Emily: an excerpt from a piece of fiction

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[An excerpt from a story I have abandoned.  This segment is dedicated to a friend, who recently lost a friend under tragic circumstances, in New York City.  No lessons are to be drawn; there are no morals to this story; it is just a reminder to all of us that in the midst of life we are with death.  As someone once wrote: it is good to learn early that death is a neighbor, and not a cruel joke that is suddenly sprung on us.]

The literature class which Emily had at 10, was easy to prepare for.  Unfortunately, one wise-ass took exception to reading from the other book, at which point there was a mass objection to the business of studying literature in the first place.

“Look,” she said, “it’s far too late to be upset at having to study literature after you’ve signed up for the course. What are you doing here, if you prefer not to study literature? This is a waste of time, and you know it!”

Unfortunately they got Emily angry, and soon she was winning battles, but losing the war. In the end, she got them quiet by yelling at them, wasted a lot of time, and managed to actually hurt the feelings of several of the students. She felt rotten by the time the class was over, and marched off to her office, fuming.

Luckily for her, a new colleague, Sheila, rescued her, and insisted on their going for an early lunch into town. Emily knew a very quiet restaurant, and they ordered sandwiches, and began to talk. Before Sheila could bring up whatever she wanted to talk about, Emily had told her all about the terrible literature class, and got herself into a state of mild depression.

The description of the disaster with the literature class made Sheila smile. It was an easily avoidable mistake, if one was careful to not take things too personally. But it showed that Emily took her students more seriously than even Emily herself realized. This was surprising, because Sheila assumed that the more seasoned the professor, the less seriously he or she would take the students. Emily was a fifteen-year veteran, Sheila knew, and it was startling to learn that Emily could make herself so vulnerable even with so much experience under her belt.

“I thought I had it bad,” said Sheila, commiseratingly.

Emily’s cell phone rang just as they left the restaurant. Mumbling a soft curse under her breath, she pulled it out; it was Bill. Emily flipped open the phone, while Sheila stood and waited for her.

“Bill? What’s up?” she asked gently.

Emily’s face grew worried, as Sheila watched her listening.

“Hang on, I’ll get there as soon as I can, sweetheart. I’m on my way, okay? Just hold on!”

“Who’s Bill? What’s happened?” asked Sheila, looking concerned.

“He’s fallen; it’s my guy ...” Emily looked distracted as she put away her phone in her purse. She turned to look at Sheila. “I think I’d better walk straight home; you go on back to the office!”

Sheila insisted on driving Emily home.  Within a couple of minutes, they were at the house. Sheila followed Emily right inside, noting in passing the rather untidy state of the place. Bill was in the little half-bath downstairs, and blood was pouring out of his scalp; he had evidently hit the sink on the way to the floor.

“Oh dear god,” Sheila said under her breath.

In the end, the paramedics said that there had been no need to hurry. Still, Emily was grateful that Sheila had pushed the issue.

“He’s not going to last long, Sheila,” she said, as they followed the ambulance in Sheila’s car.

“How old is he? He looks a lot older ...”

“Yeah; he’s seventy ... they’re a kind of stroke, you know. Not the massive strokes, but just little ones ... I think he had one last night.”

“Really? And there was no sign, nothing?”

“No ...”

“You poor thing!”

Emily shrugged. She looked at Sheila as if seeing her for the first time. “Thank you for ...”

“Of course, anytime!” Sheila said, softly.

Early the next morning, Emily’s student Laura was waiting on the steps of her own apartment building, and Emily could see her from her bedroom window.  Laura was a so-called non-traditional student, who, it turned out was a young unmarried mother in her late twenties, and who had been delighted the previous evening to discover that they were neighbors.  She had walked home with Emily, and seeing the cluttered state of the house, had insisted on helping to tidy it a little.  Now Emily hurried downstairs and stepped outside. Seeing her, Laura quickly crossed the street, dodging the early-morning school-bus traffic, and ran up the steps.

“Need help with Mr Bill?” she asked, breathlessly.

Emily nodded, and let her in. Already the floor was significantly clearer than it had been in months. Laura had put things in neat piles so that it was possible to walk through the house without tripping on stuff.  Following Emily upstairs, the two women helped Bill with his morning's ablutions. 

Bill gazed at Laura, and she smiled back down at him, giving him a sweet good morning.

