Mamma has always had
a love for other people’s possessions, Delilah thought. Because of it, she decided in the end that she wouldn’t mind being buried in Aunt Rosie’s best dress, though she might have minded Aunt Rosie telling everybody in the funeral home about it. It wasn’t like Mamma didn’t have any good dresses, it was just that Rosie had a big mouth and a high opinion of her taste in clothing and Delilah didn’t
feel like standing up to it. Not after everything that had happened.
#
Bessie sat next to the window hoping
to get a breath of fresh air. She imagined she smelled the
scent of decaying flesh and she cracked the window despite
it being ten below outside. She watched her husband across
the room. He was leaning deep into the cleavage of her niece,
Gwen, the ‘dancer’ in Las Vegas. Morris was hoping she’d give him something, but according to what Laverne told her, Morris wouldn’t
be able to afford it if she did.
#
Bobby knew a funeral was not the best
place for this, but time was running out. “Please,” he begged,
pushing his hand under her pink jersey. He could feel the half
a handful of teenage breast locked inside the conservative
bra likely bought by her mother from the chubby girls section
of the Sears catalogue.
Justine wiggled away from Bobby’s worm-like hand. “I don’t think this is right. This is Aunt Petunia’s funeral. Besides you’re my second cousin. It’s
just not right.”
Bobby pushed the tank of disinfectant
to the side to make more room to sit . “We’ve been through all of this before. Second cousins don’t matter. What matters is that I get to third base before next week. You promised and I expect you to keep that promise.” He
put on a serious face, like a lawyer trying to convince his
client to take the plea bargain.
Justine looked around the storeroom and
wondered if there were any dead body parts stored in those
unmarked tins on the top shelf. “Oh, okay,” she gave in and
let the worming continue.
#
Delilah moved closer to the open casket.
She wondered if anyone had noticed the slight bruising around
Mamma’s neck. It hadn’t been mentioned, so Delilah thought not. Despite what Oprah and her cohorts might preach, the truth is not always the best thing. In this case, the truth would not set Delilah free and, more then likely, it would make her very un-free for many, many years. She knew in her heart that strangling her mother was wrong, but somehow with the whole picture in place, it took on a shine of almost okay. Delilah thought in a few years, it might even turn around to be a good thing. Today though, it still sat firmly in ‘bad, but explainable’.
Certainly not an act worthy of jail.
#
“Did you know that dress she be wearing, it’s mine. I wanted Petunia to be buried looking like a queen,” Rosie said to her sister, Bessie, who was panting into the open window crack. “You know, you shouldn’t open that window. The heat’ll
be just flying outta there. Anyway, I suppose these places
make a bundle.”
Bessie was not listening. Rosie, smelling
distinctly of three day old brussel sprouts, didn’t mind because most people didn’t listen to her and she’d gotten used to it. Bessie was looking around for Justine. A sick Justine would be exactly what she needed right now. She didn’t
know how much longer she could stand this.
#
Delilah sat down again, comforted that
the high neck on Rosie’s dress was covering the slight bruising on Mamma’s. She hadn’t meant to squeeze her neck so hard. If she would have just shut up, Delilah is sure none of them would be here right now. That was always her mother’s
greatest fault, never knowing when to keep quiet.
#
Bobby pushed Justine’s hands into his pants. “Hold it,” he
ordered.
Justine already had her pants open, her
new bra unsnapped and her jersey up over her head. She really
felt that she was putting in a good enough effort. “No. I won’t.”
“What do you mean you won’t ?” Bobby asked.
Third base was third base. He would be sixteen next week. He
was not going to be one of those boys who turned sixteen without
getting to third base.
“I’m done.” Justine stood up and pulled her pants over the flab of her stomach and buttoned them resolutely. “I’m done and I’m
going.”
Bobby leaned his head on the edge of a
vacuum cleaner and watched her leave. He thought maybe tomorrow
he’d try the girl with glasses and a slight overbite who lived down the street from him. He’d
heard a rumor she was easy.
#
It had been a day like so many before. Delilah woke up, got ready for work and came downstairs for breakfast. Mamma was at the table reading the mail and drinking coffee.
“Mornin’, Delilah,” she’d said over her
reading glasses.
Delilah took two donuts from the box and
poured a cup of coffee. She sat down across from her mother. “Mornin’, Mamma.” She picked up the newspaper from the middle of the table and started reading, hoping it would keep Mamma quiet. Delilah didn’t
want to talk. Her date the night before with Herman went terrible
and, after seven years, she thought he was going to break up
with her. All that investment down the drain. She was in no
mood for chit chat.
“Your cousin Berleen is gettin’ married.” Mamma tossed the wedding invite across the table at her. Delilah looked down at the gold lettering as if it were radioactive. “She younger than you. I’m thinkin’ now maybe you ain’t never gonna get married at all. You better just get used to that idea.” On any other day Delilah might have let that comment slide, she’d done it a thousand times before, but that morning something said—not
today.
