4This is an entry for the July/August Writing Challenge Contest hosted by the Review Game section of the forums.
AS GOOD AS BURIED
The old man had collapsed at the post office just a few days earlier. He was dead by the time the paramedics arrived. Heart attack, they ruled it.
None of us were really surprised when we got the call from mom. He'd lived a long life. Longer than even he'd predicted he would have. Mom herself was obviously devastated. We knew that coming down for the funeral would essentially boil down to trying to calm her down. We also knew there were only so many things we could say to a fragile 65-year-old woman trying to cope with her husband's death. To tell the truth, that was one of the reasons I was planning to not show up at all, as cold and uncaring as it might sound. The other reason? I couldn't look myself in the mirror at the time, let alone a bunch of people who were inevitably going to ask questions about how everything was. The thought alone would get me to close my eyes and take deep breaths.
I just wasn't ready. To deal with anything. I was sure that he would've understood. And I was sure they would've forgiven me. Eventually.
So, that was the plan. I simply wouldn't show up.
/
Two things ended up changing my mind.
The first was the fact that they decided to cremate the old man. Mom simply couldn't afford a proper burial site at the time. Of course, he was going to get one, but mom felt that he "wouldn't be at peace" there. And I think she was right.
The second thing was that I learned that in the ten years since I was away from home, a lot had changed. Namely, the fact that the old Johnson house, formerly the habitat of our next door neighbors, had been demolished and replaced with a funeral home, of all things. One more than willing to be the host of the cremation.
It was like a sign from above. A chance I knew I couldn't ignore.
A chance to disappear.
So, I came.
In retrospect, I should've gotten a haircut. The one thing everybody kept talking about was how the ponytail didn't suit me. Frankly, they were right. But I figured it looked better than letting it all loose. Then again, the only reason they were saying it because they were used to it being short. Funny thing about that is, when I'd started doing that one, they were all against it. Except dad.
/
"You okay, sweetie?" Mom, of all people, ended up asking.
We were all gathered in the living room. Mom had finally stopped weeping for the hour and the mood suddenly lifted. General small-talk, reminiscing, showing off pictures of children, even a little bit of joking. I had sat down next to mom.
"I'm fine." I told her, forcefully stretching a smile across my face.
"How's your book going?"
"I'm fine. I mean- It's... It's fine."
"Publisher still giving you trouble?" a faint smile appeared on her lips.
Shit.
Thinking about it now, her eyes were so red.
"...No. No, not anymore."
"That's good." she concluded.
"Yeah. Uh... Yeah, it is." I yawned. I'm still not sure why. Well, I mean, I do. I was tired.
Tired of having to talk about it. Again and again and again.
I sighed as she turned her attention to my brother. "At least she didn't say she was proud of me", I thought.
/
Fifteen minutes before it was supposed to begin.
I quietly snuck away into the bathroom, pulled open the window, and quickly leapt into the backyard. From there, it was just a few short steps to the funeral home entrance.
The hallway was dimmed. I could hear the priest talking to the director of the home.
"You really set on those scratchers, aren't you?" the priest asked, in that flawless tone of what I can best describe as "condescending understanding" only a true priest can pull off.
"What?" the director replied, almost offended. The fake kind of offended, though, if that makes sense. "It's for Jack! You know, in memoriam. Maybe he's watching over me. Giving me the good vibes, you know?"
"That was what you said yesterday."
"Well, maybe his spirit is taking his sweet time to bless me, I can't know."
"Could you at least wait until the ceremony is done? This isn't the best place or time for you to be doing this."
"It's only a second, Christ. Argh. You got a nickel? I cut my nails yesterday..."
I could swear the priest groaned. "A second, you say..."
"Look, I do get ya." the director went on. "Your rush to bury him, I mean. I see the way you look at his widow. Rawr." He laughed.
Silence.
"She's SIXTY-FIVE!" exclaimed the priest.
"You look like the type of guy for that kinda stuff if ya ask me..." the director chuckled playfully.
"Oh my God, George..."
"Ah-ah-ah. Don't take the Lord's name in vain, father."
Silence. Again.
"I can't believe you actually came back here..." the priest sighed.
"The old Morston boys - together 'til the end, no?"
"Of all the businesses for you to get into, too..."
"You know, Jack's gonna coma for ya and get ya if you keep hitting on his wife." he laughed again. "You know he'll do it, the crazy bastard. But I won't tell him if you give it a rest if you accept that I'm here to stay."
"For the last time, I am NOT hitting on his-"
I never heard the rest of that conversation. I'd already made my way down to the basement level.
