Bread Crumbs

Since this is a writing blog, I have decided that I should probably start posting more of my own creative work. This is a short story that I began working on early this year. 

I have been experiencing feelings lately that I did not have while I was living. When I first died, I could see all of my life. I felt no remorse for my past actions. Now that I have been dead for four years, I am starting to look back and feel differently than I did before. I am beginning to understand kindness, empathy and love. I am also starting to understand regret. During my four years of death, my memories of life have faded. I only have one memory left of my life. Although it is my final memory, I do not want to hold on to it. I want to forget. But I can't. It is sticking to me; like saran wrap used to stick on my skin while I covered up leftovers from dinners I ate alone.  I see my final memory in my mind every day. Because I cannot let go of it, I am trying to understand. I'm looking for an answer. Why is this the final memory of my life? My attempts at understanding always end in defeat. Now, I am just wishing to forget.

~

“Mom, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself…and me.”

Those are the last words my daughter said to me. It was the day before I died. I was out for dinner with Sarah and her husband, Antonio, to celebrate their fifteenth wedding anniversary.

“Hi!” says a perky girl holding a pad of paper, “My name is Molly, and I will be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

“Shut those blinds, the sun’s in my eyes.” I say.

 Sarah shifts in her seat and glances at Antonio, then up at the waitress.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah says, “you don’t have to.”

“No, she does have to.” I look up at the waitress and squint at her through my thick glasses, “It’s your job to serve customers, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Molly says. She bends over the booth next to us and shuts the blinds.

"So, can I get you guys some drinks?"

“Yes, and some food; we've already been sitting here for fifteen minutes.” I say as I pick up my menu and hold it close to my face. I push my thick glasses up farther on my nose, hoping it will help make the menu clearer. I look up at the waitress. “You need to make this print bigger.”

“Mom.” Sarah says. 

Molly looks at me with her mouth slightly open, thinking of something to say. “Well, I guess I could run it by my supervisor after I take your order.” she finally replies.

I squint at her and wag my finger. “As you should,” I say. “The customer’s needs should always come first.” I look back down at the menu.

“Now, I want the sixteen-ounce steak, rare- and don’t bring it out here medium rare- and I want the house salad as my side. And bring me an iced tea, no lemon. Only two ice cubes- no more than that! I ordered an iced tea for a reason, if I wanted a watered down drink I would have just ordered water.”

Molly furrows her eyebrows as her pen scribbles across the pad of paper.

“Anything else, ma’am?” she says after her pen has come to a rest at the bottom of the page.

“No. If there had been something else I would have told you right away.”

Sarah and Antonio order quickly. Once the girl leaves they are silent. I start up a conversation.

“The music in this restaurant is too damn loud.” I say. “When that waitress comes back, I’m going to tell her to turn it down.”

“Mom, please don’t.” says Sarah, gently touching my hand.

I pull my hand away from her and rub it. “Well I don’t know how anyone is supposed to enjoy their meal while they are being tortured by all this infernal noise.”

“Do you want to turn down your hearing aids?” Sarah asks, starting to move her hand up behind my ear.

“No, I don’t want to turn down my hearing aid.” I say as I slap her hand away. “I wouldn’t be able to hear you. This damn restaurant just needs to turn down their damn music.”

Sarah leans back in her seat and sighs. Antonio reaches for her hand under the table.

Molly comes back with our drinks. I talk for fifteen minutes until she comes back accompanied by two other waitresses with our food.

“You need to turn down this music,” I say to Molly, “nobody can enjoy eating in an environment this loud.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I will talk to my supervisor.” she says as she sets my plate down in front of me. “Here is your meal.”

I wrinkle my nose as I look down at my food.

“How does it look?” Molly asks as the two other waitresses set down Sarah and Antonio's meals. 

“There are olives on my salad.” I say, picking up an olive and shaking it at her.

“Yes, olives come on the house salad, which is what you ordered.” Molly says as she looks back at the other two waitresses with raised eyebrows. 

“I hate olives.” I say. I throw the olive down on the ground at her feet. “The next time that I come to this restaurant, don’t put olives on my salad.”

Sarah stands up and knocks over her drink on the table as she gets out of the booth. “Mom, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself…and me.”

This is the final memory of my life.

