Opal Gray

Opal Gray by Vikki

Opal Gray and her son Earl pulled up in front of the funeral home. Opal was eager to get out of the car; she had given up driving nearly thirty years ago because cars just moved too fast. She was unfamiliar with her son’s car and was becoming extremely frustrated because she couldn’t find the handle.

“Danged new fangled automobiles, and their hidden handles!” Opal exclaimed as she randomly pushed buttons.

“Mom!” Earl said loudly becoming equally frustrated as his mother readjusted all the settings on the passenger side of the car. “Hold on and I will help you.” Earl slowly pulled himself out of his car and made his way around to the other side. He stopped to get her walker out of the backseat and realized that she was still looking for the door handle. “Mother, be patient. I will help you out of the car as soon as I get your walker,” he said sharply.

“Well for the love of God, hurry yourself up,” she folded her arms and mumbled profanities under her breath. After Earl finally fought the walker open, he was not surprised to find that his mother had locked the door.

“Very funny Mom,” he said with his arms folded and his lips pursed. “I know all your little tricks; I’ve got the keys.” Earl stood with one hand on his hip and the other dangling the keys. Opal turned her head towards her son and slowly lifted her knobby middle finger as she held her other fingers down with her other hand. “Again, very funny Mom.” Earl unlocked the door and opened it quickly. He was hit in the face by a foul odor. “Mother, that is disgusting! Try to control yourself better than that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Opal sneered, “I’m old, I can fart when I want!” Despite the odor, Earl helped Opal out of the car. “Get my purse out of the back,” she said as she gripped the handles of her walker. Earl grabbed the bright red oversized handbag; it felt heavier than it should have.

“I’ll carry it Mom. Whadda’ya got in this thing anyway?”

“Never mind that now,” Opal said rancorously as she started scooting her way to the door. “Now hurry up, we’ve got a funeral to plan.”

The two made their way into the high-end funeral home and was greeted by smiling young woman, “Hello, can I help you?” she said.

“Yes, we’re here to plan Bus Gray’s funeral,” Earl explained.

“Would you like to follow me, please?” The young lady stepped out from behind her desk and led them down a long hall. It was hard not to notice that she had a prosthetic leg; it was clearly visible and it creaked has she walked.

Taking her old lady privilege Opal asked,” What happened to your leg?”

“It was a freak accident actually,” she explained as they were still walking down the hall. “I was walking home from school when a car flung a piece of metal that nearly sheared by leg completely off.” The young lady directed them into the room, “The wound was too severe and they had to take it off.” Opal and Earl took their seats around the large rectangular table. “Would you like some coffee or water?”

“Oh yes please; I’ll have coffee,” Opal smiled showing off the false teeth that she remembered to put in her mouth that morning.

“I’ll have water,” Earl said. He was noticeably embarrassed by his mother’s forward questioning; his face was red and his shoulders were stiff. The young lady stepped out of the room. “Inappropriate, Mom”

“What are you talking about?” Opal shrugged her shoulders.

“You asked that lady about her leg.”

“So, how else was I going to know?”

The young lady returned with their drinks. “Paul is your funeral director, and he will be with you shortly.”

“Well, this place hasn’t changed in twenty years.” Opal took a short pause as she looked around the room, “Same roll-top desk, same hideous wall paper.”

“Why were you here before?” Earl questioned his mother.

“This is the funeral home I used when your aunt Thelma died.”

“Thelma died?” Earl was surprised, not only that his aunt had died and he didn’t know about it, but she died twenty years ago.

“We planted that old bag at Hilltop Cemetery so fast; we just didn’t have time to tell everybody.”

“Oh, that’s right, she dated Dad before you married him.”

“I did not steal your Dad from her,” Opal slammed her hands on the table, “they were broken up when we started dating!” She took a moment to regain her composure, “it is not my fault that she never found somebody else to spend her life with and then died of a broken heart. Not my dadgum fault!”

“Okay Mom, calm down; I think I hear the funeral director coming.” Earl could hear footsteps clomping on the hardwood floor. A corpulent man entered the room.

