Color me still confused. I liked a good party. I was more than ready to go along for the ride. Put my name on the guest list and all that but what did it have to do with costumes and candy?
“There's people who think that maybe part of the Day of the Dead went well beyond just honoring your deceased. Maybe it went into these tales, like what Leahonia spoke of. But it looks like maybe it was more. Maybe it was to celebrate the successful attempts at raising the dead.”
“Well it seems to me if armies of psycho undead were marching the countryside wiping out people, that would be pretty successful. Destructive, but successful.”
He nodded. “True, but that's not it. Successful as in, like you. Where the person appears to truly return. Intact cognitively, as opposed to being mindless, or death dealers.”
Oh, that's a joyful way to consider myself. A success because I'm not mindless and shambling.
Don't get me wrong, I'd rather not be mindless and shambling, but still. What a sucker-punch to the self-esteem.
“You’re saying that maybe there were those that created the things that nightmares are made of. And then there were some that kept it more... on the up and up?”
“Yes. My plan is that we head out to the Day of the Dead ceremony. Given the proximity of Leahonia's family to my dig site, and the obvious proof that people in this area were able to raise the dead with non-destructive tendencies, there might be something we can learn. It would be ridiculous to pass up this opportunity.”
I thought for a moment. “So, do you think she is just in the dark to the possibility that maybe... well... I could exist? She seemed awful nervous.”
“Oh no. I trust her. She's genuine. It may not even be a cover up on the part of her ancestors so much as they may have left things behind. Maybe that's for the best. If her people did know how to do this sort of stuff and left it behind, there's probably a reason.”
"Um, except it kind of affects me. What reason could possibly be even remotely good about abandoning this?"
For real, did I want to know that I might suddenly go all homicidal cannibal on people?
"Well, uh, true." He ran his hand through his hair. "But I think that even if there was a good reason, it doesn't pertain to you. Which is why I thought it safe to even try this.”
Or maybe you kinda liked the idea of being the mad scientist. “Okay, what's our next move?”
“Well, we can see what else we can find out on our own. When Leahonia returns, you can get cleaned up. And then? We go to Day of the Dead.”
Well, it sounded like I could get myself back to looking decent and then we got to go party. Sounded good to me. The quicker we got started, the happier I'd be sitting in my home back in Virginia.
“Let's get rolling. Once I get myself back to looking decent, I'm not gonna want to muck about doing whatever it is you wanna do.”
Jon stood. “Come this way. Let's just try the testing on the ridiculous first. You already said your eyesight was better. Let's check your other senses.”
I didn't know how he expected to do that, but I followed him. Over the next half hour, we ran through some simple games to test my senses. I couldn't hear through walls, meaning no hearing things miles away. Guess I'd not be running off like Superman to save cats stuck in trees on the other side of town. My sense of smell was not any better than when I was alive, which I was thankful for, given the pungent things Jon managed to find to test me on.
My sense of balance was no better or worse than before I died. Sometimes I could be really graceful, and other times trip on my own two feet for no particular reason. I could move about easily enough but kept that wonderful propensity for random balance issues. Bummer, because the loss of my not-so-inner-klutz would have been fantastic. Well, couldn’t have everything.
The last thing we tried was a basic strength check. A winner, finally. Turned out that while I wouldn't be flinging cars about like they were made of paper, I could actually lift the back end of Jon's truck with one hand. I didn't even break a sweat. That was when Leahonia returned with the promised clothes and some beauty supplies in the form of a hunk of homemade soap that smelled of lavender. Divine!
“Leahonia, wow, I don't know what to say!” Really, that soap smelled absolutely heavenly. The crazy in my life faded away as the soap hypnotized me. Using that soap meant rejoining the human race. “This soap, it's delicious!”
“I made it,” she said, her voice soft, almost shy.
“You made this?” Wow, she made this? Like without getting it at some sort of market? “Leahonia, you are a woman of many talents.”
