I was never one to dress up, but today was a very important day. Instead of slipping on my old, worn out jeans I buttoned up my black slacks. They hung over my skeletal frame and were a little short as they barely reached my ankles. I then tossed on a faded light blue shirt, which buttoned all the way to the collar. I didn’t like wearing collars, but Momma always loved it when I would. The shirt had a few little holes in it, but it was the best collared shirt I owned. I then jumped into my black sneakers, as I didn’t own any dress shoes. Momma had to cut open the ends of my sneakers as my feet grew bigger and I liked them this way because it gave room for my feet to breath. I reached back to scratch my neck and could feel the tag Momma had sewn in to my shirt that I knew read Elam. I had never liked the name Elam. It was to old fashioned sounding. Momma loved to read the bible and that’s where she said she had found my name. She had said it meant hidden jewel.
I blew out the candle on the bedside table and walked out into the living room. Friends and family were already gathered and awaiting the start of the funeral. Uncle Teddy Bear was here as well as Molly Moose and Ping Pig. I walked passed Randy Raccoon who was crying so hard that his black makeup was running and Lula Loon who kept looking and calling out for Momma. I entered into Momma’s room and there she lay. I had dressed her in her favorite blouse, purple with yellow flowers on it. I had done her white hair up in its usual fashion, tight curls. I looked into her aged face, waiting for her to speak her words of wisdom that she would always give, but nothing came. I wasn’t sad of Momma’s passing like the others. I knew she was going to die. You see Momma had been very ill. She would talk of people coming to take her away and people coming to take me away. She would ramble on about all sorts of things that didn’t make sense to me.
I lifted her up into my arms and walked into the living room. I sat her down on the kitchen counter, which was in front of everyone who sat on the couch. I grabbed a pillow from my bedroom and slid it carefully under her head. I turned to face the audience.
“Momma is dead,” I said. Some wept, some cheered, and I stayed silent. I waited to feel something, anything, but no sensation came. I continued on. “Momma loved to travel with me. I remember visiting so many different places, but they were short lived as we never stayed anywhere very long.” I paused. I thought about the sweet bakery smells of Switzerland and the quite countryside of Germany. “Momma and I finally found our home here in Kielce, Poland, but it didn’t matter where we were. Home was wherever the other was.” More weeping’s could be heard from the fuzzy family members. Uncle Teddy Bear just huffed as usual and popped a lighted cigar into his muzzle. Molly Moose had to excuse herself and galloped into the bathroom to cry some more.
“Momma now gets to travel to the place we only could imagine in our dreams,” I continued. I started to feel something, but it wasn’t sadness. It was anger. Momma had just left me all alone with only the comforts of our crazy family. I wanted to scream at her, but I gulped it down. “I think it’s time we burry Momma,” I stated at last.
I picked up Momma and placed her onto a rolling cart. I walked over to the one window that was boarded over and peered through. It was bright and sunny. Not exactly a day you’d associate with death, but it would have to do. I walked back over to Momma and began to push the cart to the back door when I stopped. Momma didn’t like me to go outside. It’s too dangerous to go outside she would say. Somebody could kidnap me or shoot me or both she would add, but Momma had wished to lay at rest under the cattails by the stream and that is what she would get.
I opened the back door and pushed the cart outside. The sunlight hit my face and it burned. How long had it been since I had last been outside? I couldn’t remember. I pushed the cart on down to the stream and then pulled the shovel out from underneath the cart. I had never dug a grave before, but it didn’t creep me out. I had to do it for Momma. I started digging and after about 20 minutes of digging found the hole big enough for Momma. Momma was no skinny woman, but she wasn’t huge either.
I tossed the blanket that I also had stashed under the cart and lined it along the bottom of the grave. I then placed the pillow in next and lastly Momma. I tucked a blanket around Momma and then stepped back. Something was missing I thought.
