"You mean that little shit with the guns killed your friend?" Carl asked.

"Looks like," I said.

"What a jerk," Carl said. "I knew there was something wrong about him."

Rose came by with enough food to feed the starving children of China. Carl was already talking about going back home. It took all of us two trips to the car to bring everything inside. She dished each of us out a large plate, with some still piping hot as she told us when and where the funeral would be. Rose was a detail person and she had contacts everywhere. A couple of phone calls and she had all the information we needed. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for Big Mike and she gave him a sheet of paper with all the details already written down.

Big Mike proceeded to call his family and friends while I ate a little of this and a little of that while I watched Rose as she was slicing an apple pie. She was a hell of a cook and I'd hardly eaten since the night I came over, but my appetite was returning after smelling all that food. Then, having her thrust it upon me, well, a guys got to do what a guys got to do, and I couldn't insult Rose by failing to eat everything she dished up for me. There was difficulty in knowing the truth about Kevin's death, but there was a relief that came in knowing his murderer was caught.

"They are having viewing at the funeral home, but I won't bother them there. I won't interfere with his family, but we're going to that funeral. They'll have to arrest me to keep me out. I've got to be there for Kevin," Big Mike said, leaning back against the kitchen sink with a cup of coffee as Rose charged him with a plate piled high with goodies, taking the cup and replacing it with a plastic fork. She was like the proverbial Jewish mother. "Eat already."

"Rose says it is private, Mike. How do we crash a funeral?" I naively asked.

"Are you in or out, Rick. I'm going and I want you there for Kevin, not for me. Friends don't let friends get buried alone. You may have a choice. I don't."

"Mike, I'm in. You know that. I really don't want to get arrested if I can help it. That's just personal preference."

"Me either. I'd prefer not to get arrested, but I will if that's what it takes for me to be there."

It was a fairly mellow day but cloudy as all days when funerals are held seem to be. We arrived in five cars. Rose and Fred came and people that lived near us when we lived by Bladensburg High School followed Rose and Fred to Oxen Hill to the Catholic Church on St. Barnabis Road. There were twenty-five of us and then Mike's family showed up from New Jersey. There were Mike's brothers and nephews that had been Kevin's friend, as well as other relatives that knew him.

Mike Rawlins came from my work, as did several guys that worked with Kevin. They neither knew of the private ceremony or our vow to crash the funeral service. They were just coming to pay their respects after I passed on the information about the murder and the funeral. There were well over thirty of us in all.

As the family arrived they took long looks at the large group gathering on the other side of the church. We knew the parents by the intense expressions they wore. They studied us from the doorway, turning around to peer into the driveway at us, wondering what it was we were doing there. They disappeared and the father came with a priest to the doorway to talk about the gathering they saw. The priest came immediately to where we waited, wearing a stern and disapproving priestly look as he swept across the parking lot in black robes that hid his feet, making him appear to be capable of flight.

We had intended to proceed into the church to seat ourselves quietly in the rear, after first waiting a respectful amount of time for the family to taken their places before entering. Now, Big Mike was going out to meet the priest as he approached. Big Mike was raised a Catholic and he wasn't intimidated by the severe priestly posture. It appeared to be the beginning of a battle that might rival the gunfight at OK Corral. We all stood on the side of the driveway behind Big Mike and the father and several other men stood facing us on the priest's side of the driveway.

"This is a closed service. I'm sorry, but you will have to leave. The family has requested you leave. I'm requesting you leave. Have you no decency? These people are burying their son today. Go and leave us to what we must do here."

The priest spoke as though he were sent with a message directly from his God. He turned abruptly in a flourish of cotton not waiting for a response, heading back behind his own lines, gathering his waiting men with outstretched robed arms without even slowing down or turning back to see if we were obeying his pronouncement. They disappeared inside. We all closed in to where Big Mike stood, while watching them disappear into the church, with the priest closing the doors and only then did he glance to see if we had left.

We decided we'd wait until five minutes before the service was to start before we would enter through the main doors. Once again we all agreed to sit in the rear pews of the large church so we didn't disrupt the services, but we hadn't anticipated meeting Kevin's father as we entered the lobby. Kevin could have been no one but this man's son, tall, handsome, standing straight as an arrow. It was as though we were seeing what Kevin would have grown to become in time.

The people from work were stunned by our persistence and by the fact we were defying the request for privacy. They stayed at the rear of the group, but they did stay, feeling somehow connected to us and to what we had to do there. Once again we ran up against the resistance.

"You people aren't welcome here. Don't you have any sympathy? My wife and I are burying our son. For God sake, please leave us alone. You have no business here. We don't want you here."

"We have every business here. We were Kevin's friends. We were the people that knew him. With all due respect Mr. Browning, just what do you know about your son? Maybe, if you will allow us to join the service for him, we can tell you just who your son was," Big Mike spoke as he stepped forward taking charge.