“How are you feeling, Bill?” Emily asked, her eyes threatening to leak tears, but still under her control.

“Fine,” said Bill, as always. “Who’s that?” he asked in a loud whisper, assuming that Laura was gone. But she was standing behind him, just out of sight.

“That’s Laura, Bill,” Emily said, with a smile. “She lives across the street, and she’s going to help us with cleaning!”

“We can manage,” Bill said, anxiously. It had been years since he had contributed to the household, but he still had the annoying habit of expressing an opinion about their expenses.

“The Dean is subsidizing it, Bill. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh.”

Laura stepped out where Bill could see her, and smiled at him warmly.

“Well, we’d better be going,” Emily said, after she had fed Bill his breakfast. He was comfortable on an easy chair, with his magazines within reach, but he could not use his hands enough to open them up and read. And he could only barely operate his cell phone, too. Emily simply had to take a chance that he would be all right for an hour and a half, while she taught her early class, and then she would hurry back to check on him.

After class, Emily hurried to get her things together. She had brought everything with her, so that she did not need to go to her office. Laura was waiting for her near the door, impatiently watching her classmates fumbling with their things, or fussing over their little concerns with Emily, who was being unbelievably patient. Finally, the last student had got his questions all answered, and Emily walked to the door. Soon they were hurrying out to the street, and heading home.

“I’ll come in with you, just in case,” Laura said quietly.

“No, no; go eat. You must be starving!”

“I am, but I’m coming in with you anyway.  Miss Emily, I’ll stay with him until my two o’clock class.”

“No, Laura, please, you don’t have to.  If something happens, it’s too much of a responsibility.  I don’t like the idea of you being stuck here with Bill, and something really serious happening. Anyway, the nurse will be here.”

“Oh, yes; I forgot. That’s right.” She let out a breath of relief, and Emily realized that Laura had not been looking forward to doing what she had proposed.

It was a bright, sunny day, and the temperature was well into the eighties. Emily led the way in, and they both gazed together on the sad scene. Bill was slumped back in his chair, and he wasn’t breathing.

“Oh my god, call, call!  He’s not breathing!” gasped Laura, looking frantic. But Emily knew the worst; she leaned close to touch him, and snatched her hand away. Despite the warmth of the weather, Bill was cool to the touch. He was long gone.

Between them, Emily and Laura took care of the numerous irritating details that followed a death. Things were made worse by the fact that Bill and Emily were not married.

The body had been taken to the mortuary, from where it would go to the funeral parlor. Emily had tried to have the body buried with the minimal amount of toxic packaging of it. Bill and she had both agreed that the embalming and the treatment of the coffins were all bad for the earth. But it was impossible to sway the funeral directors. Every material and procedure available was of the worst and most poisonous kind, and that made Emily weep.

“I don’t understand what you want,” Laura said, after Emily had cried for a while in Laura’s big old Thunderbird.

“It’s simple,” Emily said, once she had wiped her tears. “It isn’t good to put poison into the earth. To bury poisons, you understand?”

“Oh. You mean, like chemicals?”

“Yes; they use chemicals to keep the body fresh, like a preservative. Preservatives are actually mild poisons. Or not so mild.”

“I see,” Laura said, nodding thoughtfully.

“Also, treated lumber has bug repellent. Coffins are made to last underground. In other parts of the country, you can get a coffin made out of untreated wood. Poor Bill wouldn’t be polluting the ground posthumously in certain parts of California and Colorado, for instance ... Don’t mind me, Laurie ... I don’t have the energy to care anymore.”

“I think that’s real decent of you, Miss Emily. I’m glad you tried your best. I guess I learned something.”

Emily smiled at Laura. She asked to be taken home, and Laura fired up the old monster, and they putt-putted back to Emily’s empty house. Laura dropped her off, and drove off to park the ancient roadster in the lot she had leased for it, and returned several long minutes later. Then Laura helped Emily into her robe, and encouraged her to get comfortable on the sofa. She went off into the kitchen, saying something about getting some supper ready. Emily had noticed far too late that they had both missed their afternoon classes.

It was odd to have Laura moving silently about the kitchen, and Bill gone. Tears pricked at Emily’s eyes, and began to stream down her cheeks. Emily muffled her sniffs as well as she could, but she sensed that Laura was even quieter than she had been. Emily tried to think of something active she could do, such as put a few more clothes in to wash, but it was as if her muscles simply would not work. She sat, miserably, and felt sorry for herself.

