Roy Exum
The problem with beginning any tale with the words, “This is a true story” is that your readers will then assume from that moment on that everything else you write isn’t true. But I assure you what you are going to read is the truth. I have obviously changed every name, as well as not disclosing the exact location, because a lot of people could get their feelings hurt and that is hardly the intent.
Rather, this is a story I want you to recall when the worst possible thing you can imagine befalls you because it will not be as bad as this. Conversely, if those who starred in this drama can endure – and they have – the chances are, you can get through anything. I just pray it won’t be as trying as this.
The story first begins to move with a telephone call just before first light in a somewhat rural setting. A father, who has lived alone since his wife passed six years prior, dials up his son on a Saturday morning:
SON – “Good gracious Pop, you are calling mighty early. I’m making coffee but Gladys and the twins are still asleep. Everything copacetic?”
DAD – “No. We have a problem. I need you to come over right now.”
SON – “Dad, I haven’t even shaved … I just let the dogs out and they … “
DAD – “Boy! I am telling you we have a problem. Come now!”
SON – “Whoa, dad … are you okay? Feeling dizzy? Tightness in your chest? Can’t get air …”
DAD – “Will you stop it!?! I feel fine! Now get yourself over here.”
At this point the son goes to the bedroom, whispers to his groggy wife his father needs a hand, but not to start breakfast until he gets back. ‘Leonard,’ the family’s pointer, jumps onto the seat of the pickup and the son roars off, covering a ten-minute drive in about seven. As the son steps from the truck, he spots a green Ford parked around the back of his Dad’s house, it being identical to the one Miss Inez drives to church on Sunday.
The son knows his dad has been sitting beside Miss Inez during the 11 o’clock service, and generally takes her to the Cracker Barrel afterwards, but, oh, what’s this, the delighted boy could hardly suppress a giggle. He and the dog don’t knock, just go on through, and there is his dad, fully dressed, staring at what was probably his third cup of coffee from the looks of the pot on the stove.
SON – “Dad, couldn’t help but notice a car ‘round back. Miss Inez have car trouble and have to leave it? I’ll take a look if you want me to … “
DAD – “No, she’s here. That’s our problem and we got to work fast.”
SON – “Work fast in what kind of way … where is she …”
DAD – “In the bed.”
SON – “Like, your bed? Miss Inez is in your bed! Good Lord, dad, if she sees me here she’ll die of embarrassment … You go in there and get her up … me and Leonard will walk down to the pond and when she gets presentable you come out to the front porch, I’ll see you, and then act like I just got here.”
DAD – “Don’t worry, she ain’t gonna’ see you … see ain’t gonna’ see nobody never on … she’s dead.”
SON – “Dead!! Miss Inez is dead. For God sakes, Dad, call the ambulance! Get the sheriff’s office here right now. She’s one of the most respected folks I know … Dad, come to your senses! We need the fire department to help carry her out. Now!”
DAD – “Well, we can’t do that.”
SON – “Oh God have mercy, Dad! Don’t tell me something evil happened. I can’t bear it. Let’s call the law!”
DAD – “We can’t do that … we can’t let anybody else see her yet … she’s naked.”
SON – “Naked! Neekid! How did she get naked and dead at the exact same time! Aw, Dad, this ain’t right. We got to do what’s right….”
DAD – “That why I have a plan. If Inez’ children found out she died in my bed, especially during passion, it would never do. This town would never be the same. I’d be ruined. The twin’s would be bullied at school. We can’t let Inez leave this way. So I got a plan …”
As the father’s line of sight drew his son’s to the bedroom door, there was Leonard the pointer “on point,” just this side of the door.
DAD – “What we are fixing to do is this … her things are piled in that chair with flowers on the slipcover next to the divan. You and me are gonna’ dress her back. And then we’ll sit her in the living room with a cup of coffee and will call the sheriff, hollering for him to come quick. We’ll say she stopped for coffee on an early trip to see the doctors in Chattanooga and had a sudden attack of some sort ….heart, or maybe stroke ….”
SON – “Have you fallen and hit your head! Dad, this is just not proper. We can’t be handling a corpse, much less if it is Miss Inez! Good God and His Disciples, Dad … this is just wrong. We’ll have to live with a lie the rest of our lives …”
DAD – “But that ain’t nothing like Inez’ children and grandchildren having to bear that she ‘locked up’ in passion! Think about your own mother, bless her. Now get your wits, boy. I remember handling some dead in Korea and the rigor sets in petty quick.”
SON – “Rigor Mortis! Dad, you have gone slap crazy? How we gonna’ strap on a brassiere if her arms are froze! Let’s leave the outcome up to the lord … call the law …”
DAD – “I told you the plan, now get that dog to quit scratching the door and let’s get this done.”
So the son opened the door and crack and gently began to push it open before his dad reached around and slapped it wide.
DAD – “She can’t hear the door opening! Now gather her things while I get her ready to dress.”
The son shifts through a pile of clothes as the father jerks off the top covers. Miss Inez now lies resplendent in her final glory. The boy and the dog stare wide-eyed.
SON – “Oh, gracious, cover her back up until it’s time. Whew, she looks pretty pasty, Pop. How long since …uh … “
DAD – “Never you mind. The time is now. You get up in the middle of bed and lift her shoulders. When you do I’ll swing her legs off the side.”
