He was finishing buttoning his black shirt as his cousin knocked on the door with a question.

“You ready, Ishmael?” 

“Yeah.” He paused and looked at his reflection. “Be right out.”

Ishmael heard footsteps retreat. He looked again at the mirror and thought about how much he missed his hometown. He’d spent all these years self-exiling in a country outside of it. There, it was more of a hassle for the authorities to look for him. Even after all this time, he still carried some guilt. Some of that guilt diluted into paranoia, which stayed with him to this very moment. A time when he should’ve only had the head for grief. Over those years, his family had slowly dwindled in number. He covered the mirror with a towel and opened the door to leave. 

Cautiously, he opened the front door. He hesitated for a bit but reminded himself why he was here. With that in mind, and my impatient glances, he stepped out of the comfort of the house. He replaced that comfort with a car’s tinted glass and a pair of Oakleys. It didn’t do much except give him some peace of mind. We drove to the church. There was the viewing for his last brother. There was a good number of people, considering the only immediate family was a handful of cousins and Uncle Fortino. The only issue with our last uncle is that he wasn’t all there; he hadn’t been for the last half of his life. He was once a human calculator, the family said, but genetics caught up to him. We went up to greet their wheelchair-bound uncle.

“Hey, Uncle Fortino”, said Ishmael loudly. 

I, his cousin, looked as if to say, “He can hear just fine.”

Uncle Fortino looked up with an unsteady head but enthusiastic, “Hello.”

Fortino then went back to staring intently at something in the distance. Ishmael looked at his uncle’s shaking hands and was hopeful that a part of him remembered who he was. His hope faded as he wasn’t sure if his uncle even remembered greeting him. We turned around. Ishmael avoided the casket, instead greeting people he had never met. His paranoia settled as the idea of law enforcement waiting this long for him seemed laughable. I caught on to some sort of change, but was happy to see Ishmael more relaxed and with his mind in the moment. Once he had had enough of the sorrys, he finally decided to head to the casket. There he saw another stranger. He expected some resemblance to the person he had left all those years ago, but no. He met someone new who looked more like his uncle. Ishmael’s sunglasses had come off by now. Years of excusing his abandonment began to undo itself…

You sat in your blacked-out undercover car, waiting to see anything out of the ordinary. It was just you; they decided that you were the only agent necessary, as Ishmael had not been seen in any other family functions. You tapped on the steering wheel and decided to just go inside, uninvited. The parking lot was full by now. Walking in it was any other funeral, but it obviously wasn’t. You had to have had some sense of estrangement. Maybe your training prevented this, or maybe this was just another Tuesday to you. Then you felt someone looking at you and turned. There was an older guy staring at you. Did he recognize someone who didn’t belong? Was your cover blown? The old man did nothing, so you continued your search, your hunt. You still had a clear picture of this Ishmael in your head, but didn’t yet see anyone who looked like him. This seemed odd to you, considering the place should be packed with family. You were just scouting out the place and walked around greeting people like they were your old friends. Eventually, the casket was closed and rolled toward the church altar. The stained glass created a kaleidoscope of colors on the white blanket that covered the casket. Ishmael thought of sitting towards the back of the church to better see who came in but it wasn’t a full thought. Just one that came and went, like a dream one forgets as soon as they wake up. He walked to the front rows of benches, and the mass started. You finally saw him. 

After the mass, everyone made their way to their cars to follow the hearse to the cemetery. Ishmael drove towards the front of the line, windows down. The once suffocating, humid Houston air had now felt freeing. It was a nice replacement for the stale artificial air conditioning of the car. He drove like this until the hearse stopped at the cemetery. He was going to be a pallbearer, a last-minute decision. As he waited for the other pallbearers, you approached. You guys exchanged glances and knew immediately who was who; the chase was over. Ishmael wondered if he’d at least be able to take the casket to the hole. Either way, he felt fulfilled; he had the years of freedom and had the chance to see his brother one last time. It beat looking at the sun through a TV screen and trading Goldfish crackers with other convicts.