Forty-two Minutes Page 8

  My stomach churned.

  “Are you still with me?”

  I nodded.

  “After you do that, the fluid disperses throughout the body. Here’s another part that people don’t like. The only place the embalming fluid doesn’t reach is the abdomen.” Mr. Dennis touched his stomach with animation.

  “For these areas, we have to stick the body with a larger syringe, and we attach the syringe to a pump which pushes embalming fluid directly into the belly. And that’s how it gets to the places that can’t be reached,” he explained.

  “And the organs?”

  “You don’t have to take them out. I defer to the family on that one. The fluid is strong enough to preserve the abdomen and chest for some time. What you have to watch for is fumes. Some common symptoms are runny nose, watery eyes and your throat may burn. Make sure you’re always wearing your dressing, which is a full gown and mask at all times when working with the bodies. Oh, and another thing. After you make the first incision in the neck, stop for a second. And check again to make sure there are no signs of life. This is important. It doesn’t happen too often, but sometimes you might still have a live one,” he said with wide eyes.

  “Have you ever had a live one?” I asked with bated breath.

  Mr. Dennis cleared his throat and said, “enough of all that,” changing the subject. He opened a set of double doors to another room and welcomed me in with a grin. “I call this room The Stage because this is where all the magic happens.”

  The space was filled with long sinks around the perimeter. Three rectangular counters were in the middle of the room where the bodies lie. The room had no windows and reminded me more of a torture room than a stage.

  Walking throughout the space, Mr. Dennis led me to a large chamber built into the wall and banged on the side. “Now this, this here is Shelby. Shelby has been humming along with us for the last ten years. She’s an older model incinerator. The places down the street have the nicest, newest model, but old Shelby here just keeps ticking along. No need to replace her when there’s nothing wrong. Sure, she takes a little longer to burn, but the bodies don’t like to transition too fast, anyway. Here at Dennis and Son’s we give them all the time they need.”

  Mr. Dennis opened another door, and this one led us up a flight of stairs back to the front room.

  Something came over me and I blurted everything I was thinking. I told Mr. Dennis I was looking for a new job—a better job that helped pay the bills and helped my dad keep food on the table. Putting up with Tyson and the cold, dead bodies was a job I would do with honor. I welcomed the quietness.

  “So, Ms. Lewis, what say you? Fifteen dollars per hour?”

  “Fifteen dollars per hour? The listing said $12.50?”

  “You’ve made it to the end of the tour. Few people do. I have a good feeling about you,” he gave a sheepish grin.

  “One last thing, Ms. Lewis. The state law says you have to be eighteen to work as a funeral assistant and you have to be licensed. I have a buddy who can make you an ID and a license. Is that an issue for you?”

  I paused. I knew where he was getting. A few students at school had been working part-time jobs since they were fourteen because they knew a guy who knew a guy, who could make a legal identification card. This was a creepy ass place. Goosebumps raised on my arms as we moved from the room. But it piqued my interest and so did that $15.00.

  “You have a deal,” I said to Mr. Dennis, returning his handshake.

  “Yes, ma’am! Meet me here next Saturday at 6 a. m., and we’ll get started.”

  CHAPTER 8

  I was starving. Ishoved two honey buns in my mouth, putting them together to make a sandwich. There was no breakfast this morning; I woke up early to take Dad to work. His car stalled, and we had to take Ez’s. As much as I drove The Bus and Ez used the canoe, maybe I should just ask him for it; it would help so much.

  “Look at that ass,” I heard from a table across the cafeteria. I watched Jaxon with his friends holding up his phone watching a video, and their laughs echoed through the room. Groaning to myself, my thoughts turned to me shadowing him in a few days and I was not looking forward to it. I searched through college admissions books and the only thing that even sounded like me was the communications major. They required a press kit with their application, and last night I was up late putting mine together. I included articles I wrote the past two years, some of my best features in the Tunica Rivers Times, and even a poetry contest I won freshman year. Poetry wasn’t my favorite, but it was the first thing I wrote after Mom went away. A letter of recommendation from Mrs. Green would really send my application over the top.

