Chapter 5: Burial Clothes

The funeral home gave my parents a small room with a lamp and a long table.

I lay on the table in the dark suit my mother had bought for me a month ago, to wear to my welcome home party.

It was the only suit I had ever owned. The staff had dressed me in it that afternoon.

I stood by the wall and watched my mother touch the sleeve.

She had not slept. Her pale coat was gone, and she wore the same black dress she had put on at midnight.

"This is too tight in the shoulders," she said.

"Paula," my father said.

"They've buttoned it wrong. Why would they button it like that?"

She pulled at the jacket.

A staff member in the doorway took a step forward and stopped.

"Mrs. Marden, if you would like us to adjust..."

"Get out," my mother said.

"Ma'am..."

"Get out of here, all of you! My son isn't dead!"

She seized the lapel in both fists and tore the jacket open.

Buttons ran across the floor.

She dragged the shirt out of the waistband, and tore at the cloth over my chest, saying, "Get up. Get up, Ellis. Stop this."

My father came to her side.

"Paula. Stop it."

"I'm not stopping! He's cold because they put him in that drawer! He is not dead!"

"Paula, please."

She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up against her.

My head fell onto her collarbone.

My arms hung down. The taped one swung against her ribs.

I stood inside her arms, where my body was, and I had no weight and no breath to answer with.

"I'm sorry," she said into my hair. "I'm sorry. It was all our fault. You worked so hard because of us."

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