"Do you want to be my friend?"
I really didn't want to hear that question.
I turned and saw a man appeared to be familiar. Why was he so familiar? I frowned back at the man who seemingly was in 18th century attire. Was this guy a weirdo?, I thought. There was something wrong about him but I could not touch it. It was beyond real. Beyond my own comprehension. Asking a question like that on the day of my grandfather's funeral in a cemetery was uncalled for. Very uncalled for.
"No!" I said.
The man looked hurt.
"I just politely asked and this is what I get?" The man asked, briefly closing his eyes. "So much for going out my comfort zone."
I turned away then went back on my way to the car.
Of all the things I had expected of today; this guy topped it all. He was a shady guy who randomly asked a question that normally would be thought of by a child. A damn child. All I could feel at him was anger. I could feel anger toward my other. I stopped at the car then looked over to see the weird guy with a blue coat with golden colors and a white buttoned up shirt with frills around the neck had vanished in thin air. He wasn't there.
I shook my head with a sigh.
"Just my imagination." I told myself.
I open the door then get into the car.
I can still remember the grave marker fresh in my memory.
George Wrinkler Wallis.
Born: June 1st, 1964
Died September 1st, 2079.
Beloved father and husband.
And they had to add that damn sign above his name. It was my grandfather's aging 'community fan group' that insisted it be added. They claimed he told them in private he would prefer to have his grave stone with the marker of what he loved the most. That sign that stood for Star Fleet.
I hate Star Trek.