jconley77
08-01-2010, 02:43 AM
PINE
James Conley
First Draft
http://burningants.wordpress.com
“This place really ought to be closer to town. It’s too far a drive, too long to get here. It’s bad for business, you know.”
The place was five minutes outside of town. Getting there was quicker than going into downtown, if you took the bypass. Downtown was old, small, streets cramped and cracking and always spilling over. No planning committee since the nineteenth century saw fit to recognize automobiles had surpassed horses as the preferred mode of transport. But the bypass was new. New things frightened mother. She preferred the familiar claustrophobia of the tiny downtown.
“Here, park here, Alexandra. I can’t walk very far. Are you trying to flare my arthritis already? We’ve got too much to do today, Alexandra, far too much to do.”
She pulled the car into the tiny little parking lot of the tiny little building. It was a white-painted home. The sign on the porch railing made it a business. It was a funeral home. She backed the car in slowly to put mother’s door closest to the entrance.
“You could have just parked head-in, you know. Daylight doesn’t last forever.”
She helped mother out of the car, held her arm up the small stairs.
“Patience, Alexandra! Always in such a rush, just like your father was.”
They walked through the softly-lit rooms of the home, nodding to the owners. Flower arrangements and tiny crucifixes seemed to decorate every wall. They had been here once already, made the initial arrangements for the whole thing. They led themselves into the room that displayed the caskets available for sale.
“I know you’re grieving, Alexandra, but you could go so far as to look presentable, you know.”
“We’re just planning now, Mom.”
“This is a nice occasion. A formal occasion, Alexandra. You ought to go out of your way to look your absolute best.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Formal occasions require a little good taste.”
“They do.”
“You never had very good taste, you know that? Your father never had very good taste, either. You’re very much like your father, you know that, Alexandra? No taste.”
Earlier that day she had bought a black dress for the funeral. It cost three-hundred dollars. Mother said that for three-hundred dollars she could have bought ten thirty-dollar dresses that looked better and fit properly. Have you been exercising like I told you? mother had asked.
They looked around, trying to pick out a suitable tomb. It struck her as odd to shop and compare sarcophagi like shoes. Some were heavier than others. Some more finely decorated. It seemed very trivial.
“How about this one?”
She pointed to a richly-stained red coffin. The woodwork was exquisite. Deep red velvet lined its interior. It was highlighted by brushed silver metalwork. The pallbearers would look like concierge to a king. Mother looked over it, knocking on the hardwood, running her hands over the metalwork.
“Look at this,” mother said, “would you just look at this Alexandra?”
“What’s that, Mom?”
“What’s that! What’s that! That’s what passes for craftsmanship these days! Have you ever seen such imprecise staining, such shoddy metalwork? Knock on that Alexandra, right there, just knock on it.”
She knocked on it lightly. Despite her arthritis, mother climbed her way into the casket to continue making her point known. She clutched at the red velvet pillows inside, pushing at them with disdain.
“Do you feel that, Alexandra? Like leather, this is, or some cheap vinyl! Knock on the outside again, Alexandra.”
She did.
“Did you hear that? Sounds like tin! They call this handmade? They call this craftsmanship? It’s a crime, Alexandra, a crime!”
It was the most expensive casket in the home.
“It’s beautiful, ma! And it’s mahogany. You love mahogany, don’t you?”
“If this is mahogany I’d rather have pine!”
Mother had always loved mahogany.
“Alexandra, you’re my darling little girl and I love you very much but if this looks beautiful to you then you must surely be going blind!”
“Mom, please, I-“
“Blind! Blind, just like your father!”
Just like your father.
“Well you know what ma, the blind can see as well as the dead so I hope this suits us both!”
She slammed the coffin door shut on her mother, leaned her hands heavily against it. She paced her breathing. One of the attendants, a somber little man in a somber little suit, came by.
“Is there something I can help you with, miss?” He lifted the coffin door slowly as he spoke, to inspect for damage. It was empty.
Alexandra looked around, at the caskets, at her dress. She remembered her father telling her, before she left, to pick out something nice. Something beautiful.
“Do you have anything in pine?” she said.
