Set against the backdrop of the 2020 Covid-19 outbreak, a young woman, Gravely Eaton, is stuck working at the family funeral home with a father she hates. The world is dying around her, but there seems no escape from her boring life with no friend...
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The clock radio in my bedroom went off at 6 a.m. and the pounding beat of U2's "Where The Streets Have No Name" was in sync with my throbbing head. Hangover city. A brain fog enveloped me. "What day was it?" I squinted against the bright summer sun that invaded through the curtains. My legs hung over the side of the mattress and I rubbed my face. My mouth was dry and tasted like vomit. Didn't remember tossing my cookies, but maybe I threw up into my mouth during the night. It didn't matter. Johnny Depp wasn't there to please.
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When I stepped onto the bedroom floor, I yelled in pain. Forgot about the foot wound from the night before. Oh, yeah last night – with father. Oh my god, did that really happen? I brought my left ankle up to rest on my right knee. There was blood on the cotton bandage, but just a smidge. Father's sutures had held up. But then, strangely, I got a whiff of bacon. I examined the dressing, wondering why my foot would have the aroma of smoked pork - delicious but ehwww on a foot. The answer appeared at my bedroom door. Father stood there holding a breakfast tray.
"Knock, knock," he called cordially.
The tray was loaded – a plate heaped with hickory smoked bacon, eggs, waffles, albeit the frozen type you put into a toaster, a bottle of real maple syrup, fresh-squeezed orange juice and a steaming pot of Earl Grey tea – bag in. It was the type of breakfast mom used to serve me on my birthday. But it wasn't my birthday.
Father sauntered playfully to my bedside. He winked at me, then motioned for me to sit back against the headboard. A suspicious feeling came over me, but I waddled back then touched the radio remote. The music shut off. Father smiled as he placed the food tray on my lap. He delicately draped a napkin over the front of me, then readjusted the pillow behind my back – to make it more comfortable for me. I didn't know what to say next, but he did.
"Good morning," he offered. "And how's my favorite girl, today?"
My eyes widened. Favorite girl? My first reaction was to barf, but I shrugged and avoided eye contact. I trained my focus on the food. It looked amazing and smelled even better. I have to admit, my mouth began to water a little. I couldn't help but wonder if the feast was poisoned. After all, we were playing his game, and I didn't know the rules. Sometimes, it's better to stay quiet when you don't know what's expected of you. Not exactly a strategic move, but the approach was safe. What's the saying – "better to keep your mouth shut and look stupid than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." Yeah, silence, sometimes that's the best play. It worked for me in grade school when kids teased me, so why not as an adult. If a picture is worth a thousand words, silence is golden. Right?