"We'll see about this. I'm having the priest call the law. Either leave or I'll have you arrested. I'm sorry, but you aren't welcome here," and with that the man turned to move back to his family.

We stood near the doors between the lobby and the inside of the church where we needed to go, and all eyes stared out of the church toward us. I felt very uncomfortable as the priest came charging up the center isle toward us, robes flowing, caught up in some ecumenical jet stream. I tried to remember I was there for Kevin, but I wasn't used to ruffling so many fine feathers all at one time, and a priest for christ sake. I wondered if we did have any decency or if perhaps we were ill advised in our attempt to honor our friend, unable to understand the stance the family was taking on the people that inhabited Kevin's other life away from them.

"Please! Please!" the priest said as he pushed forward forcing us out of the door with open arms. He turned, pulling the doors shut behind him and he leaned back against them, protecting his church from the invading hordes.

"These people have the right to bury their son in private. Family only please! It isn't an unusual request. I'm sorry you had to come all this way but you must respect the parents and leave now. We don't want a scene."

Big Mike once more pushed his way in to face off with the priest.

"Can I have a word with you, Father."

"If you are brief, I've a service to conduct and I'm running late as it is," he said, checking his watch to make sure there was some accuracy in his words.

Big Mike and the big guy stepped into the church while we watched through the windows on either side of the doors. Big Mike was animated. He used his hands and arms in the best Italian expressionism. He was calm and appeared to know exactly what he wanted this priest to know. They talked for several minutes but mostly Big Mike talked. At first the priest was standing sideways with only his ear for Mike to affect. He slowly rotated toward Big Mike until they stood squarely chin to chin. The priest seemed to go from tolerance, through curiosity, to concern, and finally he reached sincere belief, and once he got there, he cut straight through the crap, listening intently to every single word. Every eye in the church were on the two men, except for the people from work who stood off to one side, segregating themselves from our group, but they stayed.

The priest broke away, charging back down the center isle toward the front of the church with as much gusto as he'd used to come at us. We watched as the Father went directly to the father, leaning forward, bending into his pew. Now the priest became animated as he slowly stood up to full size while he talked. He must have been Italian too. The father didn't seem to be buying any of it, shaking his head no, no, no, no and becoming more emphatic as the priest implored him to yield.

The mother cried into a white lace handkerchief, and it didn't look good for our side. The rest of the family watched the conversation with every head turned toward the two men. The priest suddenly whirled with his robes flowing in the breeze that he himself had only created that second, rustling behind him as he swept back toward us with an appropriate scowl upon his face. He swung both the doors open, propping each one wide with a delicate flick of the toe of his shinny black shoe before it once more disappeared.

"Please come in. Sit to the rear of this section if you please," he said, pointing to the pews just inside the door. "The family will allow you to remain. Michael, come to the front with me please. You are to give the eulogy as you have requested. They would appreciate brevity and they would like the graveside ceremony to remain private. Please grant them that since they are allowing you to stay now. They are opening what was to be a private service for you after all. I'll give you direction to the gravesite if you wish, and you can come after their ceremony is over. I'll wait if you like and we can pray together for your friend. Simply maintain a respectful distance until the family leaves the gravesite. That's all I ask."

Mike took the furthest left seat in the first row of the middle section of the three. We were seated from twenty rows back behind him in the same middle section. The family was seated in the front right hand sections. All eyes followed the priest's every move until the service finally started, only after he stood behind the lectern for several long moments trying to recover from his ordeal while surveying all of those before him.

The prayers were said and the priest spoke about Kevin in an abstract way. His introduction of Big Mike was brief but poignant.

"Apparently Kevin's best friend is here with us today. Kevin and Michael have been friends for the past five years. He knew Kevin well and would like to tell you about his friend and your son," he said directly to the parents. "Perhaps, through him, we can come to understand something of the young man we will bury today. Perhaps Michael brings a little piece of Kevin to us in his words here today. For Kevin's sake, it is only fair we hear from someone that knew him better than we did. Michael, please come forward and speak of the Kevin Browning you knew better than anyone else."

Mike stood and moved to the podium, taking center stage. I had never seen him more poised or focused. He stood tall and proud and he addressed his comments directly to Kevin's parents.

"My name is Mike and Kevin was my friend. The people with me are also Kevin's friends and I think it is safe to say, some of us became family to Kevin. We were the people that knew him best, and it is my duty, our duty, to be here for him today. We wish no disrespect for his biological family. That's not why we're here, but you did not know your son and I want you to know something about him. My friend. I want to tell you what a warm and loving person he'd grown to be. I imagine you had a lot to do with the good man your son became. I don't know what happened between you and Kevin, and it's none of my business. That was between you and him, and it's between you and your God now.

