He sunk into the ground, not because of his disease, but because it was wet from the rain before. The undertakers carried the coffin over the wet and squishy grounds, down a small hill to his parent’s plot.
Joseph A. Carlson. Maria F. Carlson. Died 2008. Six years this plot had been first dug, and now his sister joined them in eternal rest.
At least that’s what the pastor said. The cross on the headstone attested to their Christian upbringing. Alex had stopped believing in God after his parents died. If he hadn’t by then, he certainly would have stopped believing in a beneficent God right this moment.
The pastor said a quick eulogy over the grave, sprinkled water over the coffin, and said some more words. Alex wasn’t listening. He stared at the coffin, his mind whirling. Why did you leave me? Why did you have to go upstairs? Why? Why?
The next thing he knew, the pastor was in front of him, offering his hand. Kelvin stepped forward, saying, “He can’t, sir.”
Alex flexed his shoulders and the back of his shirt tore, he could feel it under the jacket. The jacket would be next, but before that, possibly, his pants. And his socks. He turned from the pastor while Kelvin shook the man’s hand in his stead. “I understand, young man,” said the pastor to Alex’s back.
“You don’t. Nobody does.”
He walked up the hill as the pastor talked to Kelvin. As he walked, he could feel his feet sink into the shoes. He wanted to cry, feeling the softness of the sole squish between his toes. He didn’t want that feeling; he wanted to take his shoes off. He wanted to take the clothes off, he wanted to corrupt and warp and destroy everything by laying his hands on it, his body on it, and letting all the decay and poison out of his system.
He stood in front of the limousine, waiting. The driver got out and opened the door for him, but he shook his head. He could only think of destroying the seats inside, the headstones outside…
Kelvin was coming up the hill with the pastor. He could see some people hovering over the casket, waiting for them to leave before lowering it into the ground to settle on top of his parents. If he died, would there be anything left of him to bury?
Alex ducked into the limousine, almost losing his shoe. When Kelvin came in, Alex already had the shoes off and was resting his bare feet on top of them. “You okay?”
“I need to change,” said Alex, turning away from the casket and looking at Kelvin. “I need to go home.”
“I have the clothes I wore yesterday. They might be a little long for you. I don’t know about the shoes, though.”
“They’ll get destroyed.”
“I don’t care. I’ll buy another pair.”
Alex shrugged.
The driver turned around in his seat to face them. “Any place special you want to go?”
“Back to the airport,” said Alex. “I want to go home as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” said the driver, putting up the glass between them.
As they rode for a while, Kelvin said, “You okay?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“I’d be upset if my sister passed away.”
“I am upset.”
“You’re not showing it.”
“What did you expect me to do, throw myself on the coffin?”
“You haven’t cried once.”
“Why cry? It’ll only burn holes in my suit.”
“It’ll make you feel better.”
Alex turned to him. “You know what would make me feel better?”
“What?”
“The fact that someone could touch me, and not care what it did to them.”
Kelvin looked down, then reached for Alex’s hand. Alex pulled away.
“Don’t.” He crossed his arms, and looked outside. He felt Kelvin put his hand on his shoulder. He still looked out the window, at the passing of the houses, as they climbed up a ramp onto the highway.
“Alex.”
“Don’t,” he said sharply, swallowing tears. “Just don’t.”
Kelvin squeezed his shoulder and his hand came away with part of the jacket and Alex’s shirt. They rode the rest of the way in silence, while Alex tried to force his disease to eat away his tears.