Have you ever attended a funeral of someone you barely know?

Before I came here, I didn't know him, to be honest, aside from his name-which might have been fake in the first place. I barely knew what he looked like. I mean, the pictures he sent me looked

starkly different from the face behind the coffin glass.

I only came here to know the truth. I guess I wanted to affirm myself that I wasn't being ghosted—the urban dictionary meaning, but I guess the literal meaning applied now. When I first heard of his untimely death, I couldn't believe it. A whole life of having social anxiety, I initially thought this was one elaborate prank. Or at least a lame asshole excuse for chickening out of the first time we would have supposed to meet. I waited for a few hours on our rendezvous. And when I thought I wasted enough time and self-respect, I left and thought that was the end of it. But then I received that call from the police. Apparently, I was the last contact of the "body" -a hot one at that-who might be a homicide victim. But being confirmed later on that he simply died of heart attack ruled that out, and the fact that we never even met got me off the hook.

It was a solemn event. It seems that he was a man with a tight-knit family. One that has several groups of friends, too. I felt alone. Of course, I didn't personally know anyone. There were a few familiar faces, some I might have historically known from hooking up too. The gay world is a small world, after all. I began questioning why I even went there in the first place.

As they lowered the casket underground and started casting flowers down his way, I was about to leave. A voice called out to me, "Hey." I turned to face a man who was perhaps his brother—he looked similar enough, but younger. "You're Ryan, aren't you? There's someone I'd like you to

meet," he said as he gestured to the man beside him. "Edward."

We let an awkward "Hey" with each other. Who the hell does introductions at funerals?

"I guess l’Il leave the two of you alone," the brother said as he patted our backs and headed back towards his grieving family.

There was an awkward moment of silence shared between me and Edward.

"So.." we began at the same time. There was a brief moment of smiling at this awkwardness

between us.

"Glad to know that there's someone like me here," he said.

"Like?"

"Well, you know... I also do not know anyone here, too. And I barely knew him, only met him once

weeks ago." So, was he like... you know? Another hook up?

People were starting to leave the funeral site. A thought occurred in my head.

"Hey," I began to ask Edward. "This may sound crazy but... Do you have somewhere to go after? Like, for the pagpag?" Pagpag—which, translated literally, means to brush off dirt or dust—was a Filipino superstitious custom of not going home directly after attending a funeral, believing that the spirit of the deceased will follow you into your home unless you make a detour or a stopover somewhere else first.

He let out a short chuckle. I couldn't believe myself either that I would try to hit on someone while on a freaking funeral. "Well, I'm an atheist so I don't believe in any of that." And with a sly smile, he continued, "Wanna come over to my place?"