A Reflection of Death

It’s odd: I barely knew zir, but I still recall the moments Quinn and I met with a warmth in my chest. Logically, I know that doesn’t make any sense. We’ve only met a handful of times. But, no. When it comes down to it, ze will always be with me.

The first time we met was at a graveyard. My grandmother had just died—finally lost her battle with cancer—and her loved ones were paying our final respects.

I remember staring at the newly upturned earth, refusing to believe this was reality. She was alive just the other day. I saw her. She was breathing, just last Thursday. But now, her body was stiff and cold, trapped in a box underneath a pile of dirt.

When I looked up, I saw zir. Ze was standing far off to the side, leaning against a bare tree. Zir black dress was fluttering in the wind; ze had on black ankle boots with silver chains slung across it, a black choker with a dangling gold pentagram charm, and a rainbow skull bracelet on zir left wrist. Ze wasn’t interacting with anyone—I was pretty sure ze wasn’t part of the service, though grandma did always keep weird friends. Ze was just… watching. As if this was some kind of show.

Obviously, I had to talk to zir.

My initial thought was correct: ze wasn’t part of the service, and didn’t know the deceased nor anyone there. Ze did this a lot, apparently. “I find death interesting,” I remember zir saying. “It’s the final state—the only real constant. It’s a given we’re going to die. We all know it, and yet we fear it. But it’s nothing to be scared of—we’re just moving to a different state of being. Don’t you find that fascinating?”

Something in the back of my mind screamed I should be angry. This was my grandmother ze was so cavalier about! But I just… wasn’t. Instead, I pointed out that once you die, you stop being.

“Oh, I disagree. The corpse is still there, isn’t it? Even if she’s frozen, that’s still your grandmother, right?” Zir tone wasn’t patronizing, just matter of fact. I couldn’t decide if that was worse. “Besides, we don’t actually know what happens. Only the dead do. For all we know, there can be some afterlife where we continue to be.”

I asked if ze believed in an afterlife, to which ze shrugged. “I don’t particularly care one way or another; I’ll figure it out eventually. Until then, it’ll be a mystery. I’ve always liked a good mystery.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. How do you even respond to something like that?

I eventually settled for a simple, “You should go”.

It was hard to tell with zir shaggy electric blue hair covering zir face, but ze almost looked taken aback. Immediately I wanted to apologize, but I held my ground. For some reason, I didn’t want zir to have the upper hand.

But the upper hand in what? We were just talking.

Ze gave a low curtsy and walked off in the direction of the road. I was sure I would never see zir again.

But of course, I was mistaken, for the next time I saw zir was two weeks later at a train station. The air was changing from chilly to crisp. I wasn’t ready to return to the real world yet, but life never cares about if you’re ready, now does it? Besides, there were bills to pay, so being whooshed away to my soul-sucking office job it was.

Just as I spotted the train in the distance, ze walked up to me.

“We didn’t finish our conversation the last time we met.”

I told zir I didn’t think there was anything left to say, to which ze laughed. Ze told me zir name was Quinn. Ze lived in some nearby country town called Fox Lake and was studying cosmetics at a local university (though I’ve since then wondered if that was a lie, for Quinn never specified which university it was).

And ze watched funerals like some kind of freak.

“I told you before: I think death is interesting.” Getting onto the train, I asked why ze believed I, too, was fascinated by it.

“I don’t,” Quinn said, sitting down next to me despite my disapproving glare. “I’m gonna try to convince you.”

I would say this baffled me, but that would be a severe understatement. Why me, out of all the people in this godforsaken world?

Ze shrugged. “You were the only person to talk to me at all the funerals I observed.”

I think I rolled my eyes at that, but I can’t remember enough of my tiny mannerisms to say for sure. Fine, I decided. I’ll humor zir. Quinn obviously wasn’t going to let this drop, and I had time to kill before work. What was so great about death, anyways?

“I never said it was great; I just said it was interesting. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s great. Can’t really communicate with the dead, now can you? There’s a barrier between them and the living,” ze leaned forward, resting zir head in zir hands. “It’s kind of unfair, when you think about it.”

Well, I suppose ze did have a point.

But why be interested in something like that?

Ze huffed and crossed zir arms over zir chest. “I feel like you weren’t listening at all during the funeral.”

I assured zir I was listening. I was just confused. Ze was kind of all over the place. Quinn twisted zir mouth as ze contemplated this. “I suppose I have. No one’s been willing to listen to my ideas, so it’s hard to get them all organized.”

