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For three days, I stayed at my house by myself. I didn’t go into Uncle Jim’s room. I made him breakfast each day. Bacon and eggs over easy, and toast, just the way he liked it. I didn’t even use magic to make the food but used my hands and grated the potatoes until the tips of my fingers were about to bleed. I set the table, and later I threw the food away because Uncle Jim didn’t show up. After that I turned the TV on. The news. Uncle Jim’s favorite station. I sat in front of the screen. When the news was over I switched to all of Uncle Jim’s favorite programs and the sound nestled into an empty space inside of me and made me think maybe he was still here in his wheelchair, watching.
I didn’t sleep at night. I tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling, listening to every sound the house made. The refrigerator, the heater. Sometimes a scratch of a mouse inside the walls gave the impression that maybe Uncle Jim was moving around in his bedroom.
Three days later around ten in the morning, I got a phone call.
“I’ll be picking you up in an hour.” Aunt Agnes said.
I paused, not sure if I heard right. “This is Dylan,” I said.
“I know it’s Dylan. I’m talking to you. The funeral is today and I’m coming to get you. Wear a suit and a tie if you have one and for Pete’s sake change your underwear and your socks.”
I hung up without saying anything. I didn’t make breakfast that day. I had been sleepless and upset and I knew nothing would stay in my stomach even if I did eat. So why get more dishes dirty?
I didn’t have a suit. All I had was the white shirt I wore at graduation and it was still dirty. I went to my room, locked the door tight because I didn’t want Aunt Agnes coming into my bedroom when she got here. I had Annabella to take care of, after all. I looked at myself in the mirror. I hadn’t had a haircut for three weeks. Uncle Jim and I were going to do that next Saturday when his VA check came. He needed some new undershirts and was going to buy me some socks because I had worn holes in all of mine.
I stood looking at my reflection, not critically, but not happy with myself. I was in my sweat pants and a ratty hoody. Kind of pathetic looking. My eyes had dark rings around them from not sleeping and not eating. I hadn’t slept at all, thinking about Uncle Jim. Wishing he were still here. I didn’t look all that healthy. I didn’t feel good either.
Maybe I could get clean clothes with my magic. I closed my eyes and tried to get a hold of my thoughts, tried to calm myself so the magic could come. I visualized the beach like I normally do when I call on the superpowers; gentle waves rocking on shore, the sea foam and the oyster beds. Nothing happened, and I wondered if I had lost my touch. I shuddered and opened my eyes again. There were tears in me that I wouldn’t let come out and that made concentrating hard. I stood still in front of the mirror for a long time, trying again and again to summons the magic. Maybe being sad complicated the matter. I breathed deeply and thought of what Uncle Jim would have offered as advice. Maybe he’d tell me to look toward the future. Maybe he’d remind me what a hard time I had breaking away from my Mom, but I did. And now look how much better life is for me. “Life isn’t better without you, though Uncle Jim,” I said quietly, as if he were there in the mirror instead of my reflection.
I tried one more time and finally that warm sensation started trickling in. Almost comforting. I say almost because I pushed that feeling of comfort away. I didn’t think feeling comfortable while Uncle Jim lay in a coffin at the church all alone was right. The comforting feeling turned into heat, which suddenly rushed to the whole left side of my body. The warmth pulsated as if waiting for instructions. I opened my eyes and looked at my reflection, my face red from the energy.
I had to verbally tell the magic what I wanted because, honestly, visualizing me in a suit and tie at this moment was near impossible. Lucky for me, the magic filled in all the blanks and dressed me properly.
Having clean clothes on made me feel better: a stiff white shirt with silver cufflinks, a royal blue tie, and a black pinstriped suit tailored to fit me perfectly. My dark eyes had somehow got their color back, my hair combed itself, and I even had a new pair of socks that was warm and wooly on my feet. Shiny loafers were at the foot of my bed, so I slipped them on.
I was ready, and no one knocked at my door, yet, so there was still time to unpack Annabella and hold her again. Funny but every time I took her out I could hear Uncle Jim’s voice as plain as if he were sitting in the room with me, telling me about my grandma.
