days running. That suddenly became the talk of the town because it was an odd occurrence. Ken was quite outspoken, and was not a man of religion.
    And this was still southern Virginia. And must people were of the religious sort. What made the death even more puzzling was that Ms Defarge had woven the name Stringfellow into her needle work. Nobody knew why it was there. This is actually a tale of two cities as Ms Defarge was not from Phoebus. She had a small house in Denbigh, just outside of Newport News.
    Still is was Waking Life’s vision to honor those who lived so gallantly. The funeral took place the first week of November. There was no need to call in funeral stand ins as cars lined up on the roads leading into Fort Monroe. Either Stringfellow had touched the life of many or people were there out of morbid curiosity. It was a beautiful day, with a gentle breeze and the bay glistened, almost winking to those in attendance. There were speeches by Seaman, deck hands and one from his partner whose name was also Ken. Ken spoke from the heart an even quoted from Hemingways Old Man and the Sea.
    Few people had met Ken before, and his appearance set a ripple through some in the crowd. At the conclusion of his speech everything grew quiet except for the tipple of the waves hitting the underside of the dock. This is when Alyosha and the rest of the crew made their appearance. Alyosha came dressed as the devil from The Master and Margarita. Ustina came dressed as the Cat. This was one of Stringfellow’s favorite books. The nuance was lost on most of those gathered, however, those who got it, its was a subtle masterpiece talked about in the pubs for years to come.
    And people die all the time.
    And so, Waking Life continued to embrace the weird and wonderful, bringing joy, laughter, and a touch of quirkiness to the world, one funeral at a time.

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