I walked back into the house and passed the relatives, who were starting brunch. Uncle Teddy Bear was making tea, while Molly Moose set the table with green, blue, and purple plastic silverware and plates. My stomach rumbled, but now wasn’t the time to eat. I had to finish the grave for Momma. I went back into Momma’s bedroom. There wasn’t much in the room, just a bed and a nightstand with a candle. Momma didn’t know I knew about her secret door under the nightstand. I had watched her put numerous things into the hole, but had never had the courage to look inside. I slid the nightstand out of the way and opened the hatch, which was bigger than I expected. Inside there was a wedding gown of fabulous silk and was embedded in hundreds of white, pearly jewels. How did Momma afford this I wondered? I pulled out a picture of a younger Momma with her arms wrapped around the waist of a man with kind eyes. I assumed this to be Papa. Momma never liked to talk about Papa. She said he went crazy. He didn’t look crazy in the picture, but then again do crazy people look a certain way? I continued digging. I pulled out a heavy yellow folder. It was Momma’s divorce papers. Momma had said that Papa divorced her because she wanted children. Papa didn’t want children and little did he know that Momma was pregnant with me. I looked back at the picture of Momma and Papa. I didn’t look like either of them, but Momma says I look just like Uncle Teddy Bear. I don’t see it though.
I opened the divorce folder and immediately saw insane stamped across the page in red. Papa must have been as insane as they come to get that big of a stamp. I set the folder aside and continued my search for something of value to put in Momma’s grave. At the very bottom of the hole was an old scrapbook covered by dust. I flipped it open and saw pictures of me at four, five, six, and so on, but none before that. In fact, I had never seen a picture of me as a baby. Momma had said that I was the ugliest baby. She said I had a huge bald head and no teeth and slobbered all the time. She had said I reminded her of Papa when he was drunk.
At the very back of the scrapbook was a newspaper clipping. Its headline read three year old boy goes missing while riding his bike. There was a picture of the boy too. He had curly brown hair and big brown eyes. His face looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun. The boy felt familiar, but distant as well like an old friend. No wonder Mamma was so afraid to let me go outside. I closed the scrapbook and put everything back into the hole except the wedding dress, a recent picture of Mamma and me, and the newspaper clipping. I stuffed the newspaper clipping of the lost boy into my back pocket of my slacks. I picked up Momma’s wedding dress and the picture and laid them on the bed. These would be great things to put in Momma’s grave I thought. I just needed one last thing, a hat. Momma loved to wear hats, all kinds of hats of many different shapes and colors.
I walked to the closet outside Momma’s bedroom and started looking for her favorite magenta hat. It usually hung on the rack with her dresses, but it was nowhere to be seen. Thinking it had fallen into the back of the closet; I got onto my hands and knees and started crawling towards the back of the closet. Sure enough, I found the hat. I was about to back out of the closet when I saw a flash of red to the right of me. I reached forward and felt something made of metal. I pulled it toward me and was shocked to see that it was my bike. It was exactly the same as I remembered it. It was red, with teenage mutant ninja turtle stickers on it and yellow streamers hanging from the handles. I remembered that when I would ride, the streamers would look like flames of fire in the wind. I had loved to ride my bike.
I remember riding down a sidewalk in a neighborhood. The sun was shining on my face and it didn’t burn. It was a sitting bike, so you pedaled with your legs stretched out. I remember stopping at the intersection and waiting for a clearing to go, but suddenly Momma came in her black, tinted truck to tell me it was time to go. I didn’t want to go though. I wanted to stay outside and play some more. Momma jumped out of the car and pulled me into the truck and tossed my bike in the trunk. I remember crying the whole way home. It was the last time I ever got to ride my bike.
I walked back out to Momma’s grave and placed the wedding dress, picture, and hat in the grave. I slowly began covering Momma with dirt. When I was finished, I looked at the area I knew Momma was under. It was a nice little spot around some cattails, like she had wanted. I felt like I should say something, but nothing came to mind. I still didn’t feel anything. Just an empty feeling, but that had always been there.
I pulled out the newspaper clipping of the lost boy and felt safe. I looked back at where Momma lay. The stream behind her flowed calmly and the birds chirped in playful banter.
“Goodbye Momma,” I said at last. I headed out to the front of the house with my red bike. I stuffed myself into the seat. It was a very tight squeeze and my knees almost touched my chin. I started pedaling slowly and then at a gradual pace. I looked back to see the house. It was old and in need of a paint job, but as I started pedaling farther and farther away from my home the more I felt free. I started laughing as the wind breezed through my hair and my streamers blowing like flames in the wind beside me. I didn’t know where I was going, but I hoped it was toward the boy and his bike.