been thinking about calling you all week. How’s Connie doing? Any change?”
There is a long, drawn-out silence on the other end of the line. “She never woke up, Lizzy. The funeral’s on Thursday.”
I can feel the top of my head blowing off as a whooshing sound explodes in my ears. I can’t breathe. “No. Oh, god.” I know I’m talking, but am not sure how. “Oh, god.” I’m doubling over now, my heart having slid down into my stomach.
The rest of the conversation is a blur. I know I say I’ll be there. That I’ll be on the first available flight. I try to find words of comfort before hanging up the phone, but have no idea what I’ve just said.
Joanna is taking the receiver from my grasp, wrapping her arms around me as I struggle to pull air into my lungs. “Fuck.”
“Oh, honey.” Joanna’s voice above the roar in my ears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Fuck.”
I curl up into the safety of Joanna’s embrace, letting her hold me and rock me and tell me that everything will be okay.
Chapter 8
The bruises have disappeared from Connie’s face. She is still swollen and puffy, but she’s more recognizable to me now than she was three weeks earlier. When she was in the hospital. When she was still alive.
Maybe it’s the makeup. Maybe they’ve covered up the bruises. I am morbidly curious but find that I can’t look at her for more than an instant at a time. My eyes dart to her forehead, noting that they’ve managed to cover the missing patch on the top of her head. And her hair, it’s back to its white-blond color. All traces of blood have been washed away.
I’ve watched Connie sleeping literally hundreds of times in the past. But I still think she looks odd without her glasses. Doesn’t anybody else notice? Shouldn’t she be wearing her glasses? I know that I’m being irrational. I know that it doesn’t matter whether or not she’s wearing her glasses. I know that she’ll never open her eyes again. But I must find something to focus on. Something to occupy my mind so that I don’t have to think anymore about death.
Wendy joins me beside the casket, and my eyes slide to meet hers. Red-rimmed. Her eyes are puffy, and no amount of makeup will hide this fact. She is no longer the proud, stoic woman I met three weeks ago. She is broken. Lost. I already spoke with her earlier in the evening, so I don’t speak now. Instead I conjure up a tiny smile, incline my head, and turn to leave her alone with her lover.
I look down at the carpet as I walk down the aisle to the back of the room and find an empty chair. From where I sit, I can see the back of everyŹone’s head as they bow and pray and wipe their eyes and grieve. This is the second time in two days that I have been to the funeral home and am almost past the initial shock of Connie’s death.
Now I find myself observing. Observing the oddities and idiosyncrasies of individual behavior that occur only under circumstances such as these. My own behavior, I must admit, included.
I have spoken with Connie’s mother, to Charlene, and to Wendy. I have seen and spoken with so many friends from the past that my mind and voice are exhausted. I’m overwhelmed but numb. Going through the motions. Watching the events that surround me as if I’m not really here.
Tomorrow is the funeral. Finally. I don’t think I can possibly take any more. Joanna says that what I’m experiencing is a normal reaction, but I’m not so sure. I’ve gone from feeling the gut-wrenching, soul-searing pain when I first got the news, to intense emptiness and regret, to my current state of cold, detached emptiness.
A loud sob reaches my ears from the front of the room. Wendy is crumbling now, and a small pain pierces my heart. Hyperventilation is threatening, so I step through the curtained doorway to my right and head for the lobby and the door that allows my escape. The spring air is brisk, and I breathe it in deeply, relishing it. Embracing it.
When I arrive back at
There is a long, drawn-out silence on the other end of the line. “She never woke up, Lizzy. The funeral’s on Thursday.”
I can feel the top of my head blowing off as a whooshing sound explodes in my ears. I can’t breathe. “No. Oh, god.” I know I’m talking, but am not sure how. “Oh, god.” I’m doubling over now, my heart having slid down into my stomach.
The rest of the conversation is a blur. I know I say I’ll be there. That I’ll be on the first available flight. I try to find words of comfort before hanging up the phone, but have no idea what I’ve just said.
Joanna is taking the receiver from my grasp, wrapping her arms around me as I struggle to pull air into my lungs. “Fuck.”
“Oh, honey.” Joanna’s voice above the roar in my ears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Fuck.”
I curl up into the safety of Joanna’s embrace, letting her hold me and rock me and tell me that everything will be okay.
Chapter 8
The bruises have disappeared from Connie’s face. She is still swollen and puffy, but she’s more recognizable to me now than she was three weeks earlier. When she was in the hospital. When she was still alive.
Maybe it’s the makeup. Maybe they’ve covered up the bruises. I am morbidly curious but find that I can’t look at her for more than an instant at a time. My eyes dart to her forehead, noting that they’ve managed to cover the missing patch on the top of her head. And her hair, it’s back to its white-blond color. All traces of blood have been washed away.
I’ve watched Connie sleeping literally hundreds of times in the past. But I still think she looks odd without her glasses. Doesn’t anybody else notice? Shouldn’t she be wearing her glasses? I know that I’m being irrational. I know that it doesn’t matter whether or not she’s wearing her glasses. I know that she’ll never open her eyes again. But I must find something to focus on. Something to occupy my mind so that I don’t have to think anymore about death.
Wendy joins me beside the casket, and my eyes slide to meet hers. Red-rimmed. Her eyes are puffy, and no amount of makeup will hide this fact. She is no longer the proud, stoic woman I met three weeks ago. She is broken. Lost. I already spoke with her earlier in the evening, so I don’t speak now. Instead I conjure up a tiny smile, incline my head, and turn to leave her alone with her lover.
I look down at the carpet as I walk down the aisle to the back of the room and find an empty chair. From where I sit, I can see the back of everyŹone’s head as they bow and pray and wipe their eyes and grieve. This is the second time in two days that I have been to the funeral home and am almost past the initial shock of Connie’s death.
Now I find myself observing. Observing the oddities and idiosyncrasies of individual behavior that occur only under circumstances such as these. My own behavior, I must admit, included.
I have spoken with Connie’s mother, to Charlene, and to Wendy. I have seen and spoken with so many friends from the past that my mind and voice are exhausted. I’m overwhelmed but numb. Going through the motions. Watching the events that surround me as if I’m not really here.
Tomorrow is the funeral. Finally. I don’t think I can possibly take any more. Joanna says that what I’m experiencing is a normal reaction, but I’m not so sure. I’ve gone from feeling the gut-wrenching, soul-searing pain when I first got the news, to intense emptiness and regret, to my current state of cold, detached emptiness.
A loud sob reaches my ears from the front of the room. Wendy is crumbling now, and a small pain pierces my heart. Hyperventilation is threatening, so I step through the curtained doorway to my right and head for the lobby and the door that allows my escape. The spring air is brisk, and I breathe it in deeply, relishing it. Embracing it.
When I arrive back at
Similar Books
