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Sitting in the part of the couch that you wore bare before
you died, I wonder what would happen if I ate your ashes.
“Really, Sarah! How
that mind of yours thinks!”
See, already, even without eating your ashes, even without
pressing my lips to your once-was-flesh, I feel closer to you. Just thinking it
brings you nearer.
So tell me, if I am what I eat, as you used to say while you
stirred the lemon and the honey into my tea, if I am what I eat, will I become
you? The sweet and the tart, so mixed together that the tongue can’t help but
love both at once. Will I become that if I eat your ashes?
“Those ashes aren’t me.”
Of course. Of course. That’s why it was good to burn your
body. It was good to take your calluses that you gained from digging holes for
the tulip bulbs, your hair that you damaged just to be a redhead, your teeth
that sat so straight and true without the aid of dentistry, yes, it was good to
take those last trace elements of you and toast them up just like the pot roast
I scorched when I made the family dinner for the first time.
“You ruined that baking pan. God himself couldn’t get it
clean.”
Do you believe in God now?
“Dammit. I told you, I always believed in God. It’s his
goodness that I had difficulty in having faith in.”
Hmm. Faith. I had faith in you. That’s about it, you know.
That was all that I had. You were my one woman religion. And now, I can’t tell if I’m remembering you
or remembering who I thought you were. Will you be totally disgusted if I turn
you into a false idol?
“I can’t follow the silliness you talk sometimes. Eating
ashes and making idols. You read too many fairytales and baked your brain
sitting up in that window seat.”
Weren’t you baking alongside me? Of course, you’re the one
who’s really baked now. And all I have are ashes.
“Ashes of roses. That was this purpley color that was
popular when I was a girl. I made a
dress out of it. Sewed it all by hand just to prove to myself that I could.”
Was that word association or just an attempt to get me to
change the subject?
“Both. Quit being such a smarty-pants.”
Oh hush. We both know that you love it when I’m a
smarty-pants.
“That’s what you think.”
You never encouraged me to think otherwise. Besides, I
always could see right through you.
“Not really. You never did figure out where I hid your
Christmas presents.”
Fourth shoebox. The one meant for boots. I’m really good at
re-wrapping things.
“See, you always had to ruin everything for yourself, now
didn’t you?”
Yes, but I don’t see how that applies here.
“You couldn’t just let yourself be surprised. You always had
to poke and pry and mangle everything with your curiosity.”
Did you just say that I mangled everything with my
curiosity?
“Yes.”
And you aren’t going to explain that at all?
“Don’t eat my ashes. That’s disrespectful.”
I miss you.
“That’s life. It’s not always roses and hummingbirds and
tripping through the daisies.”
Oh God, shut up! Do you really think I still need lessons on
how fair life isn’t?
“No, honey. I wish you did, but you don’t. So be a good
girl. And find a decent place for my ashes before your imagination gets the
best of you. Nothing is going to bring me back, sweetheart. I’m gone.”
If you’re so gone, why the hell won’t you stop talking to
me?
“Because I always was cantankerous like that, don’t you
remember?”
I remember. Good God in heaven above with gravy on his plate
and a side of pan-fried potatoes, I remember how cantankerous you were.
“That’s my good girl.”
Don’t eat your ashes?
“Don’t eat my ashes.”
Can I keep smelling your old perfume bottle?
“Guess I still have to choose my battles with you, don’t I?”
I won’t eat your ashes. Be happy about that.
“You’ve got to be the only child in the world who makes her
mother bargain for that.”
Just because I love you so, Momma, just because I loved you
so. Now let me go to sleep.
“That figures. You won’t let me rest, but I’m supposed to
let you sleep.”
Guess I’m just selfish. You’re dead anyway, so what are you
griping about?
“I just like to gripe. I’ve earned the privilege.”
Okay. Good night.
“Leave my ashes alone.”
I said that I would already. God, don’t ride me.
“Just making sure that we’re clear on that. I swear, I’ll rile your belly like a water
moccasin caught in a sack if you do.”
Thanks for that, Mom. Thanks a lot for that.
“My pleasure.”
I’m sure it is. You’re cackling right now, aren’t you?
That’s just so damn funny to you. “Riling my belly like a water moccasin.” Did
you make that up, or did that come straight off the Ozarks and through your
lips?
“Well, you can take a gal out of the country, but you can’t
take the country out of the gal.”
Man, then maybe you could have gone a little easier on the
whole “this is a salad fork” and “we don’t stir our tea with the sugar shell”
thing. You know, since I was already doomed by genetics.
“Couldn’t let you take the easy way out, now could I?”
What!? There’s an easy way? You never told me there was an
easy way. Where the hell is this “easy way” thing? You knew about an easy way
and never told me? That’s not very motherly of you, I have to say.
“Eh. Somedays you didn’t make me feel like being so
motherly.”
So what should I do with these ashes? You wouldn’t tell me
when you were alive, and now I don’t know what to do.
“And the most logical thing you could come up with was to
eat them?”
See, you do at least know how to mellow the country in the
gal. Don’t talk college professory to me. You’re just sidestepping me again.
Don’t you know what you want?
”I never got what I want, so how could I know it?”
I gave you what I had to give, Momma. That’s all I could do.
“Don’t be sensitive. I didn’t want you, but I loved you
anyway.”
So maybe all those things you wanted weren’t what you wanted
after all.
“That’s more of your fairytale talk. Figure out what to do
with my ashes. I’m dead. I’m not going to complain.”
That’s so funny, Momma. You not complaining. Oh, sorry, am I
speaking disrespectfully to the dead?
“What else is new? You are the most disrespectful child I’ve
ever seen.”
I respected you.
“Not really, but you can tell yourself that if it makes you
feel better.”
Nice, Momma. Didn’t you teach me something about not hitting
below the belt?
“That was so your brothers had some hopes for the future.”
Your ashes! God, you are still talking circles upon circles upon
circles. I can’t eat them, so what do I do with them?
“Is it such a burden to hold onto them?”
Uh oh. Are you about
to launch into the “these frail old bones” speech about how no one should be
burdened with you? I mean, didn’t we settle that one? I did the best that I
could.
“Then hold onto my ashes. Be patient. Someday the right
thing will come to you.”
Please don’t quote The Good Earth now. Please don’t do it.
“What? No, that quoting thing is what you do, not me. But
what’s wrong with The Good Earth? I swear, that college just about ruined
everything simple and decent for you.”
You’re right. You’re always right.
“Now you’re just placating me to get the old lady to shut
up. I can see through that.”
Yup. I am.
“Fine. I can think of some others who might actually
appreciate the wisdom of their elders.”
They won’t for long. Man, you still can talk a blue streak,
can’t you?
Can’t you?
Okay. I won’t eat your ashes. I do miss you though. I
really, really do.