To the crematorium.
/
The lid of the coffin was surprisingly easy to lift. Sure, my hands started to shake, but anyone's would've if their dead father's face ended up being the first thing they saw after doing so. I was prepared for it, sure. Until I wasn't.
This was the man who had carried me on his shoulders when I was a little girl. The man who made light-hearted jokes when I tried making my first soup. The man who bought me my first car.
Something in my heart started to shake as well. I couldn't believe I almost hadn't shown up. He would've understood, sure. But he wouldn't have approved.
I took a deep breath.
He wouldn't have approved of what I did next, either.
I quietly put my leg into the coffin, my foot pressing against his knee. I almost expected him to jump up in pain. He didn't.
I pulled my weight and lifted my other leg. Just like that, I was on top of my father. In what was his soon-to-be-burned-up-but-at-the-moment-technically resting place.
Another deep breath. Was I really sure about doing it, I wondered for a moment. And in that moment, that feeling of nostalgia and warmth was once against replaced with that need to disappear. To go away. Go missing. Go missing and never be found.
I laid down on top of him, pulling the lid down with me.
/
I wasn't sure what was worse. The fact that I was lying in a coffin with a corpse, the fact that corpse was my dad's, the fact that it was so crammed that I could barely move or just all of the above.
It was starting to get hard to breathe. There was no stench, which I'd been worried about the most up until that point. Figured it would be my biggest concern. Evidently, I was wrong.
My chest was tightening. I wondered if I was going to pass out. Would I not be conscious for the end? I realized it would be for the best. I would've probably screamed otherwise. Being burned to a crisp does that to people, I assumed. And speaking of heat - good God. I might as well have already been in the furnace.
I closed my eyes.
Just a few minutes later, they would all come down. I would probably hear somone ask where I was. They might've even looked for me. But sooner or later, it would've started. They would've pushed that level and me and dad would've gone on our merry way.
To disappear.
It would've been, in a sense, our last trip together.
A flash of a fishing trip we took together years ago appeared before my eyes.
"I'm sorry, dad." I whispered. I was finally ready for the darkness to engulf me.
When, suddenly:
"What are you doing?"
It almost gave me a heart attack.
I was the only person alive in that coffin. Fact. Yet, I heard a voice. A male voice. It was quiet and raspy. Tired. Male. It came from behind me. Whispered into my ear.
I started to shake.
"Wh... Who..." I slowly turned my head.
In that darkness, in that little box - I saw him. I saw his eyes.I saw his pale face. He was looking right at me.
"Da... Da...?"
Before I could even finish calling out to him, those dead eyes lit up with a fury that I only remembered seeing on those nights when he used to just get angry at one of us for no reason.
It seemed to me as if he'd lunged at me. In reality, all he did was lift his hands and place them around my neck.
They weren't cold.
"Urk!" In an instant, what little air I had had in my lungs disappeared. His hands were big and strong. Just as I'd remembered them. All too familiar.
"Get away from my wife!" he yelled at me. No sign of understanding or humanity left in his eyes. He was like a machine.
"Ur... St... H..." I wanted to scream. I couldn't. I was surprised I had enough strength to even let those few noises out.
"Get away from my wife, I said!"
My body began to convulse violently. I knew there was no fighting against him. He was too strong. I had to find another way out.
The lid was too heavy at that point for some reason, and I couldn't turn around to push it open with my legs. I shook left and right, punching the sides of the coffin. My vision, already quite impaired, was getting blurry.
"Give me back my wife!"
I began hitting the far end of the coffin with my feet. Then went back to the punching.
"Give her back, you fucking weirdo!"
Instead of punching, I decided to try to press my hands against the opposite ends of the coffin and pushed. First in one direction, then the other. Like a little turtle trying to get off its back.
"I said, get away!" his grasp was getting even tighter.
Just like a turtle, I wanted to be back on my feet. I wanted to walk again.
"She's mine! Mine!" Even tighter.
I wanted to breathe.
"MINE!"
I wanted to live again.
/
Crash.
The world was spinning. But it wasn't as dark, at least.
There was somebody on my back. Someone heavy. I didn't mind, though. They weren't moving. I knew who it was, but I'd forgotten it at that point. It wasn't as hot anymore, either. The floor was nice and cold. I knew my face was red.
"Wh... What the hell are you doing?!" I heard a voice.
And I looked up.
And I saw my mother, my brother, my sister, my aunts, my nephew, my cousins.
And I smiled.
And I passed out.
/
They cremated him the following day without any further incident.
THE END