Apparently forgetting we were on public transportation, zir pulled zir legs up to zir chest and turned to face me. Some people gave zir—and me, since I was guilty by association—dirty looks. Did Quinn not care about what others would think?

Probably not, what with unnaturally coloured hair constantly covering zir eyes, makeup giving zir the face of a raccoon, and clothing probably stolen off a Hot Topic mannequin.

“Look, I’m never happy when someone dies. They aren’t in my life the same way anymore. It’s sad, sure. I’d give anything to hear my dad badly sing show tunes in the morning. But that’s not going to happen. He’s dead.”

I mumbled something about being sorry for zir loss. Out of all the things ze could have said, that was definitely not what I was expecting. Ze waved zir hand in front of zir face. “Don’t be. Like I said, he’s still here. But it’s different. I can talk to him still; he just won’t respond.”

Evidently something about my facial expression put Quinn off, for zir narrowed zir eyes and said, “Alright, fine. I’m talking to his grave. To his body. To his corpse. Are you always so cynical?”

I realised I was being insensitive about zir dead father—nowhere near as insensitive as ze was about my recently deceased grandmother, mind you. Still, I apologized. Quinn relaxed after that.

“But even if it’s sad, I think it’s fascinating. Beautiful, even.” I know for a fact I rolled my eyes upon hearing that—who wouldn’t just after losing a loved one? “No, I mean it. Passing from one state to the next? Not being able to return? Being final and eternal? It’s beautiful!”

How much longer until my stop, I idly wondered.

Quinn huffed again. “Alright, fine. Since you’re so sure of everything: what about literature? All those poems written about death? Donne, Keats, Dickenson, Poe!” Ze talked a lot with zir hands; I was nearly smacked across the face with zir exaggerated movements. “They all wrote such bewitching poetry involving death! You have to at least agree with that!”

I was never the one for poetry. Or reading in general, really. But it was the poetry that was apparently pretty, not the subject itself.

“But they’re poems about death! If death didn’t exist, there would be no subject matter! The poems wouldn’t have been written without it!” Which is obviously a ridiculous argument. They would have found something else to romanticize.

I remember distinctly how quickly zir face screwed up with rage and how it disappeared in a second. Expecting more of a fight or for zir to storm off at the next stop, I was surprised when ze calmly pulled out zir phone. After a few minutes, ze showed me a painting of a pasty woman lying in a lake surrounded by vivid green vegetation. I looked up at zir, only to be met with expectant eyes. “Well?” Well what? “You think this is beautiful, right?”

I looked back at the painting. Sure, the technique was impressive—the plants especially. But… It was a woman drowning. How could that be beautiful?

Quinn looked at the painting. Zir face became soft, as if ze was walking through a dream. Finally, ze said, “She looks so peaceful, doesn’t she?”

Well, she certainly wasn’t distraught by her situation.

“Ophelia—that’s who the woman is. Y’know, from that old play? Anyways, Ophelia knows she’s going to die—there’s no way she doesn’t. I don’t buy the whole ‘she’s too insane to understand her situation’ thing. Only people who never experienced mental illness say that. She knows what’s going on, and she just accepts it. And she’s singing, too! She knows she can’t get out of her situation, so she just tries to make the most out of her final moments.”

I pointed out that she could just swim over to the land and pull herself out. Quinn’s face fell. “Yeah, I suppose she could.”

Ze returned to a normal sitting position. “It was nice talking to you.”

The train came to a stop, and ze stood up. “Really. We should do it again sometime.” Ze never once looked back.

I contemplated our conversation practically nonstop. I wouldn’t say Quinn changed my mind—far from it, in fact. But zir ideas were intriguing, at least. When it came to art, I could almost see where ze was coming from.

Almost.

I could never quite get my head around it. I suppose I didn’t need to though. We all see the world in a different way. Who was I to judge someone for thinking macabre was beautiful?

Though, I’m sure you’d agree it’s fair to judge zir for attending a funeral as a form of entertainment.

I saw zir again about a week later at a used bookstore. I can’t remember why I was there exactly; I think my friend’s birthday was coming up and I was looking for a gift, but there’s a lot of things I’m unsure of these days. As I said before, I’ve never been one for reading, so it wasn’t for myself.

I was browsing the shelves when I spotted something electric blue out of the corner of my eye gliding by.

