“"I got hit by a bus!”" she screamed at the top of her lungs. “"I got hit by a friggin’' bus and no one has come to my funeral? What is the point of getting hit by a bus if no one shows up to the service? You have got to be shitting me. You have got to be shitting me! And I just realized the song you’'re playing at my stupid no-show funeral is ‘'I Will Always Love You.’' Why don’'t you just kill me again, huh? Kill me again. Send another bus over, and I’'ll run right out and jump in front of it, okay? Would that be okay? Think we can muster up a couple of people that way?”"
And then without any warning at all, she quickly geared up and kicked the chair she had just been sitting in with all of her might, and though she felt her leg shoot right through it, to her surprise, it moved just a little.
Just a little.
Mr. Harris walked back over to the wall and pressed a button on something that looked like a thermostat. The volume of the music slowly lowered, moment by moment until there was not a trace of it left in the room. It had disappeared, just like Lucy.
The light also softened, and Reverend Gary ambled up to the front of the room and stood behind a lectern next to a table that sported a massive spray of silk flowers, a plain and shiny vase, and a picture of Lucy taken at Alice’'s wedding, wearing an enormous floppy pink hat. She’'d been Alice’'s maid of honor, and unfortunately for Lucy, her sister had just gotten cable while planning her wedding, had seen The Godfather one too many times, and had been tragically influenced by the joyous scene of Connie Corleone’'s nuptials. Convinced she could re-create the magic, Alice had planned each detail of the marvelous event accordingly, including the bridesmaid’'s hats, although Lucy had protested that she looked much more like Squeaky Fromme trying to shoot President Ford than she did a nubile Italian maiden in a classic film. Despite Naunie’'s impossible promises of getting Frank Sinatra to drop by and perform, the wedding went on, Godfather-style, with gallons of wine and trays of Stouffer’'s lasagna. Sadly for Alice, it was not Sonny Corleone who ended up in the bathroom with another pink floppy hat wearer, but her brand-new husband.
Lucy despised that photo, but told herself she shouldn’'t worry about it, since there was no one there to see it. She sat back down in the chair, folded her arms in a pout, and waited for her undoubtedly shitty eulogy.
“"I did not know Lucy Fisher,”" Reverend Gary began, extending his left arm toward the flowers. “"But we are here today to celebrate her life and honor her passing.”"
Great. Let’'s celebrate, Lucy thought irritably. Pop some champagne. I bet the cork will knock out an eye.
“"In the awesome finality that is death, we remember Lucy Fisher,”" he continued, again stretching out his left arm toward the table, flowers, and photograph. “"With kindness and love, not only as a beloved sister, but also as a cherished aunt.”"
Well, that was nice, Lucy thought, softening a little, but still not uncrossing her arms.
“"Although she met her end in a way that was unique, unsettling, and that left the courthouse intersection closed for two days, Lucy Fisher,”" Reverend Gary went on, “"will be with us always.”"
Reverend Gary’'s left arm again traveled to his left, and this time it hung there for several seconds.
That’'s a nice thought, Gary, Lucy wanted to shout, especially since I’'m not even here now.
Gary’'s arm remained outstretched.
Oh, no, Lucy thought.
Or am I?
Lucy suddenly sat up straighