Ahead By A Century

I looked on from the back of the room next to the exit and twirled my unlit cigarette between my thumb and forefinger. It was a pathetic scene. There were at least a couple of dozen chairs, but only seven people in the room, including her. The two of us were the only ones not crying. Like I said, I was in the back just surveying the scene. She was layed out in the front. Her face was a little more pale than usual, but her hair looked darker than it used to. I guess that’s because it wasn’t her real hair. Oh, and she was wearing her favorite blue dress, the one she always wore when we went out.

Look, I know this sounds horrible, but I was happy that she died. Really, I am. I know what you are going to say, but here’s why:

1.) I never wanted to marry her. I was sort of forced into the whole thing.

2.) After the thing that forced me to marry her didn’t work out, she got depressed and just moped around chainsmoking all day.

3.) When she got depressed, she stopped having sex with me.

Well, technically, I stopped having sex with her. But it was her fault. She gained some weight and I just couldn’t do it, if you know what I mean. It was like she stopped trying.

This woman, the only person sitting in the front row, stood up and walked back to where I was standing. She had orange hair that stood on top of her head like a beehive and she wore this ugly purple dress. When she reached me, I noticed that her eyes were puffy and her mascera had run down her face. So, she must have been a good friend. But I don’t remember ever meeting her. She obviously knew me, though. As she began to speak to me I slipped my cigarette behind my ear.

“How are you holding up?” She asked.

“Oh, I am doing pretty good! How are you?” I beamed at her, hoping my smile would cover up the fact that I had no idea who she was.

She lowered her eyebrows, scrunched up her nose, and kind of moved her head backward behind her shoulders.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I mean, I am dying to smoke this right now,” I took my cigarette out from behind my ear. “But other than that, I am fine.”

“Oh. I just figured that you would, well, I know when my husband died, it was very difficult for me. I needed a long time to get over his death.”

“Oh, right. Say, how much longer do you think this thing is going to last?” I asked as I put the cigarette between my lips.

“Um, I don’t know. It only just started. So, it will probably be a while.”

“Oh. Yeah, you’re right. Would it be rude if I stepped out for a moment?”

“No. Well, just— are you really going to smoke that?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, isn’t that what killed her? Your wife, I mean. Didn’t smoking, you know— Didn’t she have cancer?”

“Oh yeah. That might be in poor taste. I guess I can wait until later.”

“Yeah it might. I—um— I am going to go sit back down.”

“Okay.”

I watched the beehive lady shuffle back to her seat and I began to wonder how these people could stand being in that room. There was nothing on the walls to look at. There was no television. There wasn’t anything. Some of the people had stopped crying and started talking to each other in hushed tones. I just leaned on the wall and watched.

I pulled out my lighter and spun the metal wheel with my thumb. Then I put the cigarette back behind my ear and lit my lighter. I passed my palm slightly above the flame and then let it go out. I did it a few more times, each time bringing my palm closer to the flame. I couldn’t really feel the heat off the flame. Well, that’s not true. I knew it was there and I could feel it. It just didn’t feel the way I thought a flame would. It was cold. As I held my hand over the flame, an old man I didn’t recognize walked over to me. He held a cane in his hand, but from what I could tell, it didn’t look like he needed it.

“We never did get to know each other well. But she liked you,” he said, “And if she liked you, then that is all I can ask for I guess. I’m here for you if you need anything.”

“What? Oh, sorry. Thanks. I think my lighter’s broke.”

“What?”

“My lighter. The flame comes out, but it’s not hot. Weird right?”

“What are you—”

“Here. I’ll show you,” I said and I pressed down on the lever and moved the flame over to his hand.

“Ow! What the hell do you think you are doing?!” He pulled his hand away and shook it.

“That’s weird. I guess you fixed it.”

As he walked away I turned over my hand and looked at my palm. It was pink and had a couple of small blisters on it. So, I decided I should find a different way to pass the time. I looked around to no avail. The walls were still empty and white. So was the ceiling. The casket sat in the front of the room, but it was boring too. Just plain and brown. There weren’t even any flowers and there wasn’t even any pictures of her next to it.

It turns out that I didn’t need to find something to do because the old guy with a cane found something for me to do. His cane flopped about in front of him as he walked up next to the casket and cleared his throat.

“I just want to say a few words,” he said.

 “No parent ever thinks they will outlive their daughter. I can’t really describe how I feel right now, but that’s not what I want to talk about. My daughter was the strongest woman I ever knew. She went through so many difficulties. But through it all she had a good attitude, even right up to the very end. And although her life was shortened by her sickness, I know that she was happy with the way she lived it. She always tried to help those less fortunate than her and she always made the most with what she had. I know that right now, she is up in heaven wishing that we would stop being so sad for her. That’s all she ever wanted: for those around her to be happy. So, let’s try to remember that.”