  Mila slammed her lunch tray next to mine and squinted at me eating.

  “Have you seen Will?”

  I took a long swig of my iced tea and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “He texted and said he was skipping lunch; something about a project with Trina.”

  “Trina?”

  I stopped chewing and glanced up. “Yes… Trina.”

  Mila sighed and pushed the corn around on her plate with her plastic fork.

  “What’s up with you?” I bit into my chicken sandwich.

  Mila had been quiet since the party with JT. I thought about the rage I felt towards him. Mila was acting crazy for JT while he peacocked himself and poked fun at her.

  It drove me crazy.

  “I don’t know, girl. JT won’t talk to me; he says you went all Carrie on him.”

  I almost choked on my bread.

  “Fuck him!”

  “No—not like that,” she shook her head. “He wasn’t serious. We got together that night and I just don’t feel right about it.”

  Mila wanted me to like whomever she dated, but I rarely found things in them to like.

  “But you were drunk that night? And when did y’all hook up? After Will dropped you off at home?”

  Mila shrank into her seat and looked away.

  “I kissed Will too.”

  “When? I thought you were done with that!” I slapped my hands together.

  “I was drinking, and he was driving me home, and he was ranting about you and Malachi, and I leaned over and tried to kiss him. I put my hand on him.”

  “He was ranting about me and Malachi? You put your hands on him?”

  “Are you a recorder—yes, that’s what I said.” Mila rolled her eyes.

  “And then what happened?” I stopped chewing.

  “He doesn’t want me. He… he pulled away. I went home and texted JT.”

  “And?”

  “I snuck JT in. He was gone before my mom woke up.”

  My stomach turned. Mila’s shapely body got her a lot of attention, but she used it to throw herself at guys. The fact that she snuck JT into her house said a lot.

  Mila lives with her mom in an older double-wide widow trailer. That’s what Mila calls it. A widow trailer.

  “A widow?” I had pressed.

  “There’s no happiness there,” she scoffed. She left it at that and so did I.

  I had no issues with her house; Ms. Janet had it hooked up inside but no matter how nice it was, Mila always sorely said, “but it’s still a trailer.” She didn’t like for people to visit, she preferred going to their house. If she snuck JT into her house, she was surely desperate.

  “Hey, guys.” Will interrupted.

  He and Malachi stood there with their lunch trays.

  Mila said nothing.

  Will and Malachi sat down, and Malachi went right to work on his lunch like he always did. He carefully set out his napkin and used the salt and pepper packets to season his food. Next, he pulled a small bottle of hot sauce out of his pocket that he brought from home and dabbed some onto his sandwich. Malachi had a special love affair with food, and each bite was an experience.

  Will eyed m
e and then Mila as Malachi shoveled food into his mouth. No one spoke for a while, but the four of us shared eyes around the table. Mila had kissed Will, and he did not tell me. Not that he had to—but still. He could’ve at least mentioned it, as a friend.

  “Ugh!” Mila exclaimed as the silence around the table deepened. She grabbed her bag, snatched her tray off the table, and stormed out of the cafeteria.

  I turned back to Will and searched his face. It was blank, and I couldn’t read him.

  Malachi continued eating, “What’s up with her?” he asked. He never looked up from his food.

  My phone buzzed and my calendar reminder popped up. Dennis and Sons 1 p.m., it said.

  “I have to go,” I gathered my things at the table and wiped my mouth.

  Malachi stopped chewing, “Where are you going?”

  “Today is my training day at the funeral home.”

  “But you’ve already been there for two weeks. And we’re still in school, Indy?” Will probed.

