Scintilla

13. Something Fun

Before

My hands are shaking. They don't stop even when I make tight fists, so tight my nails painfully dig into my skin. Mrs. Garza, the funeral director, patiently waits as I try to gather myself.

"They will be cremated," I say, the words leave an excruciating burn behind as they drag out of my mouth.  It shouldn't be like this. My mom wanted to be buried in her hometown next to her mother. My brother and sister deserve to have a beautiful grave, an eternal imprint of their life, they deserve to settle into the warm earth and rest in its embrace. It was never supposed to be like this but what-ifs don't exist in this cold reality. 

The truth is that there isn't enough money to bury them, buy the plot for their graves, and pay for their transportation. There's barely enough money for the service and the cremation. Money that was scrapped together by friends and family. Money that was handed to me with sorrowful expressions.

 I don't how everybody organized themselves. I was too busy dealing with the police and going to the hospital to be near Jimena, brilliant and bright Jimena who survived and whose heart still beats against all odds. Jimena who is my lifeline, the only thing keeping me together. It's hard, it's so hard bearing this tragedy, but I must go on for Jimena who will awaken to a different world. I don't how I will tell her that it's only her and me, that everyone else is no longer here.  

"Okay, then we will go with plan A as we previously discussed. The service will be held on Wednesday from 4 pm to 8 pm. The first hour is only for the family so you may privately say your goodbyes. The only thing left to do is to select the urns. I have brought a catalog, you make take as much time as you need," Mrs. Garza says as she stands to leave. The shiny front cover of the catalog mocks me from its place at the center of the table. 

"Wait," I whisper. "Would it be possible for me to see them now?"

 Is it morbid curiosity that drove my question? No, it's the cruel hands of hope that still hold power over my weak heart. The senseless belief that it's not them in that lonely and cold room. That they were misidentified and as soon as I see them I will realize it. The hope that they are alive. 

Mrs. Garza's face morphs into one of sympathy, her gentle eyes try their best to hide the misery written on the edges of her lips. 

"I wouldn't recommend it," She responds.

"Why?"

Mrs. Garza licks her parched lips, "Because you don't want to remember them like that. They are not ready to be seen and if you go meet them that image will not leave your mind. It's better if you see them on Wednesday when they've been prepared."

I stay quiet. 

"Right now they don't look like you remember. Their injuries have taken their toll. However, if you still want to see them then I will take you but I hope that you think about it more," Mrs. Garza continues. 

No, I don't want another harrowing image haunting my mind, overriding the memories that I have left. 

"No, it's okay. I'll let you know once I've selected the urns," I say. 

Mrs. Garza nods, her lips open as if she wants to say something else but she leaves without another word.

***