Graveside Manners

Chapter One : Insanity is as Insanity does

As Hospital morgues went, the St. James Hospital morgue was actually quite...normal looking .I would even go as far as calling it nice. Homey. You know, despite the dead people. That was so Tragic. The dead people, not the homey feel to the place.

Not that I was expecting some sort of cob web infested corpse room straight out of a Tim Burton film. Although, I felt a twinge of disappointment that there was not one silky web anywhere in sight. Or you know, a coffin.

There were no coffins. Which I found oddly strange. There are dead people. No coffins. Sort of like a caramel Frappuccino without the caramel. Just cold , iced coffee. Not very satisfying.

The place was actually pretty clean, despite the rank smell of anti-sceptic cleaners and the general acidic hospital smells that were causing my nose to crinkle up in distaste.

There was something else too, it wasn't all together unpleasant , but it definitely wasn't pleasant either.

There was a morbid quietness that was so deafening it almost hurt. Shutting my eyes tight, I slowly started rubbing small circles at my temples and taking deeper breaths. I started counting to ten, got to two before I realised it wasn't helping and stopped. Wasn't that for anger management or something anyway. Not feeling particularly aggro, I decided to try something else to settle my nerves.

Slowly, I tried to bring to mind a memory. This is what Mrs Darley, my self- appointed shrink told me to do when I got panicked. I had to inform her several times, that no, I did not want to hold her hand for some sort of physical comfort to help me fight my demons.

She wasn't very bright, despite her wall of pristine, shiny,  mahogany framed diplomas. She also didn't seem to have a sense of humour. Apparently, telling her me and my demons were under an understanding that if they didn't bother me, I wouldn't go get my head shrunk by the voodoo lady I met one destined fall night in Crumlin, in a dark corner of the Red Cow pub.

She said I'm a compulsive, pathological liar, that used stories of fiction to mask my true feelings. Thing was, funnily enough I never once lied to her. I took amusement at the look of utter frustration on her face, as I told her about how one time, me and my demons played poker, and Henry, a fierce monster, but in reality a big ol' softy, let me floor him, to make me feel better. It's hilarious to watch that woman try and conceal her annoyance, especially because she didn't do a good job of it. She probably needed to go see someone about her anger issues.

My eyes shut tight, I let my mind wander to the box of memories I stored way in the back, next to the one labelled 'Embarrassing Moments of My Life'. I allowed myself to drown in the flashing images that played like my own personal movie. A warm and kind smile meant just for me. A hug full of safety and love. So much grey...

A rush of scents and sounds flooded through my mind, causing my nerves to both calm and tense as they waited eagerly for sounds and smells of happier times. Bubbly laughter , bursting suddenly but welcome. A deep, honeyed laugh, warm as a midnight fire in the depth of Winter, that made me smile despite the day I've had.

The time we discovered my mother's ridiculously vast perfume collection, the barely contained smile she held while trying to reprimand us for wasting several hundred dollars of the finest scents. 

Daddy just laughing his big, cheerful , deep laugh . Mamma's face as she smiled evilly at us in St. Stephen's green, while asking randomers if they wanted to sample a perfume for that one special guy (violets and wood smoke on my inner elbow) or a special just for you scent of musk and vanilla ( my wrists).

She made us stand there , while amused strangers sniffed us and congratulated her about her choice of scents and where they could get some. It was one of the best memories I had of her.