Seven, Ten by Abby Grosslein (best ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📕

over. “How come you don’t play Hide and Seek like a normal kid?” He punched me gently in the arm. “Cheer up, Gil. Let’s go have some hot cocoa.”
I smiled and followed my big brother into the house. “Can I have extra shmallows, Matthew?”

“It’s extra shmallows forever now, Matthew,” I whispered to him, kneeling by the closed casket. Lily knelt on my right with her head down on her clasped hands. If I bent my head a bit I could see that her eyes were open, staring at the carpet. She told me when she turned ten that she didn’t want to be a Catholic anymore; that was when she still wanted to do everything like her big sister.
Over in a corner of the viewing room, Matthew’s fiancée told anyone who would listen about how her Matthew died in the prime of his life, that he never let anyone tell him there was something he couldn’t do. The picture adorning his casket showed him surrounded by red, white, and blue balloons and confetti last year, MASSACHUSETTS STATE SENATOR on a banner in the background. Matthew had been an EMT in high school and graduated from Brown University before going on to law school. He met Alicia at Brown and dated her for almost ten years before asking her to marry him. They were waiting until after she passed the bar; she failed twice in a row and now I wonder how long it will take her to pull herself together and try for a third-time’s charm.
Lily sneezed loudly beside me, making everyone jump. “Bless you,” I whispered to her, without response. After a second’s deathly silence, whispered conversations resumed. Someone coughed in the viewing line behind Lily and me, so we stood up and moved away. Lily sat down in the front row reserved for the family and I wandered over to where a cluster of my distant cousins were trying not to choke on their laughter.
“Just a few more feet, Wilkins, I know we can make it!” Intoned a short boy in black dress pants, a blue dress shirt only half tucked-in, and black DC shoes in a poorly-executed British accent.
“Yes, Thompson, only a few feet higher!” Exclaimed a tall girl in a little black dress and black flats. I didn’t recognize either of them by face; it had probably been ten years since I had seen either of them or the other two that stood in the circle. I did recognize my surname, Thompson, and quickly figured out who they were talking about.
“Wait, what’s that noise, Wilkins?” DC Shoes remarked, cupping his brow with his hand and looking around wildly.
“What noise, Thompson?” Little Black replied, holding up her two hands in mock surprise.
“THAT avalanche noise!” DC pointed up and ahead of him before covering his face with his arms and shouting sotto voce, “Aaaargh!!! Wilkiiiiiiiinsss! Aliciaaaaaa! Noooooo!”
All four cousins hid their mouths behind their hands and doubled over in fits of laughter. I joined in. When they saw me coming over, they tried to play it off like nothing was funny, but I smiled. “No, no, your skit’s hysterical.”
DC Shoes, still wheezing from laughter, asked “You think your brother’s death is funny?”
I maintained my smile. “No, actually and I have no idea why you think you can come all the way out here, be my family’s guests, and stand here and make a mockery of my brother’s death.”
All four started to fidget.
“My brother had his faults, like all of us do. But have some respect for the dead. I don’t remember your names so I can’t go and complain to your parents about how inconsiderate and rude you are. I also don’t really care about who you are. Just know for future reference that if you’re going to perform someone’s death scene, don’t do it at the viewing where the deceased’s family can see it. If you please—shut up and pay your respects.”
I returned to the front row where Lily was still sitting, staring off into space.
“Galey?” she whispered.
“What?”
“There’s a dead plant in that pot over on the windowsill. Don’t you think they should get rid of that?”
I nodded and stood up. I strode over to the sill and picked up the pathetic-looking Gerber Daisy plant. Its soil had settled into deep cracks and it looked as though no one had watered it for many viewings. The rest of the parlor was so well-decorated with living things in muted pastel colors that this dead plant stood out as much as if it were encased in its own closed casket. I carried it gently in the crook of my arm into the ladies’ room where I turned it upside down and shook it out into the art-deco trash can. Before I left the room, I watered it a bit with my tears.

Imprint

Publication Date: 01-09-2010

All Rights Reserved