Act 1: No Weddings & a Funeral

It started when I woke up this morning - the day, that is. That sounds pretty self-explanatory, but really, just take it for what it is. First of all, let me introduce myself. I am Reece Cantelon; native of Woodstock, Ontario, Canada. I'm 23 years old - 24 this year (Sept. 14th) - and very much alive. I use the word 'alive' with reason.

This morning, after only 4 hours of sleep, I arose to my alarm clock for the first time in what has to be weeks. I work in the restaurant industry, though my hobby and passion is screenwriting, and this affords me a very relaxed timetable for the first half of most days. That said, I work until 1 or 2am most nights so it's a good counterbalance.

Regardless, I stray from the subject at hand. Today I woke up to my alarm, after only 4 hours of sleep, to get ready for a funeral.

I've been to 4 funerals in my life - my uncle's, my dad's old secretary's, my ex-girlfriend's manic depressive friend's, and this one - my current girlfriend's lawyer boss. I've only actually MET or SEEN 50% of the people's whose funerals I've attended. Odd? Maybe. Odder, perhaps, is how I felt sitting there.

At first, sitting in that very uncomfortable pew, I thought of just about nothing. Looking around the church I wondered, and with sincere curiosity, how long the church had been standing, how the Hell they built an organ that big (and was it a trial and error process in figuring out how it works?), was I the only one there that didn't know this dead man, and finally, if Jesus was currently in the building.

Sitting there in silence I mulled these over for several minutes until, out of nowhere, this:

MAN'S VOICE: Would the congregation please rise.

There was no inquisition in his voice. It was expected... so I stood.

Now I'm not an especially religious man, but from where I was sitting I could not see anyone at the front of the church. Voice of God? Perhaps. God doesn't ask questions, I'm sure. He makes a statement with an inference and then stares at you until you respond. But then I leaned right and woops, just an old man with a microphone.

That said, the service got underway. Now at this point, my comfort level plateaued. Before this point I was expected to be someone I maybe wasn't; now I was expected to be someone who'd shut up. That I could do.

So I sat there, listening, having never seen this dead man and wondering several things. Lawyer Boss, as I'll refer to him from this point onward, didn't die by accident or for anything or anyone other than himself. It was suicide.

From a church point of view, I'm sure suicide funerals are a lot like being the only one to lose your bathing suit on a waterslide. Everyone gets a little misty, but you can't help but feel a little uncomfortable being there. That and noone wants to see it.

Lawyer Boss didn't do it conventionally, either. This was the coups de grâce to all suicide stories. He wrapped himself in a blanket, doused himself in gasoline and went out in a blaze. That's it, because I'm sure as Hell that it wasn't glorious in any sense of the word. Spectacular, maybe, but only in the "I'm never going to forget that as long as I live, and I wish that it didn't have to be that way" kind of spectacular.

Then, all of a sudden I zone into what's happening. I'd been staring at the portrait of the Lawyer Boss that I'd never seen, but whose funeral I was attending, (which, ironically, was impossible to see with any kind of clarity as it reflected the sun into my eyes), when I realized the service had started. So I'm sitting there, minding my business, listening to several lines from the Book of Songs read by a Lawyer Friend, when all of a sudden I realize that I'm not feeling so great anymore. People are crying; my girlfriend is upset. I'm sitting there TRYING to be the biggest asshole of my professional career, and still, I'm starting to get a little choked up about this guy I've never met. But I'm getting it under control.

And then they sang Amazing Grace.

I think, more than anything, that funerals do their damndest to make you cry; and I'm telling you right NOW that if I'd been sat down afterwards by every person there and told an endearing story about Lawyer Boss, they just may have been able to squeeze a tear out of me. What that funeral did, however, was inspire me to come back to this blog - to start a journal of my career progress.

I'd started it awhile ago with the intent of knuckling down. I wanted to get my writing career on its way and, to be honest with you, I think that I've succeeded.

There have been no screenplay sales - no contests won (other than a poetry contest at my university), and no real contacts made in the industry; but I think it's on its way.

For the past 2 weeks I have been working diligently on a brand new screenplay, the concept of which was built from the ground up (as most concepts are). I've got several other screenplays in the works, but this is the one I will market myself with.

Secondly, I am filming the first short screenplay that I wrote this past year this coming summer. Auditions will be held in the coming month, probably near the end of May/start of June, and filming commences the first week of August. It's an exciting time for sure. Make no mistake about it... this is the beginning of my career.

After the funeral ended I did a few little errands that I had around town before coming home to write this blog. Everywhere I went people asked me where I was going in my fancy clothes. This is how each conversation went (there were 3 or 4 exactly the same).

CURIOUS PERSON: Wow, you're all dressed up; lookin' good! Are you going to a wedding?
ME: Actually, I just came from a funeral.
CURIOUS PERSON: (a look like they just shit their pants stuffing their foot into their mouth)
ME: It's okay; it wasn't mine.

I thought the line was good, so I just kept using it. Either way, I am now convinced you should not wear pink, in any amount, to a funeral unless you just came from, or are going straight to a wedding immediately thereafter.

Having said that, I want to thank you, Lawyer Boss. Though unconventional to the end, you have certainly inspired me to live, to write, and to succeed...

I'll be your (pink) blaze of glory.