A bitterness seemed to envelop the air. The sky was covered in shapeless clouds, eager to rain upon the city. As he stepped into the car and placed himself on the leather seats, a young man - young for his 50's, anyway - looked upon this dreary scene and remarked. "Not the greatest of weather," he muttered as he moved along to make room for his mother. She hmmed for him to repeat. He declined, sighed, and rested his head upon his knuckles as he leaned forward. "Son, it's damn tough being in your position," said a voice from the seat in front. The young man nodded his head in appreciation, waiting for him to continue. He turned around, revealing himself to be a heavy man with glasses and a graying mustache, somewhat in resemblance to a walrus. "Jus' look the window. Everybody's gonna miss your dad."
The young man looked out the window, to find many a mourner walking the streets. He let out a breath before speaking. "I know, Dick. They love him, I know. But," he took a pause, "Dick, they didn't know him." Willing to change the subject, his mother interjected. "He was 90-odd, but he sure didn't look it!" A smile flashed across her face, a smile that would soon flash across his. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, and nodded again. The next minute seemed to be a blur, as the two smiled at each other with a sense of sadness.
The vehicle parked next to the memorial, and the four stepped out. The young man's mother had to be helped out as she withdrew her walking stick. The man himself left his comb in the car, having brushed back his hair as best he could. He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them before catching sight of the coffin, draped in that all too familiar colour. He overheard Dick conversing with one of his dad's old aides, them briefly exchanging pictures of the deceased.
He inched his way to the coffin, finding his brother standing next to it. "I'll miss him to bits, I tell you," he said to an unknown bystander. The young man got a better look at the coffin. "Like it, huh?" said his brother, giving the same smile his mother had in the car. "It's...good work," he replied. The brother pointed at the symbol in the middle, beneath the flowers and within the crimson. "Dad always loved the image of the plates, didn't he?" the young man nodded. His brother gave a light laugh before inhaling sharply. "Never lost his faith, dad. Just found another one, and adapted it." the two men laughed, before picking up the coffin in silence.
They proceeded down the garden in silence as the clouds separated, the light rain disappearing under the clear sky. The small band played an old Pete Seeger tune - always a favorite of dad's - while the bishop, clasping his Smith Bible, stood by the odd-shaped headstone, a perfect drawing of the deceased etched on, the warm smile captured well. The coffin weighed down on the young man's back, but he soldiered on with strength.
The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the two brothers took their seats next to their mother and the hole where their father laid. "It's not an imperative to speak," said the priest quietly. The young man looked around, before mouthing "no, no, I want to."
He straightened out his tie yet again, before taking a moment to think about his dad. A man who stood tall over the political neophytes of his time, a man who could pull off a blending of the two faiths - religion and socialism. A man who wielded his political skills like a knife, but never found the ferocity to make swinging cuts. A man whose boots were very big indeed.
Cut short in his thoughts by the kind words of the bishop, Willard Mitt Romney walked towards the podium standing in front of his father's grave and grasped it with all his might. He faced a crowd that was in such sorrowful states about his father's passing. They were men and women who grew up under his father's keen stewardship of the United Socialist States' economy. For them, he was the USSA in every shape and form.
Romney took one last breath before uttering his first words. "Thank - thank you all for being here today. My father would've said hello to each and every one of you, because that's the sort of man he was." The congregation sat tight, for they knew the young man had a lot to say.