From the beginning
"She won't know about any of this" he reaffirmed, "otherwise, well, you're well informed of what I'd do".
He tilted his head slightly, almost daring her in that moment, to do opposite what he ordered. His presence tall and broad in the centre of her measly living room, emanating supremacy without verbal expression.
She swallowed a cocktail of pride and fear and with a rattling voice asked, "What happens to me?"
"Nothing", he diminished her with a shrug, "just make sure she chooses to do exactly as I want..."
---
Myah
I crossed my legs, appealing to look as professional as I could in a pair of worn-out jeans.
"Well it depends what you're after. For a basic burial, you're looking between $5,000 to about $7,000"
My insides dropped. Fuck!
I kept my face neutral, running a hand through my hair and pretended to think the cost through.
"uhh.... And cremation?", I peeked under my hand.
He tutted his tongue once in reply. "It's not exactly a set price, Ma'am"
Tensing in my seat, I narrowed my eyes at him in rebuke of his sudden lapse in attitude. If only he knew the kind of day I've had...
"it depends what your family reque-"
"The absolute bare minimum", I interjected sharply, "What am I looking at in terms of price".
"$3,000 to $3,600", his reply was curt. Probably because he thought that I wouldn't be making him enough money to be worth his time. Or because he thought I had no respect for the corpse I needed to bury. I bet this guy took it upon himself to fend for the dead.
I took a deep breath in. This is the cheapest quote I've received, for the area we are in
"Okay", I nodded. "How do I book for this thing?".
-----
The lady on the bus ride home could have drilled a hole in my scalp from her incessant gaze. It reached a stage where I stared back at her for the most awkward twenty seconds of my life, to see how she liked being gawked at. She just simply blinked and glanced elsewhere.
I shook my head. People really want to see me explode today, didn't they...
I peeled back my jumper to inspect the damage. My forearm was red. Like the red part of a candy cane, or a red jelly bean.
This was, presumably, what prompted the woman's ceaseless staring.
But it was a habit; nothing I can do about it. Sure, I looked like an ice addict going through withdrawal symptoms, but the itching subconsciously happened when I'm nervous. And yes I am flippin' nervous.
I'm the one that has to go home to tell my mama that my father, who has been deceased for three-and-a-half weeks, can only be cremated in a cemetery seventy-three minutes away from where we lived, because that's how much I can afford.
She's going to play the role of the oppressed, once more, and I'll be lying if I said I didn't get the shits every time she did that. Like she's the only one going through hardships and I'm merely the messenger. Like it wasn't my father that I couldn't bury, but only her beloved husband.
As the familiarly dull and desolate streets of my suburb lulled into view, I alerted the bus driver to stop, saving myself a higher fare for a closer stop. I thanked him; expertly not expecting him to utter a "no worries" or "you're welcome sweetheart". Why are bus drivers' bitches for?
I hopped out of the bus, allowing myself to sigh heavily as I took in the streets leading to my home. I felt that the sight of it today caused tears to spring to my eyes. I let them stream, thankful for the longer walk home. Where in the hell would I get the money for his funeral arrangements? I mean, sure, I can fork out three or four grand, if Mum, Ben, and I can go a couple of weeks without needing to eat, or a place to sleep.
When I saw the familiar dismantled street sign leading to my home, I patted my face dry (if they weren't on my face she wouldn't ask me about them) and made my way to the entrance of our townhouse.
It was a small little townhouse. Or as my father tried to sell it to us, 'cosy'. Garden beds lined the driveway, and housed an array of wilted plant branches. The tree roots outgrew the concrete pavement, tearing right through them and resting overground, creating a nice giant tripping hazard. I would know.
I tested the front door, opening it effortlessly without a key. How many times did I have to tell her? For God's sake, Dad was killed, we live in one of the sketchiest of suburbs and she can't flick a lock.
I groaned loudly pronouncing my presence, "Ma! Come on! How many times do I have to tell you?" I lectured walking into the living room. She was juggling Benji on her hip, meanwhile clearing some things from the table.
She flickered her eyes to me, seeming uncomfortable. "You're early"
I pursed my lips still waiting for an explanation.
She sighed and waved a hand dismissively. "not my fault, I just had a visitor"
I furrowed my brows, "in our house?"
She walked past me with a plate of biscuits and a tall glass of untouched juice, making her way to the kitchen. She sighed, "Yes Myah", she rolled her eyes, " a man came to wish us our condolences"
"you let a strange man into our house! What are you- "'
She made an annoyed sound cutting me off, "Will you calm it Myah! I'm the mother here. Lecturing is my thing" she finished, tutted her tongue. She wasn't in the best of moods today, I noted.
"He said he knew your brother very well. Best friends with him in High School"
I narrowed my eyes, unimpressed. When she saw this, she widened her eyes, "if you utter one disrespectful word of your brother, you're gonna get it! He's dead and you still can't give him a rest"
I rolled my eyes, "So, that's all he wanted. What did you say, what did he say?"
She plopped Benji in my lap and I made cooing noises to him, when he immediately protested the change of person.
As she turned the tap on, about to wash the dishes, I rushed to the sink saving the tall, cold glass of juice she was about to rinse away. I held it out in front of her, "seriously mama".
She just rolled her eyes. Typical mum. I have barely existent sips from the carton to preserve it in case she or Ben made a fuss about wanting juice, and she just poured half a cartons worth for an ungrateful stranger, and almost rinsed It down the sink.
I took a long refreshing drink from it and let out a satisfied 'ahh', followed by a prayer my mother taught me for blessings. I held the cup to her mouth while she too had a sip and then shook her hand as in 'enough'.
"So what did the guy want"
"Oh!", she turned suddenly, like she forgot something, "actually he wants to talk to you personally",
I furrowed my eyes, "Me?" I asked suspiciously. "He doesn't need to personally wish every member of this family his condolences. Its fine' I held up my hands, "I got the message"
My mother studied me, "why are you always defensive Myah, hmm? You treat everyone as a threat and I don't know why you do it", she huffed exasperatedly.
I didn't meet her gaze not wanting to open this type of a discussion. "Okay continue. What does he want?". I looked towards Ben, who had his big chocolate eyes set on the tall glass of juice in my hand. "oh bubba you want juice", I cooed, trying hard to get some of it in his small mouth but spilling it instead all over his bib. Mum had turned back to doing the dishes, thankfully not witnessing my attempt.
After some silence, she said, "His cards on the table. He wants to arrange a personal meeting with you".
She walked over towards the counter, the water still running at the sink, her eyes unsure but a hint of hope, " I think it's a job offer, Myah ", her lips tugging at the corners.
I widened my eyes. Oh please, please let it be about a job! I so desperately needed to pick up another as soon as possible. Oh God, this man could be a blessing in disguise. "Really", my tone now excited.
I walked around her, flipping the tap off where mum kept it running, "Does it look like he works somewhere....you know good!".
She scoffed, "bub, I could see my reflection on his shoes"
I couldn't help but laugh.
" And his car! You should've seen his car. Peter next door has a face dent in his window now"
Laughing along with my mother, I decided not to tell her about my meeting with the funeral home, or my deferral from University, or our debts that will only double now that Dads scarce and measly pay check was no longer coming in.
I plucked the card of the table, and decided to meet with this man as soon as possible.
"pray for me mama"
" I always am" she called after me
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Hiii Inkitt readers !
I’m new to this platform as a writer but not a reader!
I would love for you guys to let me know what you think and really talk to me x
Also because I'm from Australia and this site is international and us Aussies apparently say the weirdest shit, let me know if you need me to translate a term.
Til next time x