How delicate she felt in my hands, smooth and special, like a precious jewel. She made me think about gentle things, about how fine life was living here with Uncle Jim. I didn’t need a future. I didn’t need to go to culinary school. I could just stay home and take care of him forever if he’d let me. I’d be happy. He had told me I was more special than most folks because I had magic to call on.
And then I gasped because an odd thought came to me. My heart started racing. The magic still stirred, and I felt the blood and energy in my left hand pulsate as if there were a pair of bongo drums inside of me trying to beat their way out of my skin. Did I have that strong of magic to pull off what I was thinking? I mean, what would be the chances of bringing Uncle Jim back, again? The thought excited me!
Aunt Agnes pulled up in the driveway. I peeked out my bedroom window and saw her Buick, glad she hadn’t driven the van. I don’t think I could bear to see that big old Dodge ever again. When the car door slammed I quickly packed Annabella away into her newspaper and then the shoe box and then into my pack. By the time I stood at the mirror again brushing the creases out of my suit she knocked on my bedroom door. “Are you ready Dylan?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Well!” she huffed as I stepped out of the room and nearly bumped into her. “I hardly recognized you! Is that one of your uncle’s old suits?”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to lie but she didn’t want to hear the answer anyway. Even though her clothes were pressed and clean, Aunt Agnes could have walked out of a horror movie. She wore a tight black skirt—I wondered how she could walk—and her jacket had shoulder pads that buffed her torso up like a football player. Her black veiled hat tipped to the side of her head seemed comical, as did the red lipstick on her wrinkled lips. I held back a laugh. The fresh air outside saved me from her perfume until I got into the back seat of the car.
Shirley was in the front also dressed in black, but she had a red scarf around her neck and didn’t have the same vampire look as Aunt Agnes. Aside from her attitude I would have thought her pretty. Her blond hair curled in ringlets down her shoulders, her face touched up with powder, eyeliner framed her eyes and her lips were painted almost a purple color. She didn’t smile when I got in the backseat of the car. Instead she snickered like she always does. “Why look at you, Dylan, you almost look normal.”
“Hi Shirley,” I said as blandly as I could. Uncle Jim knew how Shirley treated me. I remembered his advice when he told me to be nice to her no matter what she said. He told me ignoring her would be for my benefit, not hers. With much practice, I got pretty good at tuning her out.
She looked over her shoulder at me “You realize your mother will be there, don’t you?”
A zap of electricity raced up my spine and my eyes popped wide open. No one told me my mother was coming to the funeral. Shirley grinned.
“Shirley why do you torture him?” Aunt Agnes whispered. “Don’t worry, Dylan. Just stay with us and everything will be fine.”
I sat in silence holding my hands together thinking about what might happen when I saw my mother. I hoped that the black magic didn’t crawl through my veins at the sight of her, or that Shirley didn’t hound me anymore about her. Shirly gave me one last, smug look as if something brewed in that demonic mind of hers.
Aunt Agnes turned the radio on, I think maybe to keep my cousin quiet. After we drove a while I relaxed and watched our little town crawl past the window. We stopped at the red light by the café where Uncle Jim and I used to go– he in his wheel chair and I strolling along next to him. He’d buy me cocoa in that coffee shop—cocoa with a cinnamon stick. I cracked my window a little bit to smell the aroma coming from the café.
“Shut your window, Dylan, I’ve got the heater on.”
“Yes ma’am.” I waited a few seconds until the scent drifted away before I rolled up the window.
We crept past the store fronts, cars scrambling for parking places on the streets in front of them; the movie show flashing neon lights. Once we went through the last stoplight we picked up speed. One lane turned into two. We drove beyond our seaside town, through sandy hills and onto the freeway.