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First entry to the site. Go hard on it.
James Conley
First Draft
http://burningants.wordpress.com
“This place really ought to be closer to town. It’s too far a drive, too long to get here. It’s bad for business, you know.”
The place was five minutes outside of town. Getting there was quicker than going into downtown, if you took the bypass. Downtown was old, small, streets cramped and cracking and always spilling over. No planning committee since the nineteenth century saw fit to recognize automobiles had surpassed horses as the preferred mode of transport. But the bypass was new. New things frightened mother. She preferred the familiar claustrophobia of the tiny downtown.
“Here, park here, Alexandra. I can’t walk very far. Are you trying to flare my arthritis already? We’ve got too much to do today, Alexandra, far too much to do.”
She pulled the car into the tiny little parking lot of the tiny little building. It was a white-painted home. The sign on the porch railing made it a business. It was a funeral home. She backed the car in slowly to put mother’s door closest to the entrance.
“You could have just parked head-in, you know. Daylight doesn’t last forever.”
She helped mother out of the car, held her arm up the small stairs.
“Patience, Alexandra! Always in such a rush, just like your father was.”
They walked through the softly-lit rooms of the home, nodding to the owners. Flower arrangements and tiny crucifixes seemed to decorate every wall. They had been here once already, made the initial arrangements for the whole thing. They led themselves into the room that displayed the caskets available for sale.
“I know you’re grieving, Alexandra, but you could go so far as to look presentable, you know.”
“We’re just planning now, Mom.”
“This is a nice occasion. A formal occasion, Alexandra. You ought to go out of your way to look your absolute best.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Formal occasions require a little good taste.”
“They do.”
“You never had very good taste, you know that? Your father never had very good taste, either. You’re very much like your father, you know that, Alexandra? No taste.”
Earlier that day she had bought a black dress for the funeral. It cost three-hundred dollars. Mother said that for three-hundred dollars she could have bought ten thirty-dollar dresses that looked better and fit properly. Have you been exercising like I told you? mother had asked.
They looked around, trying to pick out a suitable tomb. It struck her as odd to shop and compare sarcophagi like shoes. Some were heavier than others. Some more finely decorated. It seemed very trivial.
“How about this one?”
She pointed to a richly-stained red coffin. The woodwork was exquisite. Deep red velvet lined its interior. It was highlighted by brushed silver metalwork. The pallbearers would look like concierge to a king. Mother looked over it, knocking on the hardwood, running her hands over the metalwork.
“Look at this,” mother said, “would you just look at this Alexandra?”
“What’s that, Mom?”
“What’s that! What’s that! That’s what passes for craftsmanship these days! Have you ever seen such imprecise staining, such shoddy metalwork? Knock on that Alexandra, right there, just knock on it.”
She knocked on it lightly. Despite her arthritis, mother climbed her way into the casket to continue making her point known. She clutched at the red velvet pillows inside, pushing at them with disdain.
“Do you feel that, Alexandra? Like leather, this is, or some cheap vinyl! Knock on the outside again, Alexandra.”
She did.
“Did you hear that? Sounds like tin! They call this handmade? They call this craftsmanship? It’s a crime, Alexandra, a crime!”
It was the most expensive casket in the home.
“It’s beautiful, ma! And it’s mahogany. You love mahogany, don’t you?”
“If this is mahogany I’d rather have pine!”
Mother had always loved mahogany.
“Alexandra, you’re my darling little girl and I love you very much but if this looks beautiful to you then you must surely be going blind!”
“Mom, please, I-“
“Blind! Blind, just like your father!”
Just like your father.
“Well you know what ma, the blind can see as well as the dead so I hope this suits us both!”
She slammed the coffin door shut on her mother, leaned her hands heavily against it. She paced her breathing. One of the attendants, a somber little man in a somber little suit, came by.
“Is there something I can help you with, miss?” He lifted the coffin door slowly as he spoke, to inspect for damage. It was empty.
Alexandra looked around, at the caskets, at her dress. She remembered her father telling her, before she left, to pick out something nice. Something beautiful.
“Do you have anything in pine?” she said.
---------------------
First entry to the site. Go hard on it.