Jolene squirmed in the crowded pew. Acutely aware of the dozens of bodies surrounding her, she closed her eyes and tried to wish them away. After a few deep breaths her eyelids peeled open to find the mass of familiar soggy faces still there. Blood raced through her veins, streaked faces swirled together, her politely folded fingers dug into each other, each one trying to push through the other.
Sweat slid down the curved instep of her high heel with a displeasing tickle and she wished she had followed her grandmother’s advice and worn the geriatric tan nylons. At the very least they would have provided a barrier between her foot and the dank sole of her shoe. Her toes wiggled, suffocated and confined in the sweaty faux leather shoes. She considered sliding them off, just for a few moments, but decided it would be even worse to have to put them back on again.
It had been just over a year since she’d moved back from college to her hometown in Ohio. It was a small, working-class town, the picture of middle America. Tree-lined streets branched off one main road and worn rail road tracks dissected the city in two. Every Sunday night old men would bring their old cars to the town square and tell the same stories over and over again. Families stood in line at the Dairy Queen to play miniature golf and eat drippy vanilla ice cream cones. Every restaurant had its regulars who would come and sit in the same seats and order the same meal at the same time. While she was away Jolene had craved the rhythm of the town, steady and reliable, just like the trains that whistled through it.
She was soon reminded how confining that rhythm could be. There was no room to improvise, no room to improve the melody. It had been the reason she’d left. She’d taken out over a hundred thousand dollars in loans to attend college in a New York suburb. None of her friends had been able to go to college. A few of them already had kids and the rest didn’t have the grades, the money, or the interest. She returned to find them drowned out, crushed by the persistent beat of conformity. The rebelliousness of youth was gone and they had been left with a desperation they could not name. She watched as they clung to artificial joy, and she watched as it killed them.
Death had come in waves. First Erich died of a heroin overdose in the Motel 6 the next town over, and then Brad died in an explosion in Haqlaniyah, Iraq with four other Marines. Amanda committed suicide by injecting her step-father’s insulin for three days until her body gave out and Aaron shot himself in the McDonalds parking lot. There were others, but they were the same, dying silently.
The town’s charm had faded. The loss of those she loved had ripped her reason from her and she was overwhelmed by the realization that death was real, that she would have to live with its possibility for the rest of her life and she would have to do it without the ones she loved.
College friends had offered sanctuary. “That town is no good for you. Come crash with us.” The offer was appealing. Escape to a Brooklyn studio, fully furnished with dumpster finds. Late night talks about capitalism, sexism, racism, “the man.” Hairy armpits, vegan lasagna, same sex love affairs, freedom.
Her ex-girlfriend lived in Brooklyn. Roxanne. She had left Roxanne leaning on the wall of a bus depot. A curl had sprung free from her tight short ponytail and wound its way toward her pale brown green eyes, sweat collecting on her upper lip. Her torn jeans had held her round hips with a raw grace and were wearing thin through the thighs, it had been almost pornographic. Jolene knew if she was in Brooklyn that Roxanne would take her back. That she would excuse the “we just need to do different things right now” speech. She thought of all the times the curve of Roxanne’s hip had cradled her arm and how much she had missed it.
But would she be able to leave behind those attempting to survive? Her desire to withdraw made her feel somehow complicit in the abandonment of those she had loved, the abandonment that had killed them. After all she was not alone in her grief and it was wrong to desert those unable to walk away from the devastation of loss.
She found herself once again gazing out the chapel window, intently watching the line of people winding through the parking lot, waiting to pile into the already congested church. The damp wooden pew squeaked with her subtle movements and the sharp noise seemed to cut through the muffled sobs and condoling whispers. A pang of guilt shot through her. She didn’t want to be there. She was sick of only seeing people when they were forced to wear black, sick of shaking hands grasping limp Kleenex.
Hot August air hung in the rafters of the church. A heavy salt musk clogged her nostrils as she watched salty liquid smeared away by the backs of hands, weak paper, and shirt sleeves. A tackily decorated urn balanced on the altar, the working class coffin. She had never been to a funeral with a body. Coffins were expensive. Parents had no choice but to burn their children and cradle them in complimentary urns. No graves, no headstones, no closure.
She imagined Jesse, an old friend from high school, broken down into tiny pieces of dust, all mixed together with little bits of other people, bastardized by whatever was in the incinerator. Her molars ground against each other, forcing her lips together, her best attempt at subduing the scream about to break free from the middle of her chest. He deserved better.
He had been walking along the tracks on his way home from a party when he tripped or passed out or his shoe got stuck. Nobody was really sure. But she could picture him lying alone on the railroad track as the ever reliable train rushed upon him, taking just his legs so he would have to watch as it passed him by, and the last of his passion drained from his body.
The friction in her body exploded, propelling her out of her seat. Her feet slipped in her shoes as she stood and ran through the tears. She pushed through the door and the hot sun bit into her cheeks as she moved towards her car. She didn’t know where she was going, but she could hear the train in the distance.
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