~

The first memory I have of my death is my visitation. I remember seeing Sarah standing over my casket, gently placing her hand over mine and crying at how cool my skin felt. I saw Antonio at her side, kissing her golden blonde hair, and pulling her away from my cold hand and into his as he led her away from me.

My son, Jim, came to my visitation. He brought his wife and three children. I hadn’t seen him in two years. He was talking and laughing with the mortician as he walked into the visitation room, holding his wife by the waist and occasionally bending down to tickle his children who were staying close to his side. When he left his family and walked up to my casket he became very still. He looked at my body; stiff with my hands folded neatly over my stomach. He looked at my white and wrinkled face, which looked small without my thick glasses. Tears started to roll down his face. He tried to wipe them away, but they started to come faster. He looked up at the small collage of pictures from my life that had been hastily put together that was on display next to my casket. Putting his head into his hands, he started to sob.

Everyone in the room looked over when they heard his cries. They looked nervously around at each other when they realized it was Jim. His children walked slowly up to their father with wide eyes. His daughter, Alice, reached up and pulled on his shirt.

“It’s ok, Daddy. She’s in heaven now.” Alice said. Jim smiled, picked up his daughter and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Alice smiled and wiped away her father's tears that were wet on her face.

“I’m not worried about her now, sweetheart.” Jim said. He looked down at my dead body. “I just wish things had been different while she was alive.”

~

 I don’t remember my funeral. It was empty words and prayers spoken by a person who didn’t know me. 

~

I don't remember much of my burial. I can just see Jim and Sarah holding each other as I was being lowered into the dirt. Even though I can see their tears, I can feel their relief as my casket hits the solid ground. 

~

My body is buried five feet underground. Grass has grown over the dirt that was exposed when I was buried. There is a bouquet of fake flowers in a vase connected to my tombstone. Sarah left them there the day I was buried. My body also looks differently than it did four years ago. Scuttle flies have burrowed their way into my casket and into my body. There are also worms.

I can remember every day that I have spent in this graveyard. 

Every morning, I can see the sunrise. For the first year or two that I was dead, it annoyed me that the sun would come over the hill across the graveyard so brightly. It would make the dew on the grass shine obnoxiously and the sunlight always seemed to be the harbinger of quacking ducks and honking swans floating around in the pond near my grave.

Besides the noisy fowl, I started to become confused by how quiet the graveyard was during my first couple years of death. I expected to see people stooping over graves to pay respects and dropping off flowers. But in the four years that I have been dead, I have never seen another human being.

After a couple of years, I started to become angry at the living. I was angry that they seemed to think they didn't have enough time for the dead. I became bitter. I cursed Sarah and Jim for not visiting their mother.

But, one day, about three years after I had been dead, I noticed the ducks and swans swimming hurriedly to the edge of the pond and waddling up onto land. They were honking and quacking loudly and I wondered what was causing their distress. As I watched closely, I noticed tiny white bread crumbs appearing out of thin air and falling onto the ground, only to be quickly devoured by the hungry birds. I observed in awe, believing I was experiencing some kind of miracle. However, as I continued to watch, I realized that it wasn’t a miracle. The swans and ducks were making a large circle in the grass. They were keeping their distance away from something… or someone. That was when I realized someone was there, a human being, throwing them the bread crumbs.

As I watched the throwing of the bread crumbs, I started to wonder if Jim and Sarah had come to visit me since I had died. I looked down at the flowers on my tombstone. Surely, if Sarah had come to see me, she would have brought new flowers. I looked away from the graying flowers, trying to push away the thoughts in my mind. I looked back at the birds and the flying breadcrumbs. I wondered if it was Jim feeding the birds. Maybe he had brought his wife and children. Maybe Alice was chasing the ducks around wearing a frilly blue dress.

After I witnessed the throwing of the bread crumbs, I started to enjoy the sunrise more. Now I like how bright it is. I like feeling blinded as I look directly into the light. I enjoy looking down at the sparkling dew on the light green grass. I have even learned to love watching the swans and ducks as they swim around the shimmering pond. I especially like to watch them when they became loud and start to waddle onto the land. I watch carefully and eventually can spot bread crumbs flying through the air.

I don’t look down at my flowers anymore. I am afraid to. The last time I did was over three years ago. They were still gray.