"Do you have children, Mr. Reynolds?" Delilah asked, sipping from her teacup. John leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair, nodding.
"Yeah, yeah I do. I got a whole team of 'em," he said, making her smile a little. "That's cute, but you know what I mean, do you have children?" she asked. "Yeah, a daughter, back in LA," Reynolds said, "why?" "It's a terrible thing to lose a child," Delilah said setting her cup down on the table and sighing, "but imagine being a mortician. Imagine having to not only grieve over your child, but prepare them for burial. To cut them open and embalm them. To make them look still alive so they can be presentable in an open casket. Now you're standing there, in a room filled with thirty other people, and your child looks alive, but you know they're not...you know that's just an illusion you've created. That's all life is. Creating illusions to cope with grief. We morticians just happen to be experts at it." Reynolds felt his eyes water, but he didn't want to cry. He hadn't seen Clarissa in months now, and he missed her terribly, so he could only imagine what Delilah's level of missing her child felt like by comparison. Delilah shrugged, picked up her cup once more and sipped it. "Then why'd you create a little league team?" Reynolds asked, after waiting for his voice not to waver while he spoke, and Delilah smiled. "I'll tell you the whole story," she said. And she did. *** "Where are you going?" Hawley asked as they and Reynolds walked down the hall. School had just gotten out, and it was now the weekend. Hawley was in no hurry to rush home, so instead they were strolling with Reynolds down the hall, casually taking their time. The less time they spent at home with dad the better. "I'm going to meet the woman who sponsored our team," Reynolds said, biting into the cafeteria sandwich he'd kept in his jacket pocket since noon, then grimacing at it, "this is awful." "Well you kept it in your pocket all day, what'd you expect it to taste like?" Hawley asked. "Not like it belongs at the place I'm going to visit," Reynolds replied, "Anyway, the principal asked me last week if I could go and visit the woman. She said she wanted to meet with me, since I'm the coach and she's the founder of the team, so I'm obliging them by giving in and doing my duty." "You think she's creepy? Don't only creepy people run funeral homes?" Hawley asked. "If she's creepy more power to her. Make this afternoon a lot more interesting than I'm expecting it to be. Maybe she'll kill me then reanimate me like some kind of zombie. That'd be neat," Reynolds said, tossing the half finished sandwich in the trash and then looking at Hawley and adding, "From now on, you're not eating that shit. I'm bringing us lunch." Hawley hid their smile, feeling appreciative that someone would actually buy them food. "So," Reynolds said, "What are your plans for this weekend?" "I don't know," Hawley said, "Dad tries not to work on the weekends, but I don't like being home around him, so...maybe I'll go hang out in the woods somewhere. Gotta be less scary than being home." "The woods are cool," Gorey said, rushing up behind them, no longer in her work jumpsuit, "Sometimes you find dead bodies in the woods." "Hey, we could have similar weekends," Reynolds said, making Hawley laugh. As the group reached the front of the school, Hawley said goodbye, got to their bike and started riding home. Reynolds and Gorey stood there momentarily, watching all the kids and teachers leave. Gorey looked at Reynolds, her messy braids bouncing behind her as she bobbed her head. "So where are we going?" she asked. "We? We're not going anywhere. I'm going to the funeral home," Reynolds said, heading down the steps and towards his car, Gorey hot on his heels. "I could assist! I could come as company! You don't wanna go there alone, right? It could be haunted! The owner could be a murderer!" Gorey said loudly as she followed him. They got to the lot and Reynolds pulled his keys out of his other coat pocket, unlocking the car then looking over the hood at Gorey on the opposite side. "Why do you wanna come anyway?" he asked. "I have nothing else to do," she said, shrugging. "Well that's just depressing," Reynolds remarked, then sighing added, "Alriiiight, get in." *** Delilah Darling was anything but creepy. She was almost the opposite of what one would expect someone who ran a funeral home to be like. At times she almost look like she stepped right off the board of an ivy prep school. She had dark red hair, bundled up to keep it out of her way while she worked, and was dressed in a deep blue navy suit. She was currently standing in the kitchen area of the funeral home, making tea for herself and her guests. She never drank coffee, she'd stopped years ago, but she still drank tea. It relaxed her. As she waited for the water to boil, she looked at the wall where a series of photos hung, and she smiled weakly. She kept meaning to take the photos down. They only made her sad, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Where would she put them that wouldn't feel insulting, and how would she live with herself, losing her son in two different ways? No. The photos stayed up. That was that. The doorbell rang, and broke her from her concentration. Delilah headed towards the door, opening it only to find John Reynolds and Janice Gorey standing on her front porch. "Hello," Delilah said, "Come in, please." "I like your doorbell, it's shaped like a skull," Gorey said as they walked in. "It's the little touches that make a funeral home seem so personal," Reynolds muttered, making himself and Gorey chuckle. Delilah shut the door behind them and headed into the living room area. "Please," she said, motioning to the chairs, "have a seat. I'm making tea. I'll be back in a moment." Reynolds and Gorey seated themselves and looked