SON “Who is gonna hold her head … Man, dad, she ain’t bending real easy. Reckon it’s the Mortis …”
DAD – “I’m thinking she’s a little chunky. Now, we’re fixing to trade places. I’ll hold her up and you get her drawers on her.”
SON – “Aw, Dad, forget her underpants. She don’t need ‘em! Nobody’s going to’ see. Let’s work the panty hose and be done.”
DAD – “Absolute not! She’s a self-respecting woman. Now get them drawers on and get them on up high.” (At this point ‘Leonard,’ the pointer, smells mortality and begins to howl. Not like a bark, no, but deep and low like train locomotive.)
SON – “Lemma get that dog to hush! Leonard, you get back, get back, you hear! Oh no, Dad, seems Leonard may have tinkled … oh, oh, oh! Dad, this wasn’t Leonard! What’s left of Miss Inez is leaking … Whew, oh my mercy, please Lord! … I ain’t cut out for this one bit!”
DAD – “Fool, I wiped your tail many a time. Get a washrag and clean up what you can. Get the drawers up high and make sure her panty hose are ‘feet out,’ you hear?”
SON – “Feet out, what on earth … whoa, oh I got cha … don’t get the foot part backwards … “
DAD – “You always were a study in wisdom, boy. Now don’t get your fingernails in those nylons … if they run it ain’t like we got another pair.” (As if to pronounce the moment, Miss Inez’ head flopped forward like she agreed, and the boy felt faint. Leonard, he commenced to howling low once more.)
SON – “Almighty then, this brassiere has to go over both arms and then catch in the back. Dad, take your hands and lift up Miss Inez … uh, pick up each of her chests and then I’ll grab each one with the cups and hold ‘em up as high as they’ll push … yeah, there you go. Now hitch the thing in the back.”
DAD – Oh, h---, my cataracts … I can’t see which strap pitches and which strap catches … you going to have to trade places so you can clip it….”
SON – “No, Dad, don’t let go! Oh Dad! Now we got to catch her two chests again. I’ll tug on the back but you are gonna have to stuff the chests into the cups, you know? I mean, my hands are full … damn if the underwear makers didn’t save some elastic on this model. I can’t get the clips to meet. You got any super glue …whoa, lift up a little higher … Bingo, we got her bra’ed! What was she wearing next?”
DAD – “I can’t remember … was the shirt under her dress or over her dress? Seems to me she had it on underneath.”
SON – “Makes no difference now. Today she’s wearing in on the outside because this old girl is swelling up, I think. Something’s happening. We gotta’ hurry with that Rigor a threat!”
DAD – “Oh, hell … her belt won’t reach around! It won’t do it!”
SON—“Fling it under the bed. Nobody will ever know … Let’s drag her out to the low chair in the living room before we mess with her shoes. They might leave tracks … “
DAD – “Mr. Einstein, you actually think she’s fixing to walk across this carpet ….”
SON – “No, Dad, but those heels will plow the carpet up and the sheriff will know something is up. You gotta’ have to get some lipstick on her and … whew … see if she’s got a perfume squirt or two in her bag.”
It was all the two could do to wrestle Miss Inez through the bedroom door and across the hall to the chair. But they sat her up and she would dump over. Everything they tried, she’d dump forward. Finally they laid her back, touched her hair with a brush and Miss Inez, for all the world, looked just exactly like … like she was dead.
SON – “I told you this wasn’t gonna’ work. I’ll declare the minute the law comes they are taking us first …”
DAD – “Now you relax. I’m gonna’ tell ‘em she’s dead. It ain’t gonna’ surprise nobody. Now you go the hall closet and get that fancy white blanket you sister sent. Drape it over her just like a sheet … no, not a sheet what is it? … a shroud, that’s right, a shroud. Then get that cold coffee off the kitchen table, put it on a saucer and bring it and a napkin and set it right beside Inez. Crinkle that napkin a little, son … what time is it?”
SON – “Almost 9:20, Dad. Are you sure about this …”
DAD – “Right as rain. Get those soiled sheets and put ‘em on the floor of your truck. Stop at Junior’s and fill your gas tank and tell him to put it on my ticket. When he ain’t looking, get the sheets into that dumpster. Get ‘Leonard’ and ya’ll get gone … hand me the phone …”
The son couldn’t leave his dad’s fast enough and he could swear he’d never seen the dog Leonard’s eyes open as wide.
DAD – “This is Gerald … is Lenny around? … Sheriff, I’ve got sad news. You’ve seen me with Inez, we were at your rally several weeks back … yeah … she came by here early this morning for coffee and, Lenny … (sob) … there was nothing I could do. I’d gone for the coffee pot and she was gone ‘fore I got back. Yeah, you know I’m a combat vet, I know it when I see it. Tell ‘em no need to hurry or flash the siren … Oh, I’d appreciate that … the hospital would just send her family a bill … but if you’d call her two girls I’ll meet ‘em at the funeral home. Yessir, I sure do appreciate you too.”
Folks round about said Miss Inez looked beautiful at the funeral home, her hair gleaming like fresh-polished silver, and with the choir singing softly, a most beloved Southern matriarch was ushered away by the angels.
royexum@aol.com