The Voice of Reasoning

 

Now and then my shadow sits on my shoulders and reminds me of things that once were. His latest story, however, has been my favorite this far. He peered over my shoulder, and said:

You remember his funeral. The tiny Baptist church, with its white walls inside and out. You had never been in a place so powerful. The carpet was brown plush. It was cold outside. You think it may have been December. The church was stuffed full and sweltering hot. Hot with grief. Hot with failed expectations. Half of the attendees didn’t even have a place to sit. You remember being pushed against a wall. You were covered in sweat and my eyes were closed. You could barely see the room where his body lay and you never got to see it. His face stuffed of formaldehyde and ethanol. The thought of it made you feel like you were going to puke. But by the time he went his way, he was so filled with chemicals to keep him alive that what was the difference? You grappled with death. The way it grappled you: stood tall behind your shoulders. Its fingers coiled around your neck. The preacher’s eyes were dead set at you when he said he had to turn to God, “lest we face eternal damnation. He was looking right at you.

Do you remember that?

The ambulance had taken his grandmother away. She wouldn’t be there for his burial. It was the last time she saw you and you her.

Do you remember that?

            “Do you care for a cigarette or a glass of wine?” Your mother asked you. She had never approved of your smoking habits, but she understood that today was a special occasion. She could see how badly you needed it in how green you were. Your weak, bony fingers reached back until you felt the lightness in your hands. It was already lit.

Do you remember that?

            You tried so hard not to collapse. You breathed so heavy, in and out and in and out. You kept the car door open and spat on the dirt and gravel beneath you. The taste of the smoke reminded you of the days he came home late, reeking of nicotine. The sweat was drying on your skin and you pressed your palms into your eyes and made stars.

Do you remember that?

            Your fingers were sore because you had been biting them all during the service and the day before. Seeing the blood, however, made you angry because it reminded you of what was absent from his body.

Do you remember that?

            There were so many cars in the parking lot that people had boxed you in. You were trapped. You had to wait for every car in and front and next to you to go home so you could leave.

It was such a beautiful memory please don’t tell me you forgot.

Assorted Sketch by Byron Otis