  I sighed. “I know, but today was the only day Mr. Dennis’s son could squeeze me in for the actual body cavity training. He’s going away for the weekend, and if we don’t do it today, I have to wait until next week when he comes back.” Truth be told, I couldn’t wait. Two weeks already lapsed between now and my last day at the pottery studio. Dad signed off on the work release paperwork, and I could leave early to head to work. Although I had picked up a few hours here and there working the front desk at the funeral home, I needed the extra hours that the body preparation would give me. Next month I had to submit those college applications, and I needed the money for application fees—and Mila’s fee too.

  Shoving the last piece of sandwich in my mouth, I took one last swig of my tea and tossed it in the trash.

  “Talk to you later?” I leaned into Malachi’s face.

  He grabbed my cheeks hard and said, “Love you, woman.”

  I giggled.

  “See ya!” I screamed over my shoulder to Will.

  Heading out of the cafeteria, I passed Joya in the hallway. I raised an eyebrow when I saw she was heading in the direction of the Track and Field office.

  I had called Will that night after meeting with Jaxon and told him what I saw. “It’s probably nothing, Indy. You know the track team practices there sometimes.”

  The team did practice there, but something didn’t feel right to me.

  Glancing over my shoulder, Joya and my eyes connected. She smoothed her hair before she knocked on the Track and Field office door. I couldn’t see who was behind the door from the distance, but I had a feeling.

  Searching for my cell phone in my bag, I realized I left it on the lunch table. “Shit,” I thought. My hands were roaming my stuff when I turned in the hallway to head back.

  “Ouch!” I shrieked. I ran straight into someone tall, soft, and smelling good.

  Will.

  He held on to me as we fell against the wall. He grabbed my shoulders to steady me, and I bounced against him, pulling myself away slowly. I inhaled and stole one more scent. Damn… when did he start smelling like this? His arms bulged through his shirt, I felt them up against the wall. When did Will get muscular?

  “You okay?” he gasped.

  I could feel his breath on my face and in a flash, something registered in his eyes. Something. The something was fast—had I blinked I would’ve missed it. Did he see something in my face too? Was there something to see?

  “You left your phone.” he handed it to me.

  We were still pressed against each other on the wall. He towered over me and I peered up at him. “Th-thank you,” I stammered.

  Will took a step back, and I was no longer sandwiched between him and the wall behind me. I turned and walked away but not before I peeked over my shoulder, where Will was already peeking over his.

  He was watching me—watching him.

  My breathing was ragged as I relived Will’s scent. I smoothed my braids and fixed my shirt. I was still feeling some type of way about Mila and the kiss—but why? One day Will and I were best friends and the next day he was… attractive. Very attractive.

  I turned back around and folded my arms at my chest. I had to get to work.

  “Generally, more conservative states tend to embalm instead of cremate. You can put an embalmed body in a cooling container, and it should look okay a couple days after death,” Tyson explained.

  This was the most boring shit ever, but I listened anyway. We had an older, deceased white man on the table covered with a white sheet. His eyes were a glassy blue color when Tyson wheeled him in. I shut his eyes when Tyson turned his back, so he wasn’t staring at me.

  Tyson walked me around, pointing out various trinkets and fluids we would need. Downstairs where the body lay and upstairs where the funerals were held were drastically different. Upstairs was stuffy, and full of pained, crying people. Downstairs smelled of mothballs, and there were no windows. The halls were dank, and the lights jumped when you walked through the space.

  Tyson blasted J. Cole through the speakers.

  He showed me how to attach the large hose to a body’s abdomen and I slid over the floor as liquids dripped out. I struggled to lift the large hose while it pumped solution out at the same time.

  Tyson announced, “You might want to get some non-slip sneakers,” as I slammed my knee into the cadaver table for the third time that afternoon. It was starting to swell.

  “After we clean the body and let the fluids drain, the rest is easy. The process has been the same for decades.”

  “So, what makes you guys different from the next funeral home?” I scoffed, looking at my soaked shoes. My wrists were also wet, and I hoped it was just the water.