"What I can tell you is that Kevin was a good person. He did not deserve this. He did nothing to cause this. He was a kind and gentle soul. I would call him a free spirit and I never knew him to speak ill of anyone or purposely cause anyone any harm. It was my pleasure to be his friend for these past years and I will miss him very much.

"Part of my family came here from New Jersey to be here for Kevin and for me. That's how much they thought of Kevin. He was part of our family. His friends came here because Kevin meant something to each of them. I can't speak for them, I can only speak for myself, but they are here for him. Some people came from the place where Kevin worked for a time earlier this year. They came here today because they thought something of him. We did not come here to upset you or to make this day any more difficult than it already is.

"We came here to honor a friend and see him too soon to his final rest and to tell you something about who he was. I could do no less for my friend. These people could do no less for Kevin. Just know that your son was a good and decent person and the person that killed him was evil, and some times, when good and evil cross paths, evil wins. There is no reason for Kevin to be dead, but he is dead, and now we must honor him, and bury him, and remember that for a time he touched each of our lives, and so we have come here to be with our friend one last time.

"I have nothing else to say and I appreciate your kindness in allowing me to speak. I hope in some small way my words have brought you some measure of comfort at a time when we are all in pain. Thank you."

Big Mike never wavered or stumbled. He had no notes to read from. His eulogy was eloquent and straight from his heart, and it didn't leave a dry eye in the church. I had known Big Mike for almost ten years then, and he never ceased to amaze me. His mourning had ceased for the moment and his focus and inner strength had returned to him, revealing the character of the man I was glad to call my friend. Kevin would have been proud of him too. He would have been a little amazed at the turnout to bid him farewell. In twenty-one short years he had touched a lot of people and we all hated to see him go. I don't think Kevin knew how many people cared about him.

There were more prayers and the services ended. The mother and father went directly to Big Mike and spoke to him before he could leave his deserted pew. They both shook his hand, seeming far more conciliatory than before.

"We are invited to the graveside ceremony. The parents want me to thank you for coming. They are nice people. They just didn't know us. Let's be as non intrusive as thirty people can be," Big Mike said as he joined us.

Life never ceases to amaze me. The world is truly a tiny speck of a place. As we past through the gates of Resurrection Cemetery, I recognized it as the place where we had buried my father exactly one year before. Kevin's gravesite was directly behind my father's gravesite. I stopped by to visit him for the first time since the day he was buried. I said a small apology for the private ceremony we would hold over Kevin's grave that night. It would be his send off from his friends. We would split a six pack over his grave and toast him from this world and into the next. It's the kind of thing Kevin would have loved, Budweiser only, of course.

There is never an excuse for violence. Mike Wallace went to jail for life, but it wasn't long enough. He shared our food and our drink and our friendship while seated at our table. In the end none of us knew him. He was the Judist in our midst. He stole from us.

There could only be speculation about why he had killed Kevin. The police said that Mike Wallace was trying to endear himself to the Outlaws motorcycle gang. He was dealing drugs with them and buying and selling stolen goods. He wanted in, and the initiation was Kevin's body left close enough to their clubhouse to be an unmistakable message for them.

Mike Wallace became a part of another gang. I suppose he is out of jail, life in prison not being what it used to be. I wish him no ill, but a word of caution for him no matter where he goes:

If you are out Wallace, beware of Sicilian Italians, for their memories run deep and their promises they keep, especially those made to fallen friends. If I were you I'd find out where Big Mike lives, and I'd be living on the other side of the planet. There is no doubt in my mind that if he ever finds you, he will kill you. I would suspect he would kill you with his bare hands and take pleasure when you blow your last breath on his face, and he'd whisper to you as your life ebbs away, "That's for Kevin. He was my friend."

I hope Big Mike has put the vendetta behind him and he doesn't need to take someone's life to finally find peace in his own, but I would understand if he did find it necessary to avenge Kevin's senseless murder. A precious gift was stolen from us and sometimes a debt owed must be paid in full. I lost a friend when Kevin died. We weren't close but I always liked him because he was one of a kind and we ran in the same circle of friends. Kevin was Kevin and he did no one any harm.

Violence has its repercussions on us all. It cost me not only Kevin but Big Mike as well. I only suspect that when I tried to contact him and his phone was disconnected and his apartment empty, it was what he had to do. No one we knew could tell me where Big Mike disappeared to, possibly Tom's River, New Jersey.

It is my theory that anyone or anything that could remind him of Kevin was lost to Big Mike after that. He had made a fragile peace within himself that allowed him to go on, but he broke off with anyone or anything that might evoke a memory of a good friendship lost.

Good luck Big Mike, wherever you are. This one is for you and for Kevin. We shared something that can never die or be killed and I thank you both for that. If there is a God, may he bless and keep you both until I get there.

Always,

Rick


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

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"Browning Incident" Copyright © 1 November 2012 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
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