I needed to ensure a lifetime supply of this stuff before I left Mexico. I tried not to wonder what a lifetime would be for me.
“Gracias, Señorita. You look like you needed it. I hope you like.”
“Oh, there's no question. I like this already.”
Jon snickered. I thought I overheard him mutter something about women.
“Wanna share with the class, Jon?” I shot him a dirty look. Let him get killed in an earthquake and see how he felt. He'd probably be ready to go all homicidal just for a sliver of this soap, too.
He cleared his throat. “Um, no. But if you want, the bathroom is that way.” He pointed towards the skeezy bathroom I'd found before. I didn't need a mirror in the nasty room to know how that affected my already pale skin tone.
“Señorita, you no want to use that room. He no let me clean.”
No news there. The science experiment growing in that room would probably take over the world someday. What on earth possessed him to have someone come and do his laundry and clean his little kitchen area and not go near the bathroom?
“I already made the mistake of going in there. It's disgusting. Jon, why the hell don't you let her clean in there?”
“I... uh... well...” He stumbled for a few minutes, before finally answering. “I really don't know. No real reason.”
I'll never understand men. If I should live to be a thousand, I'll never ever understand men. They are weird creatures that defy the law of common sense and nature. That author was right, men really are from Mars.
Now I had a dilemma. In my hand I held the yummiest smelling soap on the planet and wanted nothing more than to head off and get myself cleaned up and human looking. It might be Day of the Dead, but I didn't need to look like death walking. In order to do said cleaning up, I needed to go into the scuzziest bathroom of all time.
I knew Mexico wasn't a rich nation or anything, but I'd expect a nicer bathroom in the poorest of third world countries. Did we have any fifth world countries? That sounded about right.
I should’ve been happy he had running water. Given the state of this place, and the lack of anything remotely nearby, we could easily be in a shack that wouldn't see running water for another hundred years.
“You come to my house. You can take care of things there. I also have place you can sleep. Señor Juan no have that. I not sure what Señor Juan does with himself!”
I wasn’t sure what Señor Juan did with himself, either. Maybe he slept in his truck. There definitely wasn't much of a place here to stretch out like a normal human being for some shut eye. No way could he survive sleeping in that chair for any length of time.
Of course, I still wasn't any closer to being tired. Maybe I no longer needed to worry about sleep. That could pay off after a late night on the town when I needed to work in the morning. Sometimes, no amount of coffee could make me functional enough. If I didn't need sleep, what was I going to do at her house? I didn't relish the thought of counting little stucco-peaks in the ceiling until dawn. That might pass for late night entertainment in some parts of the world, but not for me.
In the end, the thought of a nice bath won out over anything else and I took Leahonia up on her offer. How could I resist the call of cleanliness? I wanted to clean up the rats’ nest taking up residence on my head. I really wanted to change into the clothes Leahonia gave me and burn the remnants of post-apocalypse couture
I currently wore.
In return, I'd try to control any sudden urges to murder and eat her, should they come up out of the blue. Leahonia might have been unwittingly taking her life into her hands welcoming me into her home so it was the least I could do. Of course, I hadn't gone after brains yet. No insatiable longing for a beverage most warm, either. Was I going to ever do it?
Jon tried to protest but I stopped him short. I wanted to hear nothing more until I was human again. Once I looked decent for society, he could blather on about whatever he wanted and maybe I'd listen. If it didn't get too boring again.
c
chapter twelve
We followed a dirt path to Leahonia's place. It was far enough to impress upon me that my feet didn't hurt - yet. I loved my Choos, but Jon was right. They were high on the sensible list if you wanted to look good and do a lot of sitting, but not so much if your plans involved long strolls through the Mexican countryside. As if one normally planned for such a thing. You could break a heel on the sidewalk, so some pitted dirt path probably didn't leave shoes with a long life expectancy. What a shame. Shoes could be so pretty. Lucky for me and my Choos, we arrived intact.