Admittedly, I threw myself against the shelf, hoping ze didn’t see me. But ze walked right past me.

I stood pressed up against the shelf probably longer than necessary, acquiring odd looks from others in the aisle. After a moment, my body relaxed and I crept around the corner. I wanted to make sure it was Quinn and that I wasn’t just seeing things. When I couldn’t see zir, I slowly returned to the shelf I was inspecting before.

“Hi!”

Now, believe me when I tell you this: I did not shriek. Not at all.

Instead, I calmly asked what ze was doing here.

“It’s a bookshop. I like books. What are you doing here? I thought you had no soul or something?”

I told zir the reason I was there, then asked if ze was going to bombard me with goth propaganda again.

“Nah, not today. I don’t really feel like it now.”

I tried to hide my confusion. I’m not sure if I succeeded or if ze just pretended not to notice.

“Do you need help picking out a book? ‘Cause… don’t be offended by this, but you seem like you’re out of your depth.”

If ze wasn’t correct, I would have said no. But I have to admit ze was right. I told zir about my friend (the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that’s the reason I was there). The next thing I remember is being guided to the back where the plays were. Ze searched for something for a few moments, then pulled something off the shelf with a triumphant “Ah-ha!”, and handed it to me.

It was a copy of Hamlet. I thought there wasn’t going to be goth propaganda today.

“Jesus Christ,” ze mumbled, crossing zir arms in the typical Quinn fashion. “I’m trying to help you here! You said your friend likes Shakespeare, right? There’s not a person alive who doesn’t like Hamlet!”

I remember reading the play in high school, but it never caught my interest. I wasn’t a particularly huge fan of how everyone died at the end. It was too gloomy for me.

Quinn shrugged. “Y’know what? I can respect that. Your friend will probably appreciate this though.”

Ze was probably right, though I was feeling a little iffy about zir intentions.

When I expected Quinn’s temper to flare, ze just laughed. “Honesty, I can’t blame ya. Feel like you’d enjoy Midsummer’s Night Dream or Much Ado About Nothing. Those don’t end in tragedy. What if I showed you my favorite part? Will that change your mind?”

Honestly, I couldn’t see how that would work, but ze seemed excited, so I handed the play over. Ze flipped through until ze found it. I anticipated zir handing the play back or reading it aloud quietly where we stood.

I did not expect for zir to grab my wrist and drag me to the front of the store.

Nor did I expect for zir to climb on top of the counter.

“To be, or not to be? That is the question,” ze bellowed, swinging zir arm out wide for emphasis.

Of course it was a section about death. Why wouldn’t it be?

I don’t know how horrified I looked, but it must have been obvious because the cashier—who was still behind the desk—said something along the lines of not to worry, ze does this all the time. I didn’t check to see how many people were staring at zir, but I’m sure it was everyone. Why did ze always have to always cause a scene?

Covering my face from embarrassment (you would be too, don’t lie), I told Quinn I’d do anything to make zir stop, to which made zir pout.

“I thought you wanted to hear me?”

Not like this! Not with everyone staring at us!

“It’s only me, really. No one’s paying attention to you.”

This didn’t stop my embarrassment whatsoever. I told zir I’ll buy the play if ze stops.

“I didn’t mean to make you so self-conscious. Glad it convinced you, though,” ze laughed. Ze jumped down from the counter and stumbled into me.

What kind of monster do you think I am? Of course I asked if ze was alright!

Ze replied, “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just… just kinda dizzy. Can we sit down for a minute?”

I led zir to the window where there were chairs. “Thank you. That happens sometimes. I’ll be fine in a little bit.”

I wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere (I seem to recall it being a weekend), so I decided to stay until Quinn felt better. Ze eventually caught zir breath—I didn’t notice ze was having trouble until then. Ze straightened up and looked me in the eyes. “So, can I interest you in a conversation about death?”

I groaned, to which ze laughed. “I’m only kidding. Just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Quinn still seemed a little out of it, so I decided to make small talk and ask about zir shirt—it was something definitely from Hot Topic: black with red lips in the center. The lips had fangs dripping with blood. Above it said “Gossamer”, also stylized to look like blood. Why was there so much blood on one shirt?

“Oh, this? It’s my favorite band. Helped me through a lot,” ze said, looking me over. “You don’t look like you’re in the alternative scene. It’s a goth band. Been around since the early 2000s, but they don’t get much radio play except on underground stations. Makes sense you’d never heard of them.”