When we got to the chapel my heart skipped a beat. My mother stood by the front door to the funeral home holding hands with a dark-haired man with a beard. He wasn’t dressed very well, but he had an overcoat that hid his dirty blue jeans. His shoes were as chewed up as my sneakers at home. My mother looked older than I remembered. I hadn’t seen her for maybe two years. Thinner, and she still had that odd, jerk to her movements and kept her mouth open as if she didn’t have the muscle strength to put her lips together. She wasn’t dressed in proper funeral clothes either, but I doubt she had anything proper to wear. She wore jeans and a black frilly blouse that was cut low. Gray roots invaded the color of her dyed hair, like sea salt invading a muddy beach, straggled ends brushed her shoulders. She had to shake the loose hair out of her face so that she could see to wave at us. Shirley blew her a kiss gestured toward me with her thumb. I looked away. My mother forced a smile, her lips pale with lipstick. Powder covered her blemishes. “Dilly baby,” she called out. Aunt Agnes drove on to park the car. I didn’t want to get out but Shirly opened the door for me and my mother staggered down the sidewalk, arms out as if I would rush into them. I didn’t. I took a step backward.
Any other time I had seen my mother after I was taken from her, Uncle Jim had been there. He could boss Mom, and his presence would give me courage to stick up for myself. There was no one now, only the snickering cousin whose flittering eyelashes and snarky smile hidden under her make-up added to my torment. The closer mother came, the more electrifying the heat in my body grew. The trembling began in my hands and I could feel the voltage crawling up my spine. I knew if she got too close I’d get a shock, so I took another step back. Aunt Agnes came in between the two of us.
“There’s still a restraining order, Emma,” she said.
My mother glared at Aunt Agnes and I thought those two would get in a fight right here at the chapel. Mother tossed her head, huffed, and glanced at her boyfriend. The look she gave my aunt gave me the chills. What a pair those two were with Aunt Agnes’ hair pinned tight under a hat, old schoolmarm-looking, and mom bursting out of her clothing like she couldn’t wait to get home and put her pajamas on. Mother’s boyfriend pulled her away from Aunt Agnes just in time, and I sighed, relieved. I’ve seen Aunt Agnes and mother duke out their differences before. Not a pretty sight. I wonder sometimes how they survived growing up together. Uncle Jim was always the referee. He told me about some of their arguments. Not sure how those two women will settle things now that he’s gone.
Before my mom took her boyfriend’s hand she winked at me, and without saying another word after that, she followed him into the sanctuary swaying off balance. She had to hang on to him to walk, so I knew she was drunk.
“We’ll wait a moment or two before we go in.” Aunt Agnes picked up a program and fiddled with the trifold until the ends curled. I could tell she was heated by the way she rolled the brochure. Uncle Jim’s photograph wound up in the shape of a cylinder, and then she slapped the tube against her dress, all the while keeping a keen eye on my mother. I made a note of where Mom sat, too. No way did I want to be near her.
“Dylan, your uncle’s casket is in this other room, lying in state. Do you want to go pay your last respects?” Aunt Agnes asked me.
I did, but I didn’t answer her.
“I do!” Shirley stepped toward the open door of the state room. I could see the flowers from the lobby; tall vases and wreaths of lilies and roses and forget-me-nots surrounding a black coffin. “Coming, Dylan?”
I didn’t follow. I wanted to see him alone, so I waited with my hands in my pockets. Aunt Agnes smoothed out the program she had almost destroyed and read for a little bit. I guess she got tired of waiting because she looked up at me. “I’ll be in the sanctuary in the back row. I’ll save you and Shirley a seat. Come in quietly when you’re done.”
After Aunt Agnes left, Shirley stepped out of the state room dabbing at her eyes as if something was in them.
“Catching cold?” I asked. I know my question was mean, but this was Shirley and if those were real tears, and she had really cared about Uncle Jim she might have stopped by to see him while he was still alive. Not just in his coffin. Uncle Jim was good to all the family, to her too, but because he was old and in a wheel chair, Shirley never wanted to give him any time.
She brushed past me, bumping me a little on the way. I ignored her, slipped inside the state room and carefully closed the door.
The room was lit by the sun seeping through a large stained-glass window of red and gold design. A candle in a gold candelabra burned on the wooden platform above his coffin and an American flag was folded neatly on a table next to the altar. The atmosphere in there was heavy, creepy almost, but I wasn’t going to let that bother me. This was Uncle Jim. I had nothing to be afraid of. The thick red carpet muted my footsteps as I walked up to the casket.
Man, I felt odd looking at him like that, like I was in a Steven King movie or something. So quiet, so still. Closed eyes. He wore a dark navy-blue suit too. I’d never seen him in that suit. He had a white carnation tucked in his pocket, and silver cufflinks on his cuffs, just like mine.
