"1 Dead One Alive"

My Aunt Ida was the one who got the call.  I was in the backyard, near the garden painting.  The paint set had been a gift from Ricky.  Each morning after breakfast I would go outside to paint and wait for his call.  The morning light was gorgeous by the grapevines.  Every day, as predictable as the town's church bells, the phone would ring just around ten and it would be him.  At the first sound, I’d be on my feet running to get it.  I realized already his call was late but I just kept painting, enjoying the warm June sunshine.  Ricky had bought me the paint set I was using.  It was the first gift anyone had ever bought me without asking what I wanted.  Ricky didn't have to ask - he knew because he cared enough to listen when I talked about my dreams and what I enjoyed. 
I remember imagining at that moment what it’d be like if he ever stopped wanting me.  My arms littered with goose bumps and my shoulders shuddered.

I no longer asked him beforehand what we were going to do when he call each day. It didn’t matter.  I wanted to do what he wanted to do - I wanted to be wherever he was.  There was nothing about him I didn’t like.  He was handsome, tan, tall, sandy haired and athletic.  He was perfectly capable of making me happy.  Everything about him was perfect for me.  He was loving and kind and thoughtful.  Old peopled adored him and children embraced him.  I liked the way he dressed, the way he talked, and even the way he danced!

The first time he kissed me, when he stopped, heavy tears pooled around my eyes and dripped down my both cheeks.  It was strange and I was embarassed for him to see me like that.  But when he did, he cried too.  We hugged each other for a long time and I never wanted to let him go.  For the first time I felt like I belonged in the world.  That finally someone deeply cared about me.  I never felt like that even with my family.

lyIt was as if I began missing him as soon as his mouth left mine.  Later, I’d realize how significant this was.  The phone didn’t ring until around noon.  It took a minute to scoop up my stuff, and I took off for the house.  By the time I got there, the phone was already back on the hook.  I stopped in the doorway.  My Aunt’s face was racked with horror.  She made a brave attempt to right herself, saying, “That was your Uncle Bud.”  Then she began to apologize.  “I’m so very sorry honey.  I’m so, so, sorry.”  That was when I made the connection.  What came out of me next was nothing short of guttural screams.  “No.  No.  No, it’s not true!  It can’t be true! Tell me it’s not true.  Please, please, tell me isn’t true!”  My Uncle Bud worked for Duke Power and had been out climbing poles on Pepper Mill Road.  He’d been the second person to arrive at the wreck.  I stood beside the casket staring emptily at its shiny dark mahogany wood.  When I looked down I could see my reflection. It was blank.  The shiny brass handles on the side also mirrored my reflection but it was distorted by their round shape.  Distorted, that’s just how I felt with him gone.  The awful tragedy had brought half the town to his funeral.  The casket was closed.  The damage had been severe.  My eyes stung, my head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it and my whole face ached from crying too long.  I didn’t talk to anybody.  I just stood there not moving.  People stopped and talked to me with quiet hopeful whispers.  Their words were as empty as my insides.  I felt vacant.  The tears at our first kiss had been a warning.  A warning of what was to come of our love that had started so full of promise.  Nothing that’s all that remained – nothing but emptiness.