☆ her funeral [story]

As far as I could remember, this was the only funeral I had been at in my entire life — my grandmother Rhéa’s funeral, which took place too early in the day for my liking. 

It wasn’t a normal funeral, too. That much was obvious. I knew from reading books that most funerals were slow and mourning with speeches about the late person’s life and achievements. Often there were also bible verses read from what I knew, but my family had never been the religious type. As my grandmother Rhéa had told me not once, but twice, “I want to believe that I’m in charge, Cardan, not some all-powerful rat that lives in the sky.”

Since hearing the loud dance music playing in the background, it was clear that just like my grandmother herself, this funeral was going to be one wild ride. My theory was further confirmed when I was told over the screaming blare of electronic instruments that my grandmother had planned this on her own before her death.

After everyone was present, we were all led to a large gymnasium that had spaced out desks with school chairs behind them. Each desk had a chromebook identical to those I remembered using at school atop its wooden surface, and as we surveyed the room, everybody else looked just as confused as me.

My grandmother Mirabelle — the one who had been married to grandmother Rhéa — stood at the front of the room on a podium. She tapped a microphone on a tall black stand and began to speak:

“Please take a seat.”

The familiar shuffling of chairs that I had heard often at the beginning of classes rang throughout the large room, and I myself sat by my parents around the front of the array. This situation was all too familiar, and as the projector lit up the feeling grew. I began to think about what it could be, and my anxiety was swelling up as my head spun. Ideas sprang up, but no — it couldn’t be —

“As the late Rhéa said herself, she had one main wish for her death,”  announced grandmother Mirabelle, her voice tremulously impressive through the many speakers and high ceiling that sent echoes through the air. “That wish was to host a Kahoot! game consisting of 1000 questions about her life.”

Most of the audience -—my cousins, aunts, uncles, and overall relatives, as well as a few friends of grandmother Rhéa — were stunned into a silence. A few barely audible mumbles traveled through the quiet, but no one wished to interrupt.

The projector lit up further, and grandmother Mirabelle clicked a few times on the silver laptop on the lectern in front of her, which was completely coated in brightly colored stickers. She looked back up at the audience. “You all will now be participating in a game of Kahoot!, which has 1000 questions and will last — by our estimate — 8 hours and 20 minutes. Out of those 1000 questions, 200 will be answered Jeopardy-style, 500 will be multiple choice, and 300 will be true or false. Midway through, there will be a 20-minute break period to go to the restroom, drink water, and perhaps get a snack. The game will then, including the break, take 8 hours and 40 minutes to complete.

“The winner is to receive a prize, which contains over a million dollars and a few family heirlooms. The full reward is written in the will.” At this, a rush of voices flooded the room, and grandmother Mirabelle smiled and clicked a few times on her neon-covered laptop.

Kahoot! music began to play on the loudspeakers, and the game’s ID number popped up on the projector. Grandmother Mirabelle grinned manically — she’d always been the only one who matched grandmother Rhéa’s energy perfectly. She raised the microphone from the stand to her mouth again.

“Open your chromebooks.”

Throughout the entire game everyone maintained their competitive energy even as they got tired. I was definitely exhausted, and by the end of the nearly 9-hour period, I appreciated the early start time of the … unconventional funeral. Out of the crowd of about 50 competitors, I barely managed to score 12th from all of the time I loved to spend with grandmother Rhéa. My parents actually scored 19th and 23rd, which somewhat surprised me – I would have assumed that they knew more about my grandmother than I did.

Relief washed over me in a heavy wave, and I nearly felt like collapsing from the soothing tide and drag of the results of the Kahoot! match. That was until grandmother Mirabelle personally called in the top 15 scorers and pulled them — including me — aside into a secluded room.

“Look, you fifteen are some of the ones who knew Rhéa the best — or were extremely lucky,” she said as she looked around the approximate semicircle that we all were standing in. “I wish you guys good luck, because even if you are the lucky ones, you might need it.”

“Wait, what?” said my uncle Michael in a mix of hopeful and intimidated. He was one of grandmother Rhéa’s children and the number 3 scorer. “So the person that scored first in this game doesn’t get the prize yet?”

“Yes,” cried another person – a friend of my grandmother’s. I recognized her as number 7. “I don’t understand.”

“You will soon,” answered grandmother Mirabelle.

When we all returned to the audience and sat down in the school chairs once again, grandmother Mirabelle tested the microphone one more time. Much more unexpected, though, she lowered the microphone to her shoulder height rather than her mouth.

Grandmother Rhéa jauntily walked onstage, prompting a crashing roar of shocked gasps and even some shrieks from the small crowd.

“Hey kids! I’m actually not dead yet! This was the qualifying test, so prepare for your final exam at my real funeral!”