(Happy Halloween–And for you we have a special work by CJA, including wonderful art by his own hand–LA)
Heard They Died
You heard that Rhonda died. Another Facebook message from your cousin, Sam. You didn’t even know she was sick. Wasn’t there a friend request from Rhonda still flapping in the electronic breezeway that you never accepted? Why was that?
Remember all those years ago, like looking into some bright, hazy kaleidoscope. When you walked with her around the blacktop oval, floating along on one of her pills and her presence. Rhonda smiled her full-faced, dimpled grin and said, “You swing your arms.” Funny how you remember her dimples.
Did Rhonda’s dimples show when she died? Did she make fun of the hospice nurse’s big rear end? And said, “You swing your ass when you walk.”
Why does your cousin always update you on Facebook about who has died? There’s a dread from his contact because he has become the harbinger of death. Still, you are glad to hear from Sam, because he is the only one from “up North” who even knows and barely cares that you are alive.
You haven’t heard his voice in ten years. But what if he is like the others “up North” and you have his intentions all wrong. Is he waiting to tell everyone you died? And who will tell everyone that he died?
The last time on the phone Sam was “Hot” because you didn’t tell him your mother died or about the funeral. But you weren’t on Facebook then, didn’t have his current phone number, and you moved away—you didn’t even know where he lived. You thought your insane brother would notify him, but of course he didn’t. The insane brother was too busy being insane, which makes sense.
This brother refused to have a picture taken with you and the other two siblings, who flew in from the great western states. He claimed something about natives and frozen spirits. But he took a picture of your dead mother in a rented casket at the funeral home, and while tilting his phone so you could see the ghastly picture, said, “You want one?” Now he’s dead too, and he didn’t even have a service—just an online shout-out. You’re not one hundred percent sure the ashes the crematorium mailed to you are his ashes or even human ashes.
Isn’t it sad about the death of classmates or even a one-night stand? You never heard from what’s-her-name again, but you tried. When you got horny and pounded on the door, and she said, “Go away!” What was her damn name? There was no time for names or even a cigarette. Because after you came inside her, you rolled off into your boots, dropped a “Thanks,” and left. Time has changed her name to something watery, like April or May, but not June. You know she is not, June.
How did your cousin know about her?
These deaths remind you that you are only a hash mark between two numbers. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be. And what of these whispers on the wind, falling leaves, falling stars, dying suns, and dead animals on the road? What have they been telling you—your whole life?
Now it’s time to think of your own impending death. It’s all you really think about, anyway.
There’s a doctor who traded sex for drugs and can’t prescribe narcotics now, but you like him anyway. You say, “I thought you had a beard?” You are always saying things to twist people, so you can be SEEN…
Boiling up from the silent bellows of insignificance, bestowed upon you every day—dying henceforth—unto the funeral parlor’s last parade.
He turns, surprising you with a whirl of his white doctor’s coat. “No, I’ve never had a beard,” as he leaves you with the colonoscopy results.
Out in the parking lot, a family of Canadians stroll by. You know they are Canadians because of the red maple leaf on Mama’s T-shirt. Her babies waddle behind her single-file. Mama honks and hisses at you. Like she should, after all, you are staring, and a human.
“It’s okay, Mama, it’s all good,” but is it? Then it rains, and you are alive.
END
Christopher J Anainas (Including the Artwork)
Happy Halloween CJA
That is a great little work of art. And the prose is brilliant. Reminds me of the Jim Carrroll Band song, “Those Were People Who Died.” The trouble with Dante’s hell is no one really believes there can be anything worse than the pains of life. Yet we cling to it. Of course when I say something like that some obtuse fucker will accuse me of supporting suicide. No, I’m for making life less hellish. People are fucking brutal to each other–and they are often grumbling messes trying to “face” a stranger with some stupid Arnold line they heard in a movie. They do it because they cannot tell the boss to go fuck himself. They lack the courage and know it.
Thank you for showing me that a person can do something worth the while
Leila
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Happy Halloween Leila
Life does include hell; that much is for sure. I hope it’s not this bad down there lol! I’m glad there is an avenue to let the pain out with the pen, or at least underline it with a big, bright yellow highlighter.