Half an hour later, Laura came to lean against the arch that led to the combination kitchen and dining-room.

“I know!” Laura said softly, her eyes shining with understanding. Emily felt utterly unworthy of the sympathy of the tender-hearted young woman. Emily shook her head, unable to respond, or even to think. Laura came close, and knelt by her chair. “Come and eat,” she urged, her voice soft, and took Emily’s hands in her own, and tugged. “Shall I bring it out, so you can eat out here?”

Emily made a special effort, and got out of the recliner.

“Thank you, Laura ... I appreciate all you’re doing, dear.” She moved slowly to the kitchen, with Laura’s arm around her shoulders. “It’s as if ... I don’t have any energy...” The aroma was vaguely familiar. “What is it?”

“It’s only Ramen noodles,” Laura confessed. “I thought I’d fix something simple; you’re probably not in the mood for anything complicated. Come and sit!”

For the first time in literally years, it was actually possible to sit at the dining table. It had been so piled high with empty dishes, Emily and Bill had eaten seated on the sofa for as long as Emily could remember.

The noodles had been supplemented with chopped fried onions, and chopped odds and ends, and guiltily Emily felt herself getting hungry. Laura served her, and served herself, and they sat down to eat.

“Do you eat this stuff often?”

“Too often,” Laura admitted. “It’s not very nutritious, but it’s better than nothing!”

“Just perfect for today,” Emily said, smiling. There was an astringent taste and flavor to the meal that cleaned the palate and the nasal passages, and made Emily feel better, and hungrier.

As they approached the bottom of the dish of soup, Emily began to panic. She was not superstitious, but she felt desperately unwilling to stay the night alone.

“May I come ...” Emily swallowed hard, and continued. “May I stay over at your apartment ...?”

Laura nodded gravely. “Of course, Miss Emily; you’re welcome. It’s really small, though, I have to warn you ... and,” she blushed, “there’s crap on the walls; posters and stuff!”

“I don’t care,” said Emily.

“Shall I come with you on your errands?” Laura asked, the next morning.

“I don’t think I need to be driven around; I can just walk...”

“Okay; we can walk, if you’d like company, anyway?”

Emily looked at Laura, feeling a little defensive. “You don’t have to fuss over me, Laura; I’ll be all right, you know.”

“Just for a couple of days, Miss Emily ... It’s just not right for you to have to ... do all this stuff alone. You know what; I guess I’m thinking: if my husband, or boyfriend, or whoever, died on me, I’d like to be fussed over, you know, a little.”

“All right; a fuss for a fuss. If I’m still around when it happens, I’ll fuss you up for a couple of days!”

The hardest visit, in some ways, was to the church, where Emily had to negotiate some sort of funeral service, and Laura was quietly helpful there, suggesting alternatives, and paraphrasing Emily’s requests to the minister, and vice versa, though Emily could not for the life of her think why her perfectly normal speech could not be understood by the minister. He was quite young, and she finally assumed that she was not efficient at communicating with Youth. That accounted for some of the hostility she received from her students, she thought.

“Well, don’t worry about a thing,” said the young minister, with a lovely smile. He really was an attractive young man, and Emily could see that Laura was quite taken with him. She also approved of the way Laura conducted herself; her eyes shone when she spoke to Rev. Wynn-Jones, which was his name, but she was a perfect lady. “I’ll call you on Saturday morning, and I’ll see you in the afternoon, at er, Green Hills?”

“Thank you very much,” Emily said, with a smile.

Emily was tense and uncomfortable, in anticipation of the funeral the next day. It was strange to have to oversee an event in which she really had no formal place; after all, she wasn’t Bill’s spouse. The family had not contacted her yet, except for a nephew Charles, who lived in England. Emily had met Charles years ago, and had liked him; Charles had been pretty much the only one Emily had really liked. The rest of them were rather stuffy and suspicious of her. They neither liked the fact that she was an academic (they didn’t like Bill being an academic, either,) nor had they considered Emily as having enough of a pedigree to qualify to be Bill’s wife. In fact, Emily had a large proportion of her ancestors descended from the original Mayflower pilgrims, and a few descended from even earlier immigrants. But she had disdained to reveal this to Bill’s family, since it really was none of their business. Bill had had a few clues about it, and had kept it under his hat, bless him. Charles had phoned in his condolences, and told her that he was working on having the family contact her, to give some support for the funeral arrangements, before it was too late to change anything.

