The moon wasn’t quite full, but Rich figured he was better off with just the light of his phone anyways. He’d just jumped the fence when Julio called to see what he was up to. He had plans tonight, and work to do, so it wasn’t a good time for a night with the guys.
“Bro,” Julio said, “I know it’s not something that I can really understand… but when you’re ready, we’re here for you.”
“Thanks, man. Really though, I’m good. Just had a long day,” Rich said.
“Well when it’s time… well… we’re here.” Rich could hear Julio tell everyone he was a “No-go, again”, as he hung up. At least they were trying.
Since she’d gone, no one had really known what to do with him. At first, he’d tried to get out there, and “soldier on” or some other nonsense colloquialism that didn’t really fit. But it always ended the same way.
He’d see her.
He couldn’t really explain it, but she was always there. He’d smell her perfume or see someone with those high-tops she wore everywhere, and he would freeze. He knew it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be.
“People don’t come back, life isn’t a movie, and the dead don’t walk.” His new mantra.
So, Rich bought a shovel. And a crowbar.
“We only had a year,” Rich found himself saying, as he pushed the head of the shovel into the soft earth.
“Her cancer wasn’t supposed to be that aggressive”, the doctors had told him. That didn’t matter now. The chemo was crap. The doctors were full of crap. Those damned Nicolas Sparks books were full of crap.
“People don’t come back, life isn’t a movie, and the dead don’t walk,” he repeated, digging.
After what seemed like hours his shovel hit something hard with a loud thud.
“Bingo,” he wheezed, breathless and exhausted. His pulse pounded in his ears and his back was aching, but there was no use in stopping now.
“That would be crazy, Rich. We’re not crazy, are we?” he asked himself.
He leaned down and began to work the lid of the coffin with his crowbar.
It looked just like it did when they buried her. A little dirtier, sure, but still pretty.
The grain of the pine was stained a deep mahogany, and you could hardly tell he went for the budget model. The mortician had been so nice to help them find something in the, how did he put it? “Modesty” line. Yeah, that grain looked nice. The lid came open easily enough, and there she was.
She looked just like she did when they buried her. A little thinner, sure, but still pretty.
He leaned forward searching for her, his fingers found her in the dark, and she drew him in.
He laid down and held her close, she was so cold. But he’d keep her warm. They could be warm together.
“Richie baby are you going to stay with me now?” he could hear her saying.
“Of course, sweetheart. Now I lay me down to sleep, and all that. You know, this isn’t much smaller than our old studio on 6th,” he laughed, “Hell, it might be bigger.”
He pressed into whatever delusion he’d found himself in. She was back. The high-top sneakers and the perfume they’d buried her in. It was her, alright.
“I was wrong,” he whispered, lips grazing the pallid flesh of what was once an ear, holding her too-soft remains close, “People do come back.”
With that, he closed his eyes and finally, Rich got some sleep.
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