"Proper Emotions" a short story by Steven J. McDermott
Kksch! . . .
Rain spatters as the shovel bites with a crisp rasp into the soil, a knife severing me.
...Thudded!
I wince in spite of myself as the sodden earth thuds onto the coffin, reverberates in my skull, a woodpecker in the wilderness.
Kksch! Thudded!
I wonder about proper emotions. Want someone to tell me how I'm supposed to feel after traveling halfway around the world to find a hungover gravedigger throwing dirt on my once best friend's coffin.
Kksch! Thudded!
No memorial service, no funeral. Mourners? That's how thoroughly he'd isolated himself. A rivulet of rainwater slides down the back of my neck and I shiver involuntarily.
Kksch! Thudded!
Defiance? Should I laugh, sing, dance, or piss on the coffin? Crying is out of the question.
Kksch!...
The gravedigger, breathing hard whiskey breaths, stops to light a cigarette. We stand alone, facing each other across the grave. Rain drips from his hat and stringy blonde hair. The look he gives me through the smoke is surly, as if it's my fault he's here, miserable. Again he wields the shovel, his weapon, his defiance.
. . . Thudded!
My friend wanted desperately to talk to me and now I'm left to wonder why. To make amends? To explain? To seek forgiveness? I wonder about the rasp and bite of last words. Those spoken, and those not. Wonder what friend says to ex-friend, whether, or if, anything can be said. Wonder about love and hate and every damn human emotion in between.
Kksch! Thudded!
I walk away from the grave still not knowing the proper emotions, but the gravedigger keeps piling on the dirt.
Kksch! Thudded! Kksch! Thudded! Kksch! Thudded!
When I'm far enough away from the grave, the shovel's sound achieves a truer pitch.
. . . Ance! Avoid! Ance! Avoid! Ance!
A void.
Copyright©2001 Steven J. McDermott
This story was previously published in Cenotaph.