I understood that Mexico was an economically disadvantaged country, probably due to their lack of high-end department stores, but Leahonia's modest home with a little garden surprised me with its charm.
We entered the house and I saw Leahonia enjoyed decorating and had a good eye. Was there nothing this woman couldn't do? Splashes of bright color everywhere gave a sense of joy and excitement while soft touches of blankets and pillows gave a feeling of comfort to the home. Some sort of local art hung on the walls, and not the touristy crap by the docks people haggled over.
Hand woven baskets scattered the room and the floor. No mess here, it was all contained. A place for everything and everything in its place. After the pit of despair back at Jon's, this was a welcome relief.
The furniture appeared worn, but Leahonia obviously took meticulous care with the need of it to last. I bet there was no nearby Ethan Allen for her to go jaunting off to just because she decided to paint the walls a color that would clash with her furniture.
Just off the sitting room was a small dining area. Obviously where Leahonia's family dined, though the table looked almost too large for the space. That led right into a cramped, but tidy, kitchen.
With signs of children, I wondered how many people lived here. It didn't look large enough for a family, but then again, what would a family do here? In America there'd be a zillion remotes in a basket! And a huge television and every gaming console in existence. A mountain of DVDs and the Tivo recording away.
Not here. No TV in sight. Probably couldn't get anything to come in anyway. Did cable reach out this far? No TV meant no gaming consoles, and there was no computer in sight. Did that mean no social networks or online shopping? I'd die.
“Leahonia, your home is... beautiful.” The words didn't seem to do the place justice. This went beyond beautiful, even if it was foreign. My apartment back home still had the same white walls as the day I moved in. I liked it, but it wasn't a home like this place.
“Thank you, Señorita. I try to make nice.” She was too modest. There was no simple “try” here. Or “nice” for that matter.
“Call me Bea. It's okay. And this is so much more than nice. This is... I don't even know if there's a word for this.”
“This way, Señorita.”
Hey, didn't I just tell her to stop with the señorita crap? It seems so formal. And old. I'm not old.
“Really. Bea. Please.” I followed her down a short hallway to a door. She opened it and revealed a tiny bathroom with a gleaming tub, toilet, sink, and mirror. Now that's what I was talking about.
“Here, I leave you. You take what you need. Get cleaned up. No more big mess.” She smiled softly at me. I could tell she didn't mean anything mean by calling me a big mess. I'd looked in a mirror and could think of far worse ways to describe my current appearance.
“Thank you so much, Leahonia. I don't know how I can ever repay your kindness. I never planned to get stuck in a crazy earthquake and end up stuck here with nothing. It's been just so... crazy.” I wanted to just unload on her, but I held back. It wasn't like she needed to hear all the problems of the undead girl, after all. Not that she could relate or anything, anyway.
I went into the bathroom and closed the door. I drew a bath, shed my clothes, and grabbed my lump of soap. The water wasn't steaming when I climbed into the tub, but still felt warm to me. Almost like it should be steaming. I laid back in the tub for a few minutes, luxuriating in the water. My muscles relaxed and I just let the tension slide out of me. Lump of lavender soap, take me away!
I scoured myself with the aromatic soap. This was not like the cheap bars of soap you bought at the drug store. I needed more of this stuff. A lifetime supply would do just nicely. The dirt, the dust, the grime, it came right off. And with it my mood improved. I worked on everything, too. Even between my toes. I wanted to be clean again. I went over every inch of my body three times.
I saw no shampoo or conditioner, let alone any of the other products I used religiously. All I had was the bar of soap. I slid under the water without even thinking about it, to get my hair wet. Anything was better than nothing at this point.
Submerged, I realized I never thought to take a breath. If I was holding my breath, it was a completely involuntary reaction to my thought to submerge. I remained underwater, contemplating my possible need for air. We really hadn't tested my lung power at all at Jon's. This was a perfect way to see what my newly dead body did as far as breathing went.
