by Connor de Bruler
In the South there are only three occasions in which we are culturally obligated to wear very nice clothes: our high school proms, our weddings, and our own funerals. We only have three occasions because we are not typically Catholic, fail to meet the Texan standards of extravagance when we are wealthy, and do not celebrate young boys or girls coming of age as the Mexican and Jewish traditions call for. Curiously, it is the funeral which takes the most planning and preparation, and ends up being the most expensive. With my rental tuxedo hanging in my darkened closet a few days before the prom, I wonder how nice I'll look when I'm married. When I'm dead I hope they dress my body in the finest clothes yet, and, like my friends at school and the wedding, I hope everyone notices just how good I look dressed up. This is imperative not because I am vain but because the suit will most likely be, once again, a rental.
Connor de Bruler grew up in Greenville, South Carolina and has lived in Indianapolis and Nuremburg, Germany. His work has been published by Bending Spoons Literary Magazine and Fictional Publications.