Shiner
Bee rolled Nelly Hoegarth’s wheelchair from the van to the lone Gulf Cypress, the only object offering even a whisper of green shade at Two Rivers Cemetery in the swampy August heat. Big Jim’s casket, as stately and massive as a Roman sarcophagus, gleamed with a sheen that mimicked the congregation’s sweaty brows as they marched over the grass toward their seats, the ladies’ heels sinking into the soft earth like forks in chocolate cake. The attendees swallowed complaints of the noonday sun and murmured about the fine blue sky.
Bee lightly squeezed Nelly’s thin shoulder before walking away to sit next to her own family, leaving Nelly by herself under the tree to observe through steam-fogged glasses the other guests, her neighbors and kin, all those people dressed in their Sunday best who, if given the choice, would have swapped her old body for Big Jim’s in that casket any day of the week. She had a good three decades of life on him, plus that beautiful old house that sat dormant with only herself and the nurse to fill two of its ten bedrooms, and no children to call her own. It was high time for life to end its dance with Nelly and let others more deserving take a spin. She had a long line of cousins after all, who had been waiting patiently for the windfall once she goes. First in that line had been Big Jim. But there he was, all seven feet of him, inside his big casket, fixing to move into a plot at Two Rivers instead of Nelly’s house.
Minister Lucas took his place in front of the guests with a guitar in his hand, setting it down with a hollow thunk next to the podium. Unlike the congregation, he looked freshly powdered, his smooth forehead dry, his white dress shirt still neatly pressed. No wet circles widened under his arms. “We are gathered here to honor the life of James Hoegarth, known to his loving family and friends as Big Jim.”
As Lucas spoke Nelly kept her eye on the crowd. The heat puddled in her lap and the minister’s words drifted over and descended on her like heavy patches of a scratchy quilt. “Big Jim, a master storyteller…” She had known Big Jim for the last fifty years of her long life and couldn’t recall him spinning a single entertaining tale. “Known for his kindness…” Couldn’t dredge up even one sweet gesture from the man. Good as strangers her kin. The small kindnesses of Bee, just a neighbor girl bringing a warm casserole or waving hello every once in awhile, and the tidy manners of her live-in nurse meant more to her than a hundred Big Jim memories.
Finally Lucas picked up the guitar and lifted its colorful woven strap over his head. He strummed its strings with long pale fingers and his clear voice rang out like a refreshing mist over their heads, “Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy.”
In the second row Nelly spotted a thin white wire falling from the ear of a boy who should have known better. One day some Hoegarths she barely knows will be living in her house, using her things, walking over her carpets, maybe even sleeping in her very bedroom, where her parents and her grandparents had slept.
She imagined unknown Hoegarth children tucked into their beds at night clutching cold computers and phones instead of soft teddy bears. White wires and mysterious electronic threads furled from their small hands out of their windows, reaching in every direction, beyond Shiner county lines, straight into the sky where they tangled in an earth-sized mass blocking their little souls from heaven.
She wanted to roll over to the boy and smack the wire right out of his ear.
Bee lightly squeezed Nelly’s thin shoulder before walking away to sit next to her own family, leaving Nelly by herself under the tree to observe through steam-fogged glasses the other guests, her neighbors and kin, all those people dressed in their Sunday best who, if given the choice, would have swapped her old body for Big Jim’s in that casket any day of the week. She had a good three decades of life on him, plus that beautiful old house that sat dormant with only herself and the nurse to fill two of its ten bedrooms, and no children to call her own. It was high time for life to end its dance with Nelly and let others more deserving take a spin. She had a long line of cousins after all, who had been waiting patiently for the windfall once she goes. First in that line had been Big Jim. But there he was, all seven feet of him, inside his big casket, fixing to move into a plot at Two Rivers instead of Nelly’s house.
Minister Lucas took his place in front of the guests with a guitar in his hand, setting it down with a hollow thunk next to the podium. Unlike the congregation, he looked freshly powdered, his smooth forehead dry, his white dress shirt still neatly pressed. No wet circles widened under his arms. “We are gathered here to honor the life of James Hoegarth, known to his loving family and friends as Big Jim.”
As Lucas spoke Nelly kept her eye on the crowd. The heat puddled in her lap and the minister’s words drifted over and descended on her like heavy patches of a scratchy quilt. “Big Jim, a master storyteller…” She had known Big Jim for the last fifty years of her long life and couldn’t recall him spinning a single entertaining tale. “Known for his kindness…” Couldn’t dredge up even one sweet gesture from the man. Good as strangers her kin. The small kindnesses of Bee, just a neighbor girl bringing a warm casserole or waving hello every once in awhile, and the tidy manners of her live-in nurse meant more to her than a hundred Big Jim memories.
Finally Lucas picked up the guitar and lifted its colorful woven strap over his head. He strummed its strings with long pale fingers and his clear voice rang out like a refreshing mist over their heads, “Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy.”
In the second row Nelly spotted a thin white wire falling from the ear of a boy who should have known better. One day some Hoegarths she barely knows will be living in her house, using her things, walking over her carpets, maybe even sleeping in her very bedroom, where her parents and her grandparents had slept.
She imagined unknown Hoegarth children tucked into their beds at night clutching cold computers and phones instead of soft teddy bears. White wires and mysterious electronic threads furled from their small hands out of their windows, reaching in every direction, beyond Shiner county lines, straight into the sky where they tangled in an earth-sized mass blocking their little souls from heaven.
She wanted to roll over to the boy and smack the wire right out of his ear.
