The Writer’s Corner features poetry, essays, short stories, satire and various fiction and non-fiction from SCAD Atlanta students. To submit your own work for the Writer’s Corner, email features@scadconnector.com.
“Dead Man’s Reap” by Shadae Perry
Julie couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the body roll in. David, just shy of 58, and dead from a heart attack. Or at least that’s what the paperwork said, the discoloration locations and the sagging in his neck said otherwise. It wasn’t uncommon for families to pay to have the records changed. As if God couldn’t spot the difference between a heart attack and a suicide. Her coworker Angela looked at her as if she was unsure of whether to congratulate her or apologize that he wound up here. Looking at his cold body was surreal. The last time she saw him, she felt her insides churn. He was out with his kids watching a movie and just the sight of the back of his head set her therapy back years. She had dropped her tickets on a random counter and left.
Julie sat quietly in the embalming room, looking at the still dripping faucet on the metal table where David lay. He was a good man — so she’s been told — he even started taking free senior photos for kids who couldn’t afford it. She wondered how long until those kids came forward, if they ever did. Julie scoffed to herself and shook the chill off her shoulders. The room was cool, and despite the light in the corner being broken and making an incessant buzz, it was still quiet. She could hear Angela down the hall walking between rooms, the sound echoing against the tile that lined the entire bottom floor. Pacing back and forward.
“Angela?” The walking stopped.
Julie took a deep breath and returned to her work. David was dead. Just a body to work on like any other. They don’t talk, they don’t touch you, they just are. She imagined that it was actually the most relaxation anyone could get. She giggled at her thoughts and found a nice spot near the thigh; the incision was made and blood dripped onto the metal. Julie inserted the long rod-like tubing and began the pump. The light flickered above her like a camera, buzzing a few times before holding still. She felt compelled to look up at the light, to detail it and take it in. Shift to the right, look up more, he liked her neck the most, hold still, flash. The buzz flared up again and she snapped her attention to the ceiling.
Just a lightbulb and a long string with tape at the end to pull. The light continued to buzz as she eased back into the task at hand. She couldn’t give up yet. The hose pulsed with deep red liquid, some of it already thick from clotting. It reminded her of his face. He used to get so red, full of blood, full of anger. She never knew what to do besides freeze. Thankfully, David didn’t stir once throughout the process. He laid there as the blood became more like water, and finally, a clear stream. Julie dragged the tube from inside him as a door opened down the hall. Her spine stood tall and she took a moment to relax. A sigh, an adjustment, continuance.
The next cut was more rough and deep, pushing past the resistance of the muscles, just enough to suck out the liquid that hides in everyone. Humans are complex beings when alive, and just like soup in a bag when dead. The smell was rotten, like the bag had been left in the sun to rot and develop a white sticky film of bacteria. The aroma wafted up from the wound and almost felt comforting. She didn’t understand peace well, but sickness and bile made sense. It was a nice contrast to the sterile smell that usually clung to the walls of the embalming room.
Truth be told, she loved the dead because they never said no; they never said anything at all actually. It was always quiet with them. She would fix them, clean them, burn them, or preserve them. Julie was honored to be part of the last hands that touched them. Leaning over cold flesh and dragging makeup across like they were a doll, it felt like she was taking care of others the way he’d take care of her. Holding her head up, grazing a callous touch on her side, making her smile. Holding the smile for as long as possible, even when it hurt, even when she didn’t want to take pictures anymore, even when she saw his drunken eyes through her blinds at night. It’s funny that it took being away from him to get it.
All that remained was a touch of rot and the squeaky clean smell of the floor. Julie removed the tool from his flesh and felt a tug on the back of her head. It caused her to look up at the ceiling again. All she saw were the lights, but she could feel eyes prying her open like a can. Asking for something just out of reach. Her hair pulled further back until she grasped the metal table and yanked forward. She saw him in the corner, pale and sickly with bloated legs and feet. Every part of her was shaking and vulnerable, but it was amusing. She wanted to cry just as much as she wanted to laugh.
“David, are you there?”
The body on the table said nothing. Julie fixed her hair and went back to work on the body, grasping the forceps and jamming cotton up his nose to keep the purge in. The window slid open, letting the chill wind hide the sound of the bone snapping behind his nose. Winter was roaring outside. Julie thought about going out, feeling the ice melt on her skin, but snowy days brought back the worst memories. Snow didn’t melt, it stung. She got up from her seat to close the window. There were markings in the snow. I feel everything. The wind blew through her hair and she was twenty again. Staring at the snow through the window of her apartment as the maintenance man changed the lock. She debated moving just to get him to stop. Her face twisted looking at the repeated pleas. Every word, every letter. Please stop.
She turned around and jumped at the sight of her younger coworker. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry, I was just sitting in the office and I saw the janitor walk back here.”
Julie shook her head. “Just me.”
Angela twirled in place, shifting her head left to right. She walked over to the closet and saw nothing. “Okay then.” Angela threw her hands up and looked at the ground, confused. “The walking? That wasn’t you? I thought you might have been…” She paused. “I thought you might need some support.”
“It might have been me.” She hadn’t moved from the table in hours.
“Yeah. I pace too, especially during calls. Just around and around in the living room like I’m crazy.” Angela elbowed her and laughed. The two women stood in silence for a moment. Julie turned back around to look outside the window. The snow was clear. Angela spoke up. “So, you alright?”
Julie felt something crawling up her throat, just hearing his name in another person’s mouth. It made it feel real. He was here, but she won’t run this time. The static in the room was trying to choke her. Julie closed the window and looked at her reflection. David was off the table, peering behind Angela with pleading dull eyes. He looked sorry. His fingers looked stiff around her shoulder, like one wrong move would snap them. Julie huffed and smiled, turning around to her coworker waiting for a response. “No, I’m good. I can do it. Thanks for checking on me.”
Angela didn’t argue, she just smiled and walked away. First with a light pace, then speeding away down the hall. Julie wondered if she could feel David against her skin too. Everything was still again. She peered at him from her peripherals and scanned his body, smoothing his hair down and gliding her hand against his shoulder.
“Just have to make sure your insides don’t melt, then you’ll be ready for your big day.” She grabbed new gloves and ignored the vibration coming off his skin as she pulled out a small device that would pump him with more liquid he’ll have to endure. She won’t be gentle about it. “Aren’t you glad your wife wants you embalmed? You get to live forever with us up here, isn’t that what you always wanted?”
Julie looked at him for a response and David didn’t say anything. She smiled and found herself blushing like she was still a kid. He was ignoring her just like in the old days. She expected him to come to life at any moment and remind her how their relationship worked, but today she would be the boyfriend and he’d just lay still till she was done. Soon, he will be all dressed up and ready for the rest of his life. The people will cry for him, mourn, and he’ll go on as if nothing happened. Lowered into the ground in his Sunday best, his favorite camera on top of the casket, waiting years for all the meat to slough off his bones. Waiting and waiting and waiting for someone above to hear him. Someone to forgive him.
They’ll walk over his plot to the spot next to him, where the next good man will be laid to rest.