I probably asked something along the lines of do they sing about death, to which ze responded, “Yeah, sometimes. But they sing about other things too, like mental illness and politics. They have a song about rabbits too, and it’s surprisingly cheerful. There’s a little bit of everything, really. I would recommend them to you, but I have a feeling they’re not your style.”

Yeah, probably not.

The bunny song sounded kind of interesting though.

Zir laugh echoed through the room. Up until that point, I never realised zir face completely lit up when ze smiled.

“Thank you for waiting with me. I feel better now.” Ze stood up. “I have somewhere I need to be soon… before I go, can I show you something?”

Well, I followed zir again to the play section, of course. What else was ze going to do, embarrass me more? That… wasn’t unreasonable. Ze pulled out another play and handed it to me. “Antigone is absolutely brilliant.”

I know I asked if it was about death; ze said, “Yes, but it’s about other things, too. It’s more focused on the dichotomy of masculinity and femininity as well as ideas associated with it than anything else. Really makes you question existence. Give it a try, you might like it.”

Honestly, I don’t know why I listened to zir, but I bought both plays. I’m guessing my friend liked the gift, because I don’t remember them being disappointed or anything.

And I read Antigone.

It definitely wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever read, but I’ll admit I enjoyed it. It never occurred to me how many things are deemed lesser than because there’s some association with the feminine, but even now I can’t not see it.

I didn’t notice there was a hierarchy with life and death, either. To this day, I’m still not sure what I think about death and the afterlife. But I can say I’m not a fan of opposing the two. Why can’t they both be important? Are they really opposites in the first place?

Obviously Quinn was starting to get to me. The more I thought about it, the less irritating zir and all zir ideas were. I don’t think I’ll ever find the latter “interesting”, per say. But I suppose Quinn had a point about some of it.

Besides, when you take zir away from the funeral scene, ze could be pretty nice. Strange, no doubt. But those aren’t mutually exclusive.

The last time I saw Quinn was a month later. I was walking home from the train station and decided to take a detour through the park—it was a nice day, after all. Brisk, but not frigid. A layer of snow covered the ground from the night before. I wanted to enjoy it. That might have been the first day I was feeling like myself since my grandma’s passing.

I spotted zir sitting on a bench sideways, knees brought up to zir chest. Upon closer inspection, I could see zir shaking.

Ze jumped when I sat down, but visibly relaxed upon noticing it was me. Eyeliner was running down zir face, only to be smudged more by zir wiping away tears. Zir whole body was shaking—it wasn’t until that moment I realised just how small ze really was. Quinn carried zirself with such confidence, always seeming bigger than… well, this person curled up into a ball crying on a bench.

Before I even said anything, ze threw zirself on me and wept.

Ze was dying.

“I’ve been sick for a while. Lung cancer. I always kinda knew I was going to die—I mean, how could I not? That’s why I became so… obsessed with it. To take away its power, be less afraid. But part of me had… hope, I guess,” ze sniffled, leaning back to look at me. Those eyes that once held mischief and intrigue now only held pain. Zir face scrunched up as more tears welled up. “I didn’t think it was going to be so soon.”

Yet again, Quinn left me speechless, so I pulled zir in for another hug.

I could barely hear zir whisper, “I don’t want to die,” before breaking into a sob occasionally interrupted with coughing fits.

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but it was dark by the time I got home. I didn’t get any sleep that night—not that I was getting much to begin with, of course. All I could think about was Quinn. Out of all the people in the world, why the fuck did it have to be zir?

Not that I really knew Quinn. I just had… four conversations with zir. Was it really so few? I could have sworn… it felt like an eternity ago since I met zir. But no, it was about two months.

For some reason, I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, even as I stared down at zir grave. I didn’t hear from Quinn in zir final months. Suppose that’s the problem with only ever meeting by accident—Quinn lived in that little country town and only came to the city for class, bookshops, and chemotherapy. Zir mom somehow was able to hunt me down and deliver the news. Apparently ze talked about me at home. That knowledge is somehow bittersweet.

I can’t remember the service, nor who was even there. I think it was sunny, but I can’t be sure of it. I just remember the coffin in front of the church. How could some over-glorified box hold someone so full of life?

Because, even with zir “obsession”, as ze called it, Quinn was the most alive person I ever met.

I wonder what ze would think about me saying that.