God, I hate this.
It took me three years to get over her..... The scent of her over-priced perfume, the feel of her hand on mine.... And yet, the moment she calls saying she needs a huge favor from me, I come running to her side like a little boy to a brand-new action figure. I'm pathetic.
I know how I got suckered in to doing this, too. I was always her mom's favorite amongst her collection of ex-son-in-laws, and when she died, that instantly put a target on my chest. Pallbearer. The word still sends a shiver down my spine. I don't deal with death well, and carrying around a corpse equates to my idea of torture.
But, it's not as bad as it could be. The woman weighed next to nothing, and the coffee at the wake wasn't half bad, all things considered. Not being able to smoke had me on edge though, and I daydreamed in my pew during the eulogy of a cigarette to go with the cup of Community Coffee in my hand. Thankfully the minister didn't notice.
Dammit. I hate this.
The ride from the funeral home to the gravesite was long, arduous, and most of all, stressful as hell. I took the ride with my boyfriend Jim (personal epiphanies came after the divorce and in retrospect explained everything), probably the only person in this god-forsaken place that could get me to relax semi-decently. He had a hint or two as to where my stress could go.
"Baby, seriously. Chill the fuck out for a minute."
"No."
"Two seconds at least. Please?"
"Not bloody likely. You know I hate this shit," I replied, fidgeting in my seat. Jim turned to look at me with a hint of exasperation evident on his face.
"Yeah, I do. Hence the asking you to chill out. It's just a corpse! She's dead," Jim stated with finality.
"What's your point?" I asked, agitated. If there's one thing Jim was a master at, it was beating around the bush. "Spit it the fuck out."
Jim spared me a side glance from the road. "I'll tell you what my point is. You're acting like a god damned two year old about this. What's so fuckin' scary about a god damned corpse, I ask you?"
"Leave it alone, bay," I sighed. He wouldn't understand. It wasn't just the corpse, although that was a big part of it. It was the smell of the funeral home, the lavender and almond scent of old death and graveyards. The creepy old trees that shade everything in sight. The finality of death, knowing I'll never get to talk to Mrs. Carol again.
"Oooorrrrr," Jim added, drawing out the word the way a child might, "Is it the fact... Hold on..."
I turned in time to see Jim pull out a pack of Pall-Mall Lights, shake one from the pack into his lips, replace the pack, and light it with his free hand. He was from "The Great State of Texas" and not only was he damn proud of it, it showed. If I'd have tried to pull that stunt, the cabin of his 80's Ford Pickup would've been littered in Cigs.
On that thought, I pulled my own pack of Camels out from my jacket, drew one out slowly, and lit it, letting the nicotine take control of me for the first time in over an hour or so. It felt good, holding that cigarette with the numb buzz from too little smoke taking over my hand. It helped steady me for the upcoming ordeal.
"Or," Jim said, picking up where he left off, "Is it the fact that you just don't wanna see Lilly again? I know she fucked you over pretty badly, and now she's calling you up as if you're reliable? I'd've told her something real quick, me."
"I don't know, bay," I replied after taking a few drags. "I guess it just has to do with the stillness of it. She looks so alive, and yet...." I let myself trail away as I grabbed another drag. Jim looked my way from behind the wheel and shrugged. I was avoiding talking about Lilly. Thankfully, he got the hint.
"Whatever, I just think you're being stupid about it."
"Says the redneck in the bigwig suit," I teased him. I tried for some humour, but even as the last word left my mouth, I realized my tone was off. Too serious for a joke. Luckily, he took it in stride.
"Yep. Three hundred dollar bigwig suit, and don't you forget it, baby. I bought this thing especially for today and if you think I'm gonna let it go to waste after this, you've got another thing coming."
I turned to face him better from my seat. His features were dark from long days working in the sun, with laugh lines stretching across his thin face. His receding hairline was becoming more prominant as the years went by, and the normally sun-bleached hair was now flecked with grey. Too old for thirty-five.
"And what the hell do you plan on using it for after this? Plan on attending my funeral soon?" I laughed. The thought of my own mortality hadn't come to me before this, but now that it had, I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of my friends and family mourning the loss of me.
"What's so funny?" Jim asked, seeing me shake from mirth.
"I just hadn't thought of my own funeral before.... I don't think anyone would come, save for you, baby," I choked out. "Hell, my own dog wouldn't even miss me. As Robin Williams once said, he'd just lick my corpse for the salt!"
"Don't say that. You know full well that there'd be more people there than you could count," Jim said with sadness in his eyes.
"Whatever, bay," I said with indifference.
The cigarette was about done, so I took one final drag, savoring the flavor, then rolled down my window and threw my butt out onto the side of the highway. I watched the orange sparks fly from impact and realized, with a jolt, that we had to be near our destination.
"Shouldn't we be about there by now?" I asked. We were turning onto a small paved road off of the highway, flanked by wrought-iron gates that were topped with spikes and intricately crafted Fleur-De-Lis. It was a gothic sight, and yet.... I had to admire the craftmanship evident. I loved living in New Orleans.
Jim followed the line of cars in front of him, which lead him into a small and cramped Parking lot. He pulled in, put the truck in park, and turned to look at me.
"Weee're heeeere," he said, in an imitation of that creepy kid from Poltergeist. I let a small laugh escape my lips, then turned and set my face in a grim mask reflective of the fear bubbling up inside of me.
No sooner had I gotten out of the car then I was set upon by the funeral coordinator, a rail-thin man in a suit much too peppy to be for proper mourning and much too well-fitted to be off the rack. Smug bastard, I thought to myself as he took me by the upper arm and dragged me to the back of the hearst. There, he arranged me and the other Pallbearers (consisting of Lilly's younger brother Vincent and four men I had never met before and didn't particularly care to get to know now) in two rows of three each, barked out some instructions hastily, then stepped back and arranged himself in the manner of a man in deep mourning. Good actor.
We proceeded forward with the casket, walking the clumsy stumble of the pallbearer chain-gang, eventually managing to make our way to the hole in the ground tastelessly covered in bright green felt. We set Mrs. Carol down on the raised altar behind the hole and shambled back to our significant others. I gave Jim's hand a squeeze and turned to face the minister as he began the graveside service.
And just as the minister opened his mouth came the first disturbance.
Mrs. Carol's casket moved.
Not in an eerie, floating, telekinetic way, either, but it... well, there's no other way to say it but it jumped. As if something inside it were alive and wanted to get out. It wasn't overt, and I'm not even sure anybody else noticed, but I did, and it was enough to send me in to a small panic attack. Luckily, Jim noticed it starting and managed to pull me to the back of the crowd before I got deeper in to it.
"Are you okay?" he asked, still squeezing my hand with his and holding me by the shoulder with the other. His eyes were filled with concern and compassion. There was a reason I loved him.
"I just saw..." I trailed off. I couldn't even bring myself to say what I saw. Hell, I couldn't even look him in the eye; mine were still attached to Mrs. Carol's casket. My mouth kept doing the fish thing, opening and closing automatically without making a single coherent sound. "I... I... I..."
"Remember what I said in the truck? You need to calm down, baby. It's all okay."
He pulled me to him, kissing me lightly on the forehead, and then came the second disturbance.
For lack of a better phrase, Mrs. Carol, in all of her polite southern manner, knocked on her coffin lid. It was a slow sound, not reaching my ears for a few seconds and not reaching my comprehension for a few more after that. And the moment it did, I promptly fainted.
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