Coma (Slowly Editing)

Day 9

On Sunday, his parents had a memorial service for him. It was held in a church two blocks down from our apartment so that everyone can come to pay their final repects and the line was so long, I could see the people from my window. I put on a black dress, bought a single white lily, and lined up with the rest of the strangers. Souxfie and Tara stood with me, quiet and sorrowful as the line inched along.

It was cold inside the church. Mr. and Mrs. Harris didn’t recognised me, but they shook my hand and thanked me for coming anyway. Behind them, at the far end of the hall, was Seymour Harris, placed in a black casket that was polished to a mirror like shine.  My feet felt heavy as I walked towards him.

Ten more steps. Here lies Seymour Harris, beloved son, student, friend.

Eight. Here lies Seymour Harris, who punched me when we met.

Five. Here lies Seymour Harris, who agreed with me when I said he was a dick.

Four. Here lies Seymour Harris, who cried because he wanted more time with his parents.

Three. Here lies Seymour Harris, who thought I was a complete idiot.

Two. Here lies Seymour Harris, who kissed me.

One. Here lies Seymour Harris, who disappeared.  

In death, Seymour looked as though he was sleeping. His eyes, which I knew looked blue-grey at first glance but cleared up when he was in a good mood, were shut. His hands were folded on top of each other. His suit was black, just like his casket. In his breast pocket, a white pocket square with scrawly designs peeked out. I frowned. They looked familiar. Glancing around furtively, I took a step closer. My breath hitched.

They weren’t designs. They were words. And then it hit me. I had seen those words before. In fact, I had written them. His pocket square was made from the list I wrote down that night in my bedroom, a list consisting of the things Seymour wanted to do before he died. I didn’t know how it got there, but I was sure it was a sign.

Seymour wanted me to finish it.

I felt a spark of hope. Perhaps, in some twisted way, that he was still here.

I reached and pulled out the pocket square before anyone could catch me.