Charles died by choking on a peanut. He was trying to catch an entire packet of “fun size nuts ‘n’ raisins” in his mouth, one peanut and raisin at a time without eating any until the end. It was the kind of thing he used to do so he’d have some news to break awkward silences with.
Here at Charles’s funeral none of us are talking about those rumours, but I assume we’re all thinking about it. It’s a closed casket, made of environmentally friendly cardboard, since he’s going to be cremated in a moment. We are all wondering if there’s a wine-dark face under the flimsy lid.
There was a spray of peanuts and raisins all around the room. His parents are still finding half-peanuts under the dining table, raisins miraculously perched on the window ledge, a peanut in the dishwasher, which had been open. There was even a raisin and a peanut, side by side on top of the extractor fan above the stove-top.
It is the moment after the priest has finished speaking in general terms about Charles’s life. He was a good brother to Jenny, a good son to Mike and Susan, a dedicated student in the Anthropology department of Victoria University, had had great promise. They are going to ask anyone who would like to say something about Charles to do so now.
The night he died he was supposed to be meeting me and some other friends at a the new bar in town called Soup. Over the course of the evening, as we got more and more drunk, we sent him abusive text-messages. When they found him, there would have been about eight versions of “where are you asshole?”
Charles’s mother, Susan is talking about how Charles loved the theatre, which he did. It was an unusual aspect of a personality otherwise devoted to drinking and making do at university. She is talking about how Charles always put others before himself, which is not true. It’s uncharitable, but I immediately think of the time Charles, after denting the door of my car while leaning against it, just shrugged.
I’m wondering whether they removed the offending peanut from his throat or whether they thought “what’s the point?” I’m wondering who takes responsibility for that kind of thing, the paramedics, the parents, the priest? It makes me think of Macbeth. “Out damned peanut! Out, I say!” I think would want the peanut removed, though it would really just be symbolic.
I see that Susan is looking at me. I realise that she has finished and is inviting Charles’s friends to talk about him, me specifically, as his best friend. I think with amazement about how Charles’s stupid death has somehow destroyed him as a person entirely and get up to speak.
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