#
Morris sat down next to Bessie on the
window ledge. “That Gwen is one stuck up girl. Just cause she’s some dancer up there in Las Vegas don’t mean her crap don’t
stink like the rest of us.”
Bessie turned toward the fresh air from
the window. Morris’s breath smelled like eggs. She wondered if menopause had some how made her a super smeller. She told herself to remember to look it up on the internet. “I
want to go.”
“We just got here. She was your sister, you can’t just run out.” Bessie knew he didn’t
care about that. He wanted his share of free grub and beer.
Bessie looked at Morris’s thin comb over and plaid shirt with striped tie and she couldn’t find a single piece of evidence that would explain why she was married to him. A wasteland of 27 years and not a ray of hope in sight. “I need another drink. At least Delilah had the sense to get an open bar in here.” He
and his eggy scent drifted off.
Delilah sat down next to Bessie on the
sill. “How ya doin’, Aunt Bessie?”
“I’m fine. Lots of people here seeing Petunia off. She’d be pleased.” Delilah
ate chocolate recently, Bessie could smell it on her skin.
“Yeah, she’d be happy.”
Bessie rubbed Delilah’s leg. “You holdin’ up
there, Honey?”
“I’m fine. There’s nothing we can do when God says it’s time to go.” Delilah was checking the water, seeing if there were any rumors that God’s hand had less to do with Mamma’s
going than hers had.
“That’s surely the case.” Bessie sometimes wished God would make up his mind on Morris. His arteries clogged within an inch of their life and his blood pressure so high she sometimes thought she heard the red stuff pumping in his veins. For years he’d
been like that, but he just kept keeping on. Merciful God,
Bessie thought, there was an amusing idea.
Delilah saw Herman across the room talking
to Uncle Morris. He’d been around the house every night since Mamma’s death trying to be a comfort the best way he could, mostly that meant falling asleep on the sofa in front of the TV. Delilah was happy about it, though. He’d even mentioned that maybe it was time they settled down. He had an epiphany after Mamma’s
death. It could have been because Delilah would be inheriting
the house and the tidy sum Mamma had holed away at the First
National Bank, but Delilah tried to think otherwise to give
him the benefit of the doubt.
Justine pulled one of the metal folding chairs from the corner and sat down with her mother and cousin at the window.
“Where have you been all this time? You look flushed, I think you’re sick.” Bessie put her hand to Justine’s
cool head searching for a fever.
Justine looked at Delilah. She wondered
how it would be if you were all alone in the world, your parents
dead, and she felt sorry for her. “You know, Dee, if you ever
want company over in that big house I could come by.”
“That’s sweet of you, Justine, but you must be busy with your friends and boy friends too, a pretty girl like you.” Delilah
gave Justine a wink.
Bessie looked at her daughter. Could she
be thinking about boys? She was just thirteen. She remembered
how excited she’d been about boys when she was young. Even Morris for that matter. God, how things changed. How she would love to be in that big, ugly house of Petunia’s all alone. Just herself. Doing every single thing she liked. Eating whatever she wanted. Free as a bird. Free as the wind. She’d
dance naked in the living room, sing opera on the dining room
table, jump right on top of the bedspread with her shoes on.
She envied Delilah. She envied her with every inch of her being.
“Ah, Delilah, I’m tired of boys. They’re boring,” Justine
said.
Delilah thought Justine was maybe too young to understand the importance of a man, any man. They defined a woman. An old maid was something no woman wanted to be. They were a societal joke. Thankfully, Delilah might just about be saved from that fate.
Bessie was checking Justine’s forehead again. “I think you’re
hot. We should go.”
“I feel fine Mom,” Justine said. “I was
thinking anyway, I might become a lesbian. It makes a lot of
sense to me.”
Bessie nodded her head. She had to agree. It really did make a lot more sense. Men were just too different. It was like forcing a zebra to live a lifetime with a lizard. There was no connection.
“Justine, you’re just talking nonsense now. Every woman wants a man, to get married.” Delilah
smiled at Herman in the corner. He was leaning on the catering
table, a bit of egg salad smudged on the sleeve of his blue
leisure suit.
Bobby passed by just then giving Justine
a dirty look to which she just smiled in response. She felt
free in her new decision. Bessie grabbed up her purse. The
smells in this room were driving her insane, she had to get
out of here. “Justine’s just burning up with fever. Burning
up. I think we best be going.”
Delilah nodded her head. “Yes, that might just be the problem. Delusional from fever. We’ll
see you at the church tomorrow, then.”
Bessie grabbed Justine’s hand, ordered Morris to get a ride
home with someone else, and they dashed out the door to freedom.
Delilah sat on the high stool next to Mamma and smiled down at
her. Everything was going to work out okay after all, she thought,
stroking Mamma’s
cold hand.
