A Monologue by Me

Well, for starters, if there’s one major problem with me, it’s my memory. It’s really out of whack. Never works the way I want it to. Name any person in the room, or anybody I know for that matter, and I’ll be able to remember exactly where and when I met them. Not always to the date, but usually I’ve got the full story down. I know what you first said to me, what I was thinking at the time, and what was going on. It’s more accurate if it’s a pretty girl. Now ask me what I was did last Wednesday, and you’ll lose me. What did I have for breakfast? Not too sure. Give me a second. I need some time to think. It will get weirder sometimes. I can recite the names of every teacher I’ve ever had, but spelling Wednesday is still a challenge. Whenever I think of a funeral procession, and try to recall how the tune goes, the only thing that comes to mind is the Imperial March, without fail. Even if I just heard it.

But you know, maybe that’s just how it should be done. What’s wrong with adding some style to your funeral. The Imperial March blazing triumphantly as your coffin is carried through the graveyard. That’s the kind of drama I want when I die. Hell, I’d even have the men dressed up as stormtroopers. Those costumes have got to be around somewhere. Why not just theme the whole damn thing. Put it all in your will. No one’s going to argue, and let’s be honest here, who doesn’t love Star Wars. Pre-order everything and have them delivered the day before. My mom and dad can be Han and Leia. Some weird uncle gets the Chewbacca costume. Grandpa is Obi-Wan Kenobi (from A New Hope, not the first three episodes). He kinda looks like Sir Alec Guiness anyway. Someone could be Lando, or the Emperor, or even Greedo if he’s cool with getting shot (and my dad would have definitely shot first). Just imagine the facial expression your best friend will make when he opens up the packaging and its Boba Fett’s armor. Jetpack and everything. If that were to happen to me, the first three words that would come to my mind would be: “Best. Funeral. Ever.” People would probably be happy I died. Wouldn’t you? If you were invited. Which you would be.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’d feel guilty if everybody just got depressed. But you know there would be some young second-cousin stuck up girl who is just miserable that she has to sit there in her gigantic paper-maché mask of some random alien extra character who has a strange name nobody really knows except huge geeks like me. But you know what, she’s alive, I’m dead. This is my show, not hers. That some young second cousin can deal with it. She can’t say no. Imagine the rift you could create between the family between members who are OK with a Star Wars themed funeral, and those who refuse to participate. Some controversy to spice up the mourning process.

The wake would definitely be closed casket (and set in the Mos Eisley Cantina), but here’s why. Beforehand, I’ll have a projector installed in the coffin. It will be pointed up at the wall. And there, projected before the crowd, will be the ghostly image of me, dressed in full Jedi robes, standing next to Yoda, Obi-Wan and Anakin Skywalker. Gazing down upon everybody, smiling with approval, so happy that I have finally returned to the Force. So thankful that everyone came and got all dressed up. If seeing that would not make your eyes moisten up a bit, then I don’t know what you’re doing at my funeral. You clearly don’t miss me that much.