“Now, I am sure that her husband, Jack, would like to say something to you all. Jack?”

I put the cigarette in my mouth and lit it. Then I walked out the door and didn’t look back.

            Jimmy woke up and wiped the sweat off his forehead with an unsteady hand. He rolled off the couch and looked across the room at the clock on the wall. It was analog, not digital, and when Jimmy saw it, he cursed under his breath.

            He ran to the bathroom sink and splashed some water in his face. His pale, dripping face reflected in the mirror. Without even bothering to dry off, he grabbed a small, white plastic box and briefcase and hurried outside to his van. The van was orange, but not like the fruit. It looked more like it was covered in old wallpaper and it made this piercing, high-pitched squeal whenever anyone tried to start it, which Jimmy was trying to do. He turned the key and winced. With his free hand, he punched the dashboard and the car came to.

            As he drove along Pearl Street, he opened the small rectangular box on his lap. Inside was a yellow sponge, two colors of face paint, and a small red sphere made out of foam. He picked up the sponge and looked at the cup holder. It held an empty beer can. Without any hesitation, Jimmy began to spit on the yellow sponge.

            When the sponge was sufficiently soaked in Jimmy’s saliva, he dipped it in the white paint and began to spread it on his face. Every few seconds, he would take his eyes off the road and glance at the rearview mirror to check his progress. Each time he looked, his face grew a little bit paler and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up.

            He turned left on Water Street and he noticed that the van seemed smaller than it had a few minutes ago. His face was covered with white paint now, but his sponge was too dry to start putting on the red. He tried to spit, but his mouth was dry. This time, again without any hesitation at all, he took the now white sponge and, reaching inside the collar of his shirt, he shoved it firmly in between his arm and his rib cage. He clenched his arm to his side and continued to drive, being careful to avoid looking into the rearview mirror.

            Skidding right onto East Cliff Drive, he removed the slightly moist sponge from his armpit. It was yellow again and it smelled like—well, it smelled like Jimmy’s sweaty armpit. He let his foot push a little harder on the accelerator as he applied the red paint to the area around his mouth. His eyes continued to check his progress in the mirror every few seconds and then they would quickly move their focus back to the road. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow and the steering wheel became sticky against his palm.

            Jimmy was just finishing painting the area around his eyes when he heard a rattling sound in the back of the van. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and held his breath. He opened his eyes when a car sped by honking at him and he looked up into the rearview mirror. The van was empty.

            He looked at the clock in the display of the van and cursed again, but he was thankful to see Oak Street up ahead. His face would be finished once he put on his nose. He veered left on to Oak Street. As he grabbed the nose out of the white box, Jimmy heard the rattling noise behind him again. He put on his nose and looked up into the mirror.

            He did not see himself looking back. Instead, he saw a pale-faced monster with jagged yellow teeth and fiery eyes. Its mouth was dripping blood and a black forked tongue quickly flicked in and out.

            Jimmy slammed on the brakes and the monster disappeared behind him. He took his keys out of the ignition and got out of the car in the middle of the street. He walked to the sliding door on the side of the van. One hand gripped the handle while the other held his keys between his fingers like spears. He opened the door and blindly plunged his keys forward. When he opened his eyes, he saw that his seat cushion had a few new holes in it and there was definitely no monster.

            Jimmy sat down in the opening of the side door with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. His sweat was causing his face paint to run. Instead of a white face with a red mouth and eyes, his entire face was just pink. His heart was still skipping a few beats as he let out a long sigh.

            “I need a new job,” he said.

            And he stood up and walked back the way he came.

In response to the only person who still reads this thing*, this blog has not died. It is just hibernating. Mostly because of this, but also because of this.

Training for the marathon has taken up a lot of my free time lately and I have had a ridiculous amount of work this semester. Any free time I get to write something, I either write for the Charity Marathon blog or I work on short stories for my creative writing class.

But fear not! This place is going to come back with a vengeance. And it is going to be a lot different. You will see. There are big changes in the works. Once life starts to slow down a bit in the middle of May, I am going to start this site back up, but with a new focus. You’ll see.

*This isn’t quite true. For some reason, even when I post nothing new for months at a time, I still average about 30-40 visits every month. It’s not much and I doubt most of the people who come here actually read anything I write, but I think it’s interesting.

(Jimmy and Benjamin are standing right outside the bathroom of their apartment. Jimmy just came out of the bathroom and closed the door.)

Jimmy: So, now what do we do?

Benjamin: I don’t fucking know. And who said anything about “we?” You are the one who killed her! I had nothing to do with this, this, this, mess. This is all on you, man. I am just an innocent bystander. Innocent, that’s what I am. Innocent. Not like you.

Jimmy: Innocent? Innocent?! You told me to kill her! This was all your idea! I did this for you and now you are leaving me out to dry. Some friend you are.

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