Life’s a Drag

The porch door was swinging, and she wasn’t getting up to shut it. The sun made her eyes ache and lit the skin like a match. Her body was flushed and puckered crimson while sweat pooled under armpits, leg and elbow ditches and beneath breasts. The grass had turned brown from being scorched from the Florida heat. There was no breeze and no chance of a rain storm, not even a light shower. Everyone had gone inside, the dog too, but she remained.

There was a roaring in her ears and static that fizzled across her arms; the kind you get when you’re scared. But she wasn’t frightened. She was confused, hurt, and angry. She wanted everything to stop. She wanted the birds to stop singing. She wanted the man mowing his lawn to go the hell inside. She could hear the guests in the house and cursed them all for the laughter that came from it.

It felt to her that everything had gone to shit. How could any of them be doing anything except for crying?

She wanted. She wanted. She wanted. The one thing that truly mattered, she knew, could never be again.

She sat with her legs tucked underneath her and her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to give herself a hug. Her eyes hadn’t fully opened since the day before. They were bloodshot and puffy with residue of cosmetics crusted in the corners.

Her grandmother’s front door opened, but she barely registered it. She was too focused on the emptiness crawling through her heart. Her family was hurting, but she couldn’t bring herself to go inside with the rest of the mourners. Truthfully she didn’t want to hear their memories. More than that she didn’t feel like listening to anyone else’s grief. Hers was already consuming.

Someone approached, and while they lowered themselves to sit next to her, she didn’t look to see who it was. She could smell them though. A perfume that only her cousin wore wafted up her nose. She’d always been envious of the scent on her cousin, because it didn’t mix well with her own pheromones. Now it made her want to gag. It smelled too light, too fresh, too new. It didn’t belong here where everything was dying.

Her cousin tried to hand her a bottle of water, but she didn’t take it. Her stomach was too upset to keep anything, including water down. She dry heaved most the morning, the bile still sitting in her esophagus turning into acid and making her heart burn. Her stomach protested anytime she thought about food or drinks. Wine, her favorite, had been offered earlier after the burial but that didn’t appeal to her.

Her cousin tentatively reached out, and when there was no objection began to rub her back. She lightly caressed her, twisting her fingers in circles, trying her best to soothe. They both let the fat drops of tears fall. Neither used a tissue or the back of their hands to dry them.

After the wet dried from their eyes, her cousin took her hand, and placed what felt like a cigarette in it. It wasn’t; instead it was rolled tan paper, something she hadn’t seen since they were teenagers. She wasn’t sure what kind of tolerance they would have after going so many years without partaking in the “devils lettuce”. Before she could really think about it her cousin handed her a lighter. She lit it, letting the smoke fill her lungs, and tried to remember she needed to exhale. She quickly passed it back, an ember falling on her skin, and her cousin drew a long drag. They both erupted into a coughing fit, and it was the first time since her mom died that she felt like smiling.