“Hello, I’m Paul Strang,” he reached his hand out to shake their hands, “you must be Mrs. Opal Gray.”

“That’s me.” She showed him her teeth.

“Well we are in luck; your husband preplanned his funeral about twenty years ago.”

“What?” Opal yelled.

“He…uh planned his funeral all the way down to the cemetery that he will be buried in.” Paul explained calmly to Opal. “However, the casket that he had chosen is no longer being made.” Opal was confused but she thought it best to let the man continue. “All we need to plan is the day and time.”

“Well if it was up to me, I would have it sometime if the afternoon,” Earl threw a wink at the funeral director.

“Well…it is not up to you so I will have it in the morning,” Opal always went against her son and everybody else, for that matter.

With little warning, a low rumbling noise emanated from Opal’s backside. The smell was putrid and absolutely mind-stopping. Paul made a face and held his breath, and Earl turned a deeper and hotter shade of red. Opal sat quietly, a beatific smile resting gently on her lips.

“I have to…uh…crunch some numbers, if you’d like you can look at some caskets.” Paul took the two in the selection room and quickly left.

“Mom, I can’t believe you did that.”

“What?” Opal acted as if she did nothing.

“You polluted the air in that room, Mother! Forget it. Just pick a casket; I like this one.” Earl pointed to a wooden casket with a white crepe interior. He didn’t really care for it, but knowing his mother, she wouldn’t pick a casket that he liked anyway.

“I don’t think your father would care for that one; I like this one.” Opal pointed to a casket that had an off-white interior. “Now were did that funeral director go?”

“Here I am,” Paul popped his head around the corner. “Have you already made your selection?”

“Yes I have; I think my beloved Bus would love this one.”

“Okay, if you will join me back in the conference room we can finalize the plans.” Paul led them back into the conference room that now smelled like fresh rain and sulfur.

Opal slowly sat down in her chair and grunted as she lifted her oversized purse onto the table. “Before we go any further, I have one request,” she opened her purse and pulled out what appeared to be a rolled up hand towel, and she placed it on the table. “I would like this to be buried with my husband.” As she pushed the hand towel towards Paul it came open; inside was a small dead dog.

“Mother,” Earl gasped, “what happened to Poppy?”

“I feed him the last of your father’s pain pills,” Opal tried to look sad. But the truth was, she never liked the dog, “I thought it was best this way.”

“You are something else Mom, I…I…I…just don’t know what to say.” Earl was tired of dealing with his mother.

“Really, its fine…it’s not the first time I buried someone with their dog.” Paul flipped through the paperwork in front of him. Suddenly, he stopped flipping. “Hmmm…this is a little unusual. I see that Paul wants to be buried at Hilltop Cemetery in the plot next to Thelma Bouffant. Is that his mother or daughter?”

Earl’s spine stiffened while Opal’s mouth formed a thin pink line. The color drained from her face, and more sulfur escaped from her old hiney. Paul realized he had not treaded lightly on this potentially touchy subject. The color drained from his face when the old lady’s stink reached his nose.

“You just give me that dadgum dog right back. I will not bury his little Mr. Precious Poppy with his cheating soul!” She reached across the desk and grabbed the gruesome package. Stuffing the dead dog back into her handbag, she left the room in a huff, scratching the gleaming hardwood floors with her walker. “EARL! Take me to the car right now!”

Earl stood awkwardly, and listened for the slamming of the front door indicating his mother was outside. Reaching across the desk, he shook hands with the fat funeral director. “Um, thanks, for, um, everything here. I’m sure it’s going to be a lovely service since Mom won’t be there.”

“I am sorry for my lack of discretion,” Paul said.

“No, no. I’m sure this was Dad’s way of getting himself a peaceful sendoff. A sulfur-free sendoff. Don’t worry.”

An awkward moment passed.

“Well, uh, thanks. I’ll see you at the service.”

Earl turned and left, and Paul stood alone, confused, and wondering if he smelled like an old lady’s ass.


