The journey begins

We pull up at her aunt's house in a little down in the Mississippi Delta that I'm familiar with, having grown up about 40 miles away. The police escort is waiting, cars are lined down the neighborhood, relatives in the dark blue suits and dresses are standing in the yard and coming and going out the door.

A man who is her cousin calls out her name as we get out, and she goes to him and he gives her a big, strong hug and says, "You've gotten thick."

I said, "Thick? You think this is thick?" He said, "I'll show you what I like" and calls out his wife's name. Skinny as a rail and high yellow she steps out of a crowd and waves. "I like 0 to 3." I begrudgingly later admitted to her that I like his looks, and finding out he's a fireman made him seem even a little hotter, but I'm still annoyed on her behalf by the "thick" comment.

A short visit in the house to hug the lady of the house and she spoke to an assortment of other female family members before we follow the procession down Highway 61 (of Blues music fame) to the church for the ceremony.

I'm still a little giddy about the prospect of attending a black funeral. But I'm very respectful, and I have a clean handkerchief ready. (And I'm bitter about him calling my friend "thick" even if he is a hot black man who also happens to be a fireman.)