Connections

I like funerals. They make me feel, and anything that can do that is something to hold fast to, even if it is a bit morbid. I remember my father's funeral. I didn't cry, but my mother did. In fact, she carried the theatrics so far she collapsed in the funeral home during the service. I know it sounds unfair, but she always found some way to steal my father's spotlight, even when he was dead.

Every time I think of the funeral, I see her blushing as she lifted her wedding dress higher on her slim leg, pretending to be so pure. Everything with her is pretending. She's like an aging, dark-haired Barbie doll. I don't like her much, now, and I know she doesn't like me, either, so that's okay. She'll never accept that the world doesn't revolve around her, and she knows I see through her charade. She thinks I loved my father more than I did her. She's right.

~*~

I like to listen to Bob Dylan in the dark. He makes me think. He teaches me in his rough, monotone voice. He's a true poet.

I hated college because I didn't learn anything. I wanted to major in political science, but my first two years were spent taking courses like freshman English and "Introduction to the Library." The whole thing reminded me too much of high school. I opted to save my time and their money and got out. Now I lie alone in my bed and listen to Bob Dylan in the dark and wonder.

I like the back of his Highway 61 Revisited CD.

"The WIPE-OUT GANG buys, owns and runs the Insanity Factory—if you don't know where the Insanity Factory is located you should hereby take two steps to the right, paint your teeth, and go to sleep."

He has such amazing insights, Mr. Dylan. I wonder if he's ever peeked inside the Insanity Factory, or felt that the WIPE-OUT GANG was coming after him at the speed of light, like I have.

~*~

Finding Seth one night is a complete and total accident. I do what I've done a thousand times before—pick up the phone and dial, waiting for someone to answer.

"City Morgue," the voice says. "You kill 'em, we chill 'em."

"What?" The word startles out of me before I can even think. I put a hand over my mouth, staring at Sneezy through the aquarium glass.

"I'm kidding," the voice says. "This is Seth. Who do you need?" There is laughter in his voice.

"Hello?" he asks. "You still there?"

Of course, I am, but I'm not about to answer. It's the first time in two years that I've said anything over the phone to another human being.

"Look, I'm sorry about that," he says. "It was a joke. This isn't a morgue, it's Bennett Hall. Who is this?"

I'm silent, twisting the phone cord around my finger, trying not to breathe.

"Cathy? Is this you?"

I jump when he says my name and a small sound escapes my throat. It takes me a moment to realize he isn't talking to me. That's impossible. My name is common. He just knows another Cathy, that's all. Strange coincidence.

"Which one of us do you want?" Seth asks. "Hello? Come on, it was just a joke! Who is this?"

I wait for this to end. I know it will, I just have to wait for it.

"Cathy, if this is you, I'm going to be mighty pissed. You know I'm studying for McBain's exam."

I close my eyes, wanting to hang up, but still waiting for him to hang up first.

"Cathy, I mean it! I'm sick of your games! Is it you or not? Hello?"

He's getting angry. I hold my breath. He will hang up soon. They hang up when they get angry. I wait. I never hang up first and I'm not going to start now.