Copyright Reserved for Vikki.

Another Vikki Story

She's a good story teller in addition to being a good poet...

Shan walks quietly down the gravel shoulder along the two lane highway that runs through town. He is tired after running countless suicides in gym class. “Just a few more blocks and you’re home,” he tells himself.

Up by the gas station and local hangout, Shan sees Ruben. Ruben is a black man who came to live in this all white, small town twenty years ago after he was taken away from his mother. He was born with a couple of birth defects and mild retardation, most likely the result of his mother's drug and alcohol abuse during her pregnancy; he drags his left leg behind and his left arm is bent and stiff and resembles a chicken wing. His mother couldn’t see the joy in her son because she was too distracted by his bent limbs and incessant talking, not to mention the junk she pushed into her veins. As a matter of daily routine, she silenced him with words sharp as knives, and when that failed, she used fists, belts and once, a bat. It was after that incident that the state stepped in. He was placed with the mayor and his wife in this tiny town when he was seven years old. Despite what could have been, the little bent black boy was loved by his adoptive parents and indeed the whole town. He looked out for it, and it normally looked out for him.

Shan was always nice to Ruben since he saved his life when he was seven. Shan had gotten stuck under some debris at an abandoned well site on the edge of town. Ruben was well known for walking every street in their small town every day. That day, he walked the street where the abandoned well site sat behind a mostly useless fence, and he was the first to spot Shan stuck and screaming for help. He alerted everyone to Shan’s predicament saving the day and the young boy.

On any other day he would have been glad to see his good friend, but not this day. Not only was he exhausted from running suicides in the stuffy gymnasium, he just found out that his girlfriend of six months was moving to a different state. “Oh God, please no, I’m just too tired to deal with him today,” Shan thinks to himself. He folds his arms and ducks his head hoping that Ruben will pass him by. Of course, he has no such luck. From two blocks away, Ruben starts waving his tube sock in the air. Ruben was never without his tube sock. He would run his chicken wing hand through it and use it to call attention to himself.

“Shan, Shan, I see you boy,” he says as he hobbles towards him.

“Not today Roo, I haven’t had a good day,” Shan says with his arms still folded.

“What’s up? what’s up?”

“Not today now go away!”

“What’s up, what’s up my boy, what’s up?” Ruben steps close beside Shan, his mouth stretched into a goofy grin.

“Ugh, the sky; damn it, now go away,” Shan is getting increasingly annoyed with him, because he know it takes a lot before Ruben catches on.

“That right, you got it right, you’re a smart boy Shan; you did real good.” Ruben gets close to Shan’s face; he smells of slobber and sweat, his normal Ruben odor. “How many babies you got Shan?”

“I don’t have babies,” Shan said shortly, “you stink, get out of my face.”

“Not nice Shan, not nice,” Ruben threw his tube sock over his shoulder and started to walk a little slower. He began to talk to himself just loud enough for Shan to hear, “you made him mad Scooter Gimp, and you did it.” Scooter gimp is what he calls his left leg, and he blamed everything on his Scooter Gimp.

He was still following behind Shan when he suddenly started to laugh out loud; his laugh sounded like someone running their fingers up and down so many piano keys. “Two hundred and fifty-two seven,” he said still laughing, “two hundred and fifty-two seven; that’s how many babies you have Shan.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Shan realized that he had been tricked into continuing the conversation with Ruben. He knows of only one way to get rid of him. He knows he could say the two words that would set him off and then get on with his day. Shan had never used the words, but some of the other kids in the town had and they still do on regular basis. Shan knew those kids were bullies, but he was in no mood for Ruben today.

“That doesn’t make sense Scooter Gimp, Scooter Gimp said it not me,” Ruben pounds on his leg, “Scooter Gimp is gonna get beat by mama!” Shan can see his house now and picks up the pace. “Where you goin’ Shan boy?”

“I’m going home; maybe you should be finding your way home too.”

“I talked to your mama today Shan,” Ruben said looking out the corner of his eye, “Do you want to know what your mama told me?”

“No.”

“She said that you are a moody kid on account that you are gettin’ you puberty.”

“Oh, is that right; is that what she said?” Shan started to turn red and he was breathing hard. His testosterone laced blood rushed to his head as he slowly turned his head and looked Ruben straight into his eyes. “Ruben I only have two words for you…Shut up.” He said the last words quietly and with a lot less malice than he felt at the moment.

Ruben started to shake his head back a forth; he pulled his tube sock off his shoulder and started to hit himself with it. “No Shan don’t say that, Mama is not going to like you Shan, Mama is not going to like you no more.” Ruben started to wave his fist at him like he is going to hit him. He started tugging at his own shirt until he ripped it. At first Shan is a little frightened, but then he turns and starts to walk to his house, ignoring Ruben entirely. Ruben runs up the street dragging his Scooter Gimp behind him. He continues to tear his shirt off, yelling profanities about his mother, Shan, and his dreadful leg.

Shan could hear him ranting all the way up the street, and he cracked a smile as he went through the gate of his yard. Shan almost felt bad about telling him to shut up knowing that it would send him into that rage, but Ruben’s ranting display was too comical not to giggle just a little.

He was just two feet from his front door when he heard screeching tires. “Oh shit,” there was not a question in his mind; those screeching tires were definitely for Ruben.

Back the way he came, he ran faster than he had ever run before despite his exhaustion and teenage angst. But, it felt like he was running through quicksand. He imagined his good buddy sprawled out along the highway that ran down the center of the small town. “Oh God, what have I done?” Shan said out loud as he approached the scene.

He saw a silver Cadillac parked haphazardly on the side of the road. The obese lady driver was still inside with the air conditioner blowing her hair gently around her face.

His worst fears were realized when he saw Ruben laid out on the side of the road. A small group of people had already congregated around him with cell phones in hand. The nearest hospital was 20 minutes away, so it would be awhile before they heard ambulance sirens in the distance. Shan skidded to his knees in front of his friend in a panic, not knowing if he would be saying good-bye or getting swatted in the face with an old tube sock.

Ruben lay motionless on the gravel shoulder of highway, his gimp leg more oddly turned and twisted than normal; Shan leaned in closer studying Ruben’s still face for signs of life. Tears started to roll down his cheeks as he spoke to his dear friend, “I’m sorry Roo, I know that I shouldn’t have said those words to you,” Shan couldn’t control his emotions anymore as he rocked back and forth just like Ruben would asking himself why he was such an idiot for treating this child-like man like his useless mother did so long ago. Shan held his face and said, “I love you Roo, I love you.”

The obese lady driver, dressed like she was going to a garden party, finally got out of her Cadillac and walked over to Ruben and Shan. “Is he alright?” she asked.

“No, of course he’s not, lady,” Shan threw the words in her fleshy face, “you ran over him with your big fat car!” Shan was crying like a little boy now.

“I thought I just barely nipped him,” she said wringing her hands in worry. “I didn’t think I killed him.” Her voice broke and Shan could see that she was trembling with fear.

It was at this time that Ruben slowly opened his eyes and began to speak softly to Shan, “I love you too boy…I love you too.” Shan smiled so big he nearly slit his lip; he wiped the tears from his face.

His breath still hitched in his throat as he recovered from his tears. “I thought you were dead, Roo!”

“No, no, no, not me, not me,” Ruben explained, “She hit me in my Scooter Gimp, that’s all.” Ruben looked at his leg for a long time, and then he turned to Shan with tears rolling from both his eyes, “I think Scooter Gimp is dead though.”

Shan smiled at Ruben and the crowd gathered around the man and the boy started to twitter. The twittering turned the giggles, the giggles turned to outright laughing. Shan and Ruben were laughing, too, when they first heard the sirens in the distance.

“Damned Scooter Gimp was always getting you in trouble. You didn’t need him anyway,” Shan told his buddy as he patted his shoulder.