around the room. It was dark, but not macabre like they had expected. Reynolds shivered, catching Gorey's attention, as her neck snapped back towards him, looking confused. "I never liked funeral homes," Reynolds said, "Too close to death to be comfortable." "I think they're sort of relaxing. They're like the public library. Everything is quiet and reserved," Gorey said, "course...you're not dead in a public library, so maybe that wasn't the best thing to compare it to, but you know what I mean, the ambiance of the place." "Please stop talking." "Alrighty." Delilah returned hastily with three teacups on a saucer in one hand and a small box of cookies in the other. She set them down on the table between their chairs and her loveseat, and then seated herself. She leaned forward and opened the box of cookies, and told them they were more than welcome to have some, that these were for guests specifically. Gorey helped herself, but Reynolds - despite having a disgusting sandwich a half hour earlier - opted instead not to partake and instead stuck with his tea. "How are you enjoying your new position as coach?" Delilah asked after a moment. "It's...fine," Reynolds said, "it's better than fine, actually. It's much better than I expected it to be." "That's good," Delilah said, "I wanted it to be a good experience for everyone, coach included. And what is your position on the team?" she asked, turning to look at Gorey. "She's my gofer," Reynolds said, "just helps with little tasks here and there. She's the school janitor but I keep around cause sometimes I need help with something." "I see," Delilah said, "...are you uncomfortable being here? Funeral homes aren't exactly the most warm and welcome of places for people to visit." "Actually I think it's very homey," Gorey said. "That's because it is my home. I live in the upstairs area," Delilah said, "work station is downstairs with both a freezer and incinerator, and then in the back I have a room full of showroom coffins for potential buyers to peruse. This isn't just where I work, it's where I live." "You're not afraid of being haunted or something?" Reynolds asked, half joking. "Of course not," Delilah said, "Nothing in death could scare me half as much as life itself has managed to." As she sipped her tea again, Gorey and Reynolds exchanged a nervous glance. This lady was weird, and it was starting to creep them out a bit. She was almost too measured and calm for someone in her line of work. After a moment, Reynolds put his teacup down and leaned forward, clapping his hands onto his knees. "Alright," he said, "I'm done. I give. What did you wanna meet with me for? I was doing it to be polite, but this is awkward and frankly I'm somewhat put off." "Do you have children, Mr. Reynolds?" Delilah asked, sipping from her teacup. John leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair, nodding. "Yeah, yeah I do. I got a whole team of 'em," he said, making her smile a little. "That's cute, but you know what I mean, do you have children?" she asked. "Yeah, a daughter, back in LA," Reynolds said, "why?" "It's a terrible thing to lose a child," Delilah said setting her cup down on the table and sighing, "but imagine being a mortician. Imagine having to not only grieve over your child, but prepare them for burial. To cut them open and embalm them. To make them look still alive so they can be presentable in an open casket. Now you're standing there, in a room filled with thirty other people, and your child looks alive, but you know they're not...you know that's just an illusion you've created. That's all life is. Creating illusions to cope with grief. We morticians just happen to be experts at it." Reynolds felt his eyes water, but he didn't want to cry. He hadn't seen Clarissa in months now, and he missed her terribly, so he could only imagine what Delilah's level of missing her child felt like by comparison. Delilah shrugged, picked up her cup once more and sipped it. "Then why'd you create a little league team?" Reynolds asked, after waiting for his voice not to waver while he spoke, and Delilah smiled. "I'll tell you the whole story," she said, "I was married young. My husband and I were both interested in mortuary sciences, so we bought this place, made it our business. After a while we wanted a family, but it took a handful of tries, sad to say. Eventually though we were blessed with a son. His name was Evan." She stopped and looked into her teacup, he smile still there but definitely looking sadder now. "...Evan loved baseball. That was what he wanted to do when he grew up. He wanted to play baseball professionally. Neither my husband nor myself were athletically inclined, but we took him out and we played ball with him whenever he would ask, because that's what you do as parents, you support your childs interests and hobbies, even if you yourself aren't interested or, in our case, are bad at it. Baseball cards, signed baseballs, jerseys, you name it and Evan had it. We took him to so many ball games we started to get in shape just from all the walking around the stadium we had to do." Reynolds and Gorey laughed and kept listening, fully enthralled now. "Evan got sick was he was 7. He got worse when he was 8. It wasn't anything we could do anything about. We simply had to weather it, accept this was the hand of fate we'd been dealt. We'd tried for years to have a child, only for our child to eventually get ill. We took him to specialists, but we all knew the inevitable outcome. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it. I remember my husband and I have numerous discussions about which one of us would deal with him, with the burial work and what have you. I chose to spare him that pain. He left anyway. Eventually I left the house we had and moved into this place full time." Reynolds couldn't help it now, tears were coming down his face. He felt a hand gripping his tightly and he looked down to see Gorey was squeezing his hand, herself crying too. "I felt like, by helping there be a little league team, maybe a part of Evan would survive beyond my hazy memories of brief motherhood. I felt like maybe others could appreciate what Evan appreciated about the sport, and maybe even as much as he did," Delilah said, "...so I'm glad to hear the team has gone well and you're all working together, because that was exactly my goal. Create something that was capable of overcoming the odds and obstacles because we weren't. He would've been 9 today." Gorey put her face against Reynold's shoulder and instinctively, without thinking, he stroked her hair. "Are you sure you don't want any cookies?" Delilah asked. "Yeah, I'll have a goddamn cookie," Reynolds managed to say in between sniffles. *** "That was brutal," Reynolds said later, the both of them sitting in his car in the parking lot of a nearby gas station. "I'm so sorry I cried on you," Gorey said. "Naw, it was hard to listen to, it's fine," Reynolds said. "...you have a daughter?" Gorey asked, making him smile. "Yeah. Course we don't talk now, now that I'm out here. Not that that's either of our decisions. It's her mother. She's keeping us apart. She doesn't want her associated with me after what happened. I'm just abiding by her wishes, dumb as they may seem." Gorey inhaled and exhaled deeply, tossing her braids back and slouching in the passenger seat, looking at the pile of candy bars sitting in her lap that he'd bought for them to snack on. "Why did you let me come?" she asked. "Because you insisted on it," Reynolds said, "and...I don't know, I guess I didn't wanna go alone. For what it's worth, I'm glad you were there, even if you did get my shoulder all soggy." Gorey laughed a little, which made Reynolds laugh. "I just wanna be a good coach, cause I wasn't exactly a good dad. I feel like I have to make up for that somehow, and if I can help these kids, maybe that'll excuse my shitty parenting. Either way it's good for both of us, kid and coach alike, so. You gotta help kids find their way in the world, otherwise they wind up scared and confused and lost, never capable of taking care of themselves. They need parents, or at least a parental figure of some kind or another." "I think you're a good coach," Gorey said, making him smile. All in all, it wasn't a bad start to the weekend. *** Hawley was sitting in their bedroom, looking at a fashion magazine that had been mistakenly shoved in their mailbox. Suddenly they heard the front door slam shut, and they quickly slid the magazine under their mattress just as their father pushed open their bedroom door. The two locked eyes, and Hawley waited for the anger. "I just got a call from someone who said that a few weeks ago they saw you late at night in the schools baseball field," Edward said, "Care to explain?" "I...I just wanted to go for a walk. I couldn't sleep. Mom has insomnia, you know that I-" "No no, I don't care about that. I mean, yeah, I would prefer you weren't out on your own that late at night, but uh...that isn't what I'm upset about. What I'm upset about is they said you were wearing a dress," Edward said, entering the room now and shutting the bedroom door behind him, "...were you?" "Of course not, that's ridiculous, I don't even OWN any dresses," Hawley said, lying through their teeth. "That's what I figured, and this lady she's old so she's got bad eyesight, I can't take her word for it," Edward said, "but let me just say...if you ever do, and if I ever learn about it, you'll wish your mother was here to stop me. Understood?" Hawley nodded, their eyes burning from wanting to cry in fear, their heartbeat racing a mile a minute. Edward patted them on the shoulder, then exited the bedroom. They waited until they heard the front door shut again, then Hawley collapsed face first on the bed and sobbed as hard as they could. They wanted to run away so badly, they wanted somewhere to go, but they didn't know where to go. Instead they grabbed their backpack, shoved a few things in it and then climbed out their bedroom window, racing off the opposite direction of the front of the house. Sure, they had no idea where they were going, but anywhere was better than here. It wasn't until an hour later, walking down the street in a neighborhood they barely recognized that they heard a car pull up beside them. They looked to their right and noticed Reynolds and Gorey in the car. "What're you doin?" Reynolds asked from the window. "Walkin'," Hawley said. "We have candy!" Gorey shouted at them. "Don't entice a child with candy into my car!" Reynolds shouted, "You tryin' to get me arrested?!" Hawley couldn't help it, they started laughing, then ran to the car and climbed into the back of the car. The three of them went to a nearby arcade and minigolf fun center and spent the rest of the day eating awful cardboard style pizza and playing games. A while into this excursion, Reynolds and Hawley standing against an old arcade cabinet and watching Gorey use light guns to play something, Reynolds handed Hawley his drink, offering them a drink. "What were you walkin' away from?" Reynolds asked. "Dad." "Figured," Reynolds said, "What happened?" "He threatened me. Said if I ever wore a dress and he found out about it that he'd hurt me," Hawley said. "Well, if he does, let me know. I have access to a whole closet full of baseball bats," Reynolds said. It took everything Hawley had not to smile as wide as possible.
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GRAVE INNINGS is about A funeral home that has sponsored a local little league, the coach who is a disgraced reality show host, a young transgirl and the odd family they create for one another. Archives
May 2024
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