Emily woke around ten, and soon afterwards Laura was over to help with breakfast.

“I can fix breakfast, Laura, for heaven’s sake! I was fixing breakfast long before you were born, dear.”

“Okay, Miss E, fix your breakfast ... I didn’t mean to invite myself, ma’am; I can do with some cereal, whatever you have ...”

“Oh don’t be silly! Of course you’ve got to have a good breakfast!”

Laura sat on the step-stool, slowly, looking at Emily uncertainly, and Emily waited.

“Ms Dearmer — I hope I’m not too much in your face ... maybe I should not get in your hair so much, huh?  I guess I kinda take over, sometimes.  Just say the word, Miss E; I’ll try to give you some room, or if you say I’ve done enough ...”

Emily began to panic. She suddenly realized that Laura was all that was keeping her on an even keel, and the prospect of her staying away was utterly unthinkable. She blurted out something that it was way too early to say, after knowing Laura for a mere week:

“Laura ... don’t even think of staying away, you hear?”  She ran out of steam, seeing Laura’s intent look, as she tried to understand what Emily was saying.  More softly, Emily added,  "You’re welcome here ... any time at all, Laura.  No one more welcome than you!”

Emily watched her friend, her anxiety turning into a new tenderness, as Laura’s face expressed gratitude. It was almost as if Laura had dreaded some brutal response, and was overwhelmed by what she got instead.
“That’s so like you, Miss Emily,” she said, dropping her eyes, nervously tracing a design on the floor with her foot. “Even if I am in your way, you wouldn’t admit it ...”

Emily gave her a patient smile. “Well, I suppose that’s true. But I really mean it, Laura; you should be able to tell by now, that ... without you, I just couldn’t ... manage ...”  Feeling overwhelmed, Emily sat down, and regarded Laura with her sad eyes, looking so very tired that Laura had to believe her.

Presently, Emily found herself being guided, gently but firmly, in with Bill’s mother and Charles, to sit with the family, in an inconspicuous part of the area set aside for family members. Young Laura was seated a little further back and across the aisle, but where Emily could see her, and get a supportive smile every now and then. The casket had stood open for Bill’s family and friends to pay their last respects, and when the service started, the casket was closed, and moved to the front of the church.

“But those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings, like eagles, ...”

Emily wondered whether Bill would welcome being able to fly around. But, behind the cynicism of the thought, she could see Bill’s eyes as they had been in his younger days, filled with the light of intelligence, eager to find out, eager to give of his knowledge, eager to see what was over the next hill. Yes, she thought, he would like wings, at least for a while. As for herself, Emily thought she would like a soft bed, and a down comforter.

For the first time, Emily found herself articulating the thoughts of a soul that longed for release. Komm, süsses Tod, Come, sweet death, she said in her heart. It was not that she actively longed to hasten her own death, but that she could not see the point of grinding on. She considered the misery that she had been feeling for so long, while with one ear she listened to the deeply moving poetry from the Bible that was being read, and then expounded upon by the youthful Wynn-Jones. I must sincerely confess, he said, that I cannot identify, from personal experience, with those of you who knew Dr Bill Woodward. Nobody I ever knew personally has died; all my grandparents are still alive. Emily mentally shook her head. What was this mere child doing, trying to be a pastor to a fair-sized congregation, with all his relatives still alive? How could he know what it was to bestow your love and your care and your worry and your patience on someone, and then have them leave you behind? But we must understand, he was saying now, that those we love are only on loan to us. Death is built into our design; we are not permanent creatures!  If we were, we could probably not show the goodness we do manage to show.
It was startling to hear those thoughts from the lips of a kid whom Emily had dismissed as a mere lightweight. She thought about them a long time, forgetting her anger and impatience with Bill and herself.  If one lived forever, it was conceivable that one could get sick of being nice; you’d tell people to get a grip, and suck it in.

Anyway, when she was put in someone’s car and driven out to the graveyard, and watched the body being laid in the earth, her heart was heavy. In no time, it seemed, she was alone in her house, saying farewell to the last of those who had cared to check on her. Even Laura was gone, and Emily could see her through her window, washing something at her sink. She thought Laura looked back, but there was a sheer curtain that distorted the view slightly, and she could not be sure.