I used to think you would go to hell if you killed yourself, but I can’t find that in the King James Bible. I think that is a Catholic teaching.
Thanks for publishing this!
CJA
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Hi CJA
There are lots of things in the religious world that are not in the Bible–like suicide and God helps those who help themselves. I am still at the four year plus job of reading the KJV one chapter every day. I happened to finish Leviticus (27) today and will begin Numbers tomorrow. In so many ways the book has been greatly damaged by the words and mis-quotings of others, who had (and have) their own purposes. Very interesting reading, regardless–like your work!
Leila
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Hi Leila
That’s awesome, reading the KJV! That’s what I should do. I got mine in 1977; I think it’s my oldest possession. It’s weird where things go… Possessions that meant so much. I had a pair of biker boots I wore all the time in my early 20s, but what happened to them? And those old friends scuffing down the street with me.
I finally got on Facebook and saw people I haven’t seen in thirty-five years. But I don’t really want to meet them–too many changes. There’s a profound story by Ray Bradbury called “First Day,” where four old friends are supposed to meet up after 50 years. A high school blood oath is remembered, and they will meet at the flagpole on this certain date. It’s really true how it turns out about aging and fear.
Yes, it’s the Good Book. People distort it all the time. God’s always on their side in a war; somehow, I don’t think so.
Thanks!
CJA
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CJA
This is as fine a piece of writing as anyone in America is writing anywhere, these days. And that’s not an exaggeration. If anyone can show me different, I want to see it. But it’s impossible to get better than this, because this IS as good as it gets!
This prose piece has so many layers and levels to it!
This piece has a beautiful RHYTHM like music. It is so natural that it looks easy to do, but only an author who knows all the tricks of the trade inside-out can write like this.
Along with the RHYTHM goes the TONE. But there is not one tone in this piece, there are many, multi-layered tones, including a life-giving sense of humor.
This piece directly confronts the two saber-toothed tigers of our time: the anonymity of the human now and DEATH.
And it faces down the many kinds of death, because there is not only ONE kind of death.
When Jesus saw a bunch of people wailing and weeping and following a funeral, the man he was talking with wanted to run away and join the crowd so he could “pay his respects.”
Jesus said: “Let the dead bury their dead!” In other words, the weeping wailers in the crowd were (and are) just as dead as the really dead ones.
THAT is the REAL JESUS, who saw through all the hypocrisy of this mortal stain called life.
It is better to be really dead than dead while you are alive (i.e. dead inside).
This is a GREAT PIECE OF WRITING! You confront the worst of the worst in this life with humor, compassion, understanding, and bravery, then you leave the reader with the desire to keep on living. Pure Gen, which is what Hemingway called Pure Genius!
Dale
PS
I can never say enough about the beautiful RHYTHMS AND TONES, the VOICE/s, of this prose!
PPS
Everything you don’t say and everything you rise above are just as important as the things you do say.
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Hi Dale
Amazing what you wrote about Jesus and the dead burying the dead. It is so true. Reminds me of the Vietnam vets writing “Born to Die” on their helmets. The apostles were strolling with the literal river of life, and Jesus wasn’t stopping.
I’m glad the tone and the humor came through. Death and humor have to exist at some point. I think they work well in setting a tone. E.A. Poe said to write about death in his own version of “On Writing.”
“this mortal stain called life” Never heard it put that way, It works! Makes me think about the black nature of sin and our fragile human ways.
Thanks for the great comments! I always enjoy hearing what you might say!
CJA
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And what a beautiful picture to illustrate this!!!
It is like the trees are dancing WITH the wind and like they are CONNECTED to the sky…
As in William Blake’s work, this picture is so natural that it’s mystical…
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Glad you like the picture. I drew that from a photo I took of Raccoon Lake. I was hoping the wind would make an impression. Thanks!
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…I am damn glad that WE, as an INDEPENDENT literary and arts magazine, have been able to publish this.
NOW it deserves to be reprinted in a general and national magazine like The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, or Rolling Stone.
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Yes indeed! Love the Springs!
Thanks CJA
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