Oh, Mindy

                                                      OH, MINDY
                                                            By
                                                    Frederick Fuller


“I killed him, Mindy.  He’s dead.  I felt so good about it, too.  It was almost like an orgasm.  It was an orgasm.  I came as he died.
         “I opened the door to his bedroom very carefully.  His window fan sucks the door away from you if you don’t grab the knob just right.  You know that.  All the times we’ve gone into his room while he’s sleeping.  I was careful to close the door without letting go of the knob.  I was in.  I waited a few seconds to make sure he was asleep.  I heard his breathing and that little snore he makes.  Just a snuffing sound, almost like that valve on the radiator in winter.  He sleeps so soundly, though.  I mean he slept soundly.  He’s really asleep now because he’s dead.
         “Let me describe how I did it, Mindy, and what happened.  I tiptoed to his bedside and watched him for a long time.  There he was on his back, his mouth open as usual, just snuffing away, his chest with all its grey hair rising and falling, rising and falling.  His skin was so white.  Looked like rice four.  You know, rice flour.  We use it to coat shrimp before we fry it.  And, his face was real gaunt and bony, almost like a skeleton, it seemed.  I could smell his breath, too.  I smelled it as soon as I opened the door.  You know, that sour, moist tobacco smell from all his cigarettes.  I wish he’d quit.  Oh, now he has quit, hasn’t he?
         “I decided that since he was so weak and could hardly put up much of a fight, I would smother him.  I considered bashing his head with that iron lamp by the bed, but the blood and all would be hard to explain, and we’d have to make up some consistent story.  Smashing him was a problem, and you know how hard headed he is.  Was, that is because he isn’t anymore.
“So, I walked around the bed to Mother’s side and took her pillow.  You know, I think she would have liked the idea of her pillow smothering him.  I don’t think Mother really loved him, do you?  I mean, she put up with him, cooked for him, made coffee by the gallons for him while he sucked cigarettes, but I don’t think it was out of love.  Duty.  I think that’s the word, duty.  She died in the line of duty, poor thing.  All he did was work, nights at that, and sleep all day.  They never slept together.  I wonder if she missed sex, or he missed sex?  Maybe they were both gay.  No, I don’t believe that, but could you ever imagine them making love?  Makes me want to throw up.
         “Anyway, I took the pillow on his side and without a moment’s hesitation, I placed it over his face and pushed down hard.  Now, I expected him to struggle, just a little bit, but guess what?  He didn’t.  It was like it was all right with him.  I mean, I don’t know if it was all right with him, but he put up no struggle.  I always thought it was a natural reaction to struggle when your breath is stopped, but I guess not.
         “Oh, Mindy, I watched him die.  I mean, I didn’t see his face or anything, but I could feel him die.  As I pushed the pillow down tight, I noticed after a short while that his heart was beating faster.  I could hear it, even feel it with my right wrist, which was on his chest.  Beating.  Started as a thump, thump, thump, increasing all the time until it was like a buzz.  That’s right, a buzz.
         “Oh, Mindy, did you know that happened when a person dies?  I didn’t.  I thought the heart just stopped slowly, but his was like a buzzer or something.  And, then he started to gasp.  Long gasps like he was struggling for air, and he was.  And then, short gasps, shorter and shorter until he gasped really big and rose up.  I thought that now he’d begin to struggle because he pushed me off him onto the floor.  I was so surprised.  Instead of getting up, he just flopped back and stopped breathing.  I sat there on the floor for a time and listened.  It was so quiet.  It was so quiet I could feel the lack of sound imbedded in my ears like cotton balls stuck in them.
         “I got up and looked at him.  His mouth was still open, but the little snore was gone.  His chest no longer went up and down.  He was changing right before me.  He shrunk, it seemed, or better yet, he sunk.  He sunk into his body as if all the air and moisture left him, as if his skin covering his bones was all that was left.  Oh, Mindy, it was kind of spooky.  I watched as he changed.  His eyes sunk into dark craters.  He seemed to wither.
         “It was then I think I had the orgasm, or something very like it, because I became jubilant.  I laughed out loud but he didn’t move.  I was happy he was dead.  I was thrilled that he was dead.  Oh, Mindy, does that make me an insane person to be jubilant that our father is dead?  If so, I love insanity.
         “Oh, Mindy, Mindy, Mindy.  It’s all ours now, everything.  The old guy was loaded, wasn’t he?  Maybe even millions.  And insurance.  Remember, he got two million when Mom died, and no telling what he was covered for.  Mindy, we’re rich, very rich.  Just don’t stand there with that awful expression on your face.  I killed our father for us, Mindy.  Say something.”
         “Mr. Miller called just before you came downstairs.  Father was intestate, of all things.  The court will decide.”
         “Oh, Mindy.”

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