Agoraphobia

Day 791 (Pencil Poke)

It was July. The air sat still and gauzy, laden with dust and saturated with humidity. It shimmered over hot blacktop roads and melted tar. Insects swarmed. A dusty haze hung in perpetuity over the fields where Uncle Peter and I worked.

A little before noon, we walked wearily back to the main house for lunch.

"Hey. Whatever happened to Frank's dogs?" I asked.

"I don't know," shrugged Uncle Peter. "They just wandered off."

"That's odd. I hope Bryce and Bender don't wander off one day. I'd miss them."

Uncle Peter just grunted in agreement.

"What are they making for lunch?" I asked.

"Don't know. Food, probably."

We schlepped inside, grateful to be out of the sun. Our faces and hands were smeared with dirt and perspiration. The windows were all open, and a mild breeze was blowing gently through the house.

The oppressive heat had made the morning's chores particularly exhausting. So after washing our faces and hands, we plopped on the couch with no intention of getting up until lunch. In fact, Uncle Peter nodded off.

When Kim and Carly trotted over to me, all bouncy and full of energy, I pretended to be asleep. The two little girls ignored this subtle hint and sidled up on either side of me anyway. "Hey, Samber," Kim whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "We want to show you something."

"I'm tired," I groaned. "Can I ignore you later?"

"It's important," insisted Kim, tugging my arm.

"Bring it in here."

"We can't," whined Carly, pulling my other arm. She had recently lost a baby tooth and was involuntarily whistling every time she attempted to pronounce the 's' sound. "PleaS'e, S'amber. We'd consider it a perS'onal favor."

Kim and Carly were looking at me expectantly. Like bright-eyed puppies waiting to be taken out for a walk. I found it simultaneously endearing and annoying.

"Fine," I yawned at last. I followed Kim and Carly into the next room. There, leaning back in a recliner, was Great-Grandpa Ned. He was smiling and holding the book, Gus and the Baby Ghost.

"You found it!" I smiled when I saw the book. "We lost that book last year. Where was it?"

"The book?" shrugged Kim. "We found it under my bed. That's not what we wanted to show you."

Kim pulled a pencil from her pocket and leaned over towards Great-Grandpa Ned. With the pencil's eraser, she poked him gently in the eye. Great-Grandpa Ned didn't react. His wizened face was frozen in a thin smile. His eyes were open, but lifeless.

--------------------------------------------------

Great-Grandpa Ned's death was sudden, but not surprising. He was, after all, eighty-two years old. His body was placed in the living room for a viewing.

Meanwhile, Grandpa Kevin wrote a eulogy while Uncle Peter and I built a funeral pyre for an open-air cremation. The pyre was basically a large pile of wood with a flat top. We built it on the parking lot, far from the house, the woods, or anything else flammable.

By the time we were done, Grandpa Kevin was ready to give the eulogy. It was well-written, and Grandpa Kevin read it well.

Afterwards, Great-Grandpa Ned's body was wrapped tightly in a bed sheet. By default, Peter and I were the pallbearers. With reverence we carried his body out on a wooden dairy pallet and hoisted it up onto the funeral pyre.

As Uncle Peter soaked the wood in lighter fluid, I glanced back at the house and saw everyone looking at us from the windows.

We lit the pyre, and slowly, the fire spread until it was a glorious tower of intense heat and swirling flame.

From the house, we could hear Sarah's saxophone playing "Taps". 

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