  “This place is my dad’s lifeline. He prides himself on low prices and taking care of his community. He really believes the bodies talk to us if we’re open to listening. He honors them in a way.”

  “And you? Is this your lifeline?” I wiped sweat from my brow.

  Tyson said nothing but shook his head no. I didn’t press.

  After we got cleaned up, Tyson led me to another smaller room attached to The Stage. I crouched my head as we walked under the cinder block arch and the mothball smell were more intense back here.

  “This is Shelby, the Incinerator. That’s my mom’s name. Dad named it after her because it was her idea to have it installed. She told Dad we had to ‘keep up with the times.’ She convinced him to have it installed, and she took business to the next level.” Tyson tapped on the side of Shelby. Tyson beamed, talking about his mom the same way his dad beamed talking about him a few weeks ago.

  “It can take up to three hours for a body to fully burn and become ashes on the low setting. The incinerator can get up to 1800 degrees, but Dad likes to send the bodies off at 1500 degrees. He says it’s more comfortable for them. After the timer goes off, you wait for it to cool. This part doesn’t take long and then you can begin to scoop the ashes for urn collection. After that, the rest is gravy. There’s only dressing and refrigeration,” Tyson smiled. “Dad comes in Monday through Friday. He’s an early riser and usually gets here at 5 a. m. The weekends will be yours and mine. He would like you here at 6 a. m., but really, just make sure doors and phones are on at 7:30 a.m.—that’s when people start to call.”

  “Do you enjoy working here?” I had to ask.

  The smile left his face, and he frowned. “I don’t dislike it. But it’s the family business, and it’s getting me where I need to go. But once I show you the ropes, it’ll be all yours.”

  “And where do you want to go?”

  “Anywhere outside of this town. I’ll start there.”

  Me too, I thought. Me too.

  CHAPTER 9

  January 26th

  Indigo,

  Girl, did you go see Ms. Montague like I asked? I know you’re busy, but I
need to know who bought my things. The newspaper says the art show is coming up. By the way, I bought me a newspaper subscription, and I read your last article in the Tunica Rivers Times. Great work, honey! The rest of these people’s kids don’t even come see them, but mine comes every month, and she’s an artist. Writing is an art too, and you got it my dear. Any who, when I called King, he said Sidney was starting Softball this Spring. Make sure he goes to the games and is there for Sidney. He ain’t shit.

  Can you believe Nurse MeanFace made us break up The Band-Aids? You know she’s a square. She let me slide that one time and told me I didn’t have to shower one night, but Ruth-Ann’s funky ass cussed her out for making her take her meds and that was the end of The Band-Aids. We’ll see though—I think we might put on something for Valentine’s Day. Hopefully, she’s over it by then and I’m trying to convince Ruth-Ann to apologize. You know, Ruth-Ann can be a Celine Dion in here. She can hit those notes that leave you scrunching up your face and saying “wheewww.” She’s that good. But she likes to cuss everyone out, and she has a nasty attitude sometimes. A group can’t function like that. We’ll see. We will see.

  I called Ez. He was out of breath when he answered the phone. He said he tripped over a motor he found on the side of a road. A motor, Indy? What is going on? Can you please check on him?

  How was Mama Jackie’s grave when you went? I had a dream about her. Have you had any dreams? You know your dreams are an extension of real life. I’ve been reading about dream interpretation and I found this old, dusty book in the library in here.

  I remembered one day, when I was away at camp, I called mama and she said, “Sonia, the sky is a beautiful shade of indigo tonight, you should see it.” I peeked out of the mess hall where everyone ate. The phone was attached to the wall, and the screen door slammed behind me when I stretched the cord to stand outside. I stood there, watching the indigo sky with Mama. I felt close to her. She was home, and I was at camp, but we were gazing at the same thing together.

  How are you, honey? How is Malachi and that cutie Will? Malachi still eating everything but the kitchen sink? I swear that boy got a tapeworm.