I ignored the sick in my stomach. I didn’t like being around dead people. I’d never been to a funeral before. I shouldn’t feel nauseous because this was Uncle Jim and I love Uncle Jim. I took his hand. Choking back tears, I started calling on my magic right away because I knew I would have to make this fast. I didn’t want someone to walk in on us. The tingling came quickly. From experience, I found that the more I wanted something the faster the power came. Heat filled me, and soon my left hand throbbed, and there was even some iridescent color beaming out of my fingers.
“Uncle Jim,” I said to him, and touched his face with the palm of my left hand. “You can get up now.” I felt the magic travel from my fingers to his collar. I closed my eyes shut, wanting even harder than anything in the world to bring him back. I wanted so badly to have Uncle Jim here again that I thought I saw his chest rise when I opened my eyes.
“Uncle Jim!” I said.
He just lay there. The silence hit me like a bomb. It was so still in that room. I was acutely aware of the smell of roses from the flowers around his coffin. Another smell too coming from him, probably what they used to embalm him with and then that sick feeling returned. “Uncle Jim?” I said again and looked at his eyes. They were shut, not tight because that would have meant he was closing them himself. I thought I heard a voice in my head, so I listened. I swear the voice was Uncle Jim’s.
“Dylan, everything is okay, now. I’m in a better place,” he said, or so I thought. “I’m not coming home anymore.”
That was all I heard. My heart sank, and reality hit me, after which the magic left, and I was touching the face of a cold corpse. I realized then this shell wasn’t Uncle Jim. He was gone to that better place.
I wiped the wet from my eyes and swallowed the other tears that were trying to force their way out. My magic wasn’t going to bring Uncle Jim back. Nothing was.
***
WHEN THE SERVICE WAS over Aunt Agnes, Shirley, and a few of my other cousins that I didn’t know very well stood around outside in front of the chapel talking. I stood with them, but no one said anything to me. They all gossiped about how much they were going to miss Uncle Jim, and what a good man he was and that it was sad to see him die. They kind of argued over who knew him better, whose was his favorite. I don’t remember Uncle Jim mentioning any of them.
“Someone could give Dylan a ride back to the house while we go to the graveside,” Aunt Agnes suggested.
“Not me, what about you Pete,” Shirley chimed in.
“I’m parked behind everyone. Can’t get out,” Pete said.
“So, what do we do with Dylan?” Shirley whispered, and then glanced at me. I was used to this treatment, but today I felt I should say something.
“Why don’t you ask me what I want to do?” I said right to Shirley’s face. She gave me a dirty look and turned her back to me. I was used to people talking around me, still it would have been nice to be asked, being as I was the one who’d taken care of Uncle Jim for the last few years.
“What do you want to do?” Pete finally asked. Pete was Shirley’s age, good looking and had bright blue eyes, brighter than Shirley’s. His black suit was neatly pressed, and his hair combed back behind his big ears.
“I want to go to the cemetery,” I told him, shocking the ladies out of their high heels. Funny no one argued with me, they just pointed me to a car and I got in. The smell of everyone’s perfume and after-shave all mixed together in that limousine was difficult to handle. Thank goodness Uncle Jim was getting buried outside where the air was fresh, and I could stand away from the crowd and not get sick.
I stood behind the crowd that encircled the grave, and the coffin with my uncle’s casket hovering over it. Hard to think that my best and only friend was going into that hole and I would never see him again. I choked up but bit my lip to keep from making a scene. The preacher talked about loving people while we’re here on earth. Uncle Jim had told me the same thing before he died. I should find someone to love, he said. I should surround myself with people who love me. And then he left me.
Uncle Jim should have been a preacher, I think. He would have made a good one.
Everyone said amen and then scattered to their cars. I stood there for a little bit waiting for the casket to be lowered into the hole, like they do in the movies. I guess they use heavy equipment these days, so nothing happened while I stood there. Shirley came back for me, tugging at me.
“Come on, Dylan. There’s lots of work to do now.”
I whispered one last goodbye to Uncle Jim.
Chapter 5
