“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection into eternal life…”
I think, ‘I need a new cane’ while my finger traces the worn oak curve that graces the top arch of my walking stick. When I was thirty five I fell off a ladder, thus forcing me to clop around with this blasted third leg. She was always there, even during that particular trial when I was laid up in our bed with a broken back. She never once complained that I was a “bother” or a “pain.” I really loved her.
“And though we only live here for a short time, it is always a blessing to go home to see our Heavenly Father.”
Isn’t this guy done yet? This was a normal woman, my wife, but normal all the same. It’s not like she was Mother Theresa, she was plain boring old Sally Manville. I have to be careful, these people might suspect my lack of sadness for indifference, and that is not at all the case. I’m just used to death. Two years ago my father died, last year my mother passed away, earlier this year my only brother died as well. That’s not even counting Sally’s parents who died five and three years ago.
I mean, I am sad. We were married for almost forty years and I never expected to out-live her. We suspect that she died of a stroke, the autopsy results aren’t back yet, but I am supposed to meet with the attending physician right after the funeral. I’m sure the result will be what we all suspected.
Cremation was Sally’s choice. She felt a certain romantic pang in her heart at the possibility of becoming one with nature in her life after death. She never pushed this belief on me, but I always suspected that she wanted me to take the same route she chose. “Lex, I don’t want to molder away six feet down or shrivel slowly to dust in some mausoleum; cremate me and spread my ashes at Ford’s Gorge. It was always so lovely there.” Lex, she used to call me Lex. My name is Alex but calling me Lex was reserved specifically for her. I wouldn’t allow anyone else to do so.
Ford’s Gorge was where we had our honeymoon. They have a cozy bed and breakfast upstate and cabins that overlook the lake. We used to go back every once in a while, never really keeping in tune with our wedding anniversary but trying to visit every spring instead. She was always left breathless by the early blooming tulips and daffodils, while I was left breathless with the wildlife. I was never much for flowers, but I made sure that her service was carried out with a plethora of daffodils and tulips.
A regular hearse to the crematorium isn’t sufficient for my Sally. I’ve arranged for her casket to be carried in a glass carriage pulled by six white horses. I don’t know what kind of horses, but they are white. The price of this was outrageous, but I was cutting no corners for my wonderful, boring old Sally. She would scoff at this extravagance; I smile because I know deep down, somewhere, somehow she loves me for it. She always loved me.
“And though life is only a brief ride on the pendulum of time; the truly blessed go into the afterlife knowing that they were not only loved, but they made a difference in someone’s life as well. Sally was loved deeply and she touched all of our lives in her own special way. Amen.”
The pastor wrapped up his speech and the crowd trickled into line for one more pass by the casket to say good-bye. I took the obligatory position near the foot of the casket to accept condolences when I notice the bearded man approaching from the parking lot and heading through the open church doors. I suddenly feel very eager to see this man, so I escape this grim scene of my wife’s casket and rush down the aisle way in a limping cantor to meet him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Manville.”
“Hello Doctor. Here with the results of the autopsy, I presume?”
“Indeed I am. But first I wondered if you could explain something to me…” The doctor held up a small plastic jar with a tiny treasure within it. “We found this inside your wife. Any ideas where it came from?
My mind races as I grasp for an explanation. There is no possible way; no feasible way that what is in that jar could be what I think it is. My mind lapsed back to our honeymoon thirty eight years ago.
It was our wedding night and we were engaged in a quite excessive stretch of foreplay. After all, you only have one wedding night. Tucked away in our cabin on the lake, Sally had lit some candles to add to the mood of the evening and we laid side by side with our foreheads touching. All the while talking softly, tickling each other occasionally and giggling like little kids.
Champagne glasses were set on the night stand and the bubbles played tricks with the candle light. Her sultry, pouting lips begged me to steal kisses in the flickering, dancing candle beams. A bowl of thin, liquid chocolate and a few strawberry stems rattled forgotten to the floor as we began to shed our clothes.
A bowl of cherries rested on the nightstand opposite the one hosting the champagne glasses and Sally reached up, plucked one from the bowl and traced my lips with it. I took half the cherry with a tiny nibble, Sally took the other half.
Our lips met again and I remember the faint smell of chocolate and champagne on her breath. Her cold lips from having just taken a sip of the chilled champagne which gave me a childish idea.
Well, it didn’t seem to be childish at the time. I thought the stunt I was about to pull would fit in nicely with the tickling and giggling, I didn’t know how disastrous the consequences would be.
I reached off the side of the bed and into the tin pail that kept our bottle of Moet et Chandon
Unbeknownst to me, she had reached for another cherry and placed it in her mouth just before I shocked her back into her “your new husband’s an asshole” reality.
She sat bolt upright as she began to choke on the cherry pit. I quickly placed myself behind her and wrapped her violently on the back several times before her airway cleared up. Sally looked at me with a shocked expression and a slightly blue complexion.
“You jerk! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do such a thing?”
I explained to her what my intentions were and after about an hour we were in love again and finally consummated our marriage. Not before I doubted that consummation would happen, mind you.
“Alex, we found this in her left lung.”
Back to here and now, staring at a bearded doctor holding a small plastic jar containing a cherry pit. There’s no doubt in my mind as to what it is; I knew the moment he held the jar up for me to see. I really don’t feel like telling our intimate story to this perfect stranger.
“What is it?” I asked, not exactly feigning disbelief.
“It appears to be a cherry pit. But I am curious as to how it got in her lung.”
“I am too. Can I keep it?”
“What in the world would you want with it?”
“Well, Doc; God only knows how long it was in her lung, and I have a wonderful place where I would like to plant it. Maybe by some miracle it’ll grow.”
The doctor handed over the seed; “Here you go. Maybe you’re right, maybe it'll grow. Anyway, it was a stroke that took her, Mr. Manville.”
“Aye, I thought so. If you’ll excuse me, I have to say goodbye.”
The doctor nodded and I limped my way back to my wife’s casket with the cherry pit tucked away in my pocket. I’ll plant it tomorrow when I spread her ashes; maybe Sally can grace the earth again as a cherry tree. The thought brings a smile to my lips as I say my final goodbyes to my wonderful Sally.
© 2008 J. James Reider