Maybe I wasn't so disgusted with the lab rat experimentations after all. I remained under the water. Actually, it felt good. The pressure of the water against my ears, gave me a sense of calm. And then I was crying. I don't know how I knew, but I was.
That's what finally forced me above water. Not a need for air, but a need to get a handle on myself. I surfaced and wiped at my face with my wet hands. That was super helpful. I'd set my stack of clothes and towel on the floor by the side of the tub.
Through teary eyes, I looked over the side of the tub and managed to find the towel. I wiped my face with the towel, but the tears continued to flow. I gave up. I let the tears come, quietly sobbing. Something snapped inside of me with the release of the tears. I sat in the tub, hair dripping, crying until I could cry no more. I cried for the loss of my purse and my belongings on the ship. I cried for the loss of identification, making it hard to function in the world. I cried for the loss of my life, robbed from me at such an early age.
I cried for the life I'd never known I wanted and now never would. I was living on borrowed time and something inside of me knew that more than just a slower heart and fantastic eyesight changed inside of me. I somehow knew that the things I'd avoided in an attempt to remain young, footloose, and fancy free were no longer options.
Not that I wanted to be a mother now or anything, but I'd always thought I would be. Same with settling down. I'd put off for tomorrow so many things. Why had I not thought about things? Like most people, I assumed there'd still be time for that.
Who dies in their 20's anyway? Or in their 30's?
Now that I was dead, I realized how much I wanted to be alive. I wanted to travel the world and I wanted to make a name for myself. Right now, my tombstone would read: Here Lies Bea - Biggest Party Girl of the Century. That was not exactly how I wanted to be remembered for time and all eternity.
It was through those tears that I realized that through borrowed time or undead eternity, nothing would stop me. If my body stopped working tomorrow, I'd make sure that today I did
all I could to make the best of it. If I had eternity, then I guess I could catch up on that bucket list and then some. But no more procrastinating.
Oh, there was a list. Everyone has that list of things they'd like to do. Learn a foreign language, see Europe, read War and Peace. So, I didn't want to learn a foreign
language or read War and Peace, but I had my own list of things I wanted to do before I died. Now I'd just have to deal with a kicked bucket list. It could work.
Now I knew what I wanted to do with my life after death. Did it stop me from being shallow or kill the insane need to enter a shoe store because I saw a sale sign? Absolutely not. Even the dead needed to look good. But, I could do more.
Once the tears stopped flowing, I slid back under the water. This time, I purposefully didn't take a breath. I wanted to see how long I could stay under, how long I could go without breathing. Working on my hair was just a bonus. I kept my face underwater but used my hands to work at my hair. Not an easy task laying in a bathtub, let me tell you. Mostly I tried to ensure anything foul like dirt clods or whatever came out before I soaped up.
That task done, I was no closer to needing air than before. The answer seemed obvious to me. How long could I hold my breath? A really long time. I gave up waiting. I surfaced and grabbed the soap. Rubbing it in my hand, I worked up a good lather that I used to begin washing my hair. When I ran out of lather, I went back to the bar of soap. I worked through my hair, hoping to get it at least somewhat clean.
I liked the idea of lavender scenting my hair, surrounding my head with the yummy garden scent. I was a little worried about not having proper hair products, but hoped the soap would treat my tresses well. You did what you had to in times of dire need, but I still wanted to avoid split ends.
My hair would just have to realize it was as clean as it was going to get. I slipped back under the water with eyes clamped shut. My fingers kept up their task under the water, attempting to get as much of the soap out of my locks as I could.
At long last I finished. I set the tub to drain and grabbed for that towel once more. Bending over as I stood, I allowed my hair to hang away from my body and wrung it out. I used the towel to dry off as best I could before I wrapped it around my wet hair. I stretched and winced as my body popped more. Nice. If that kept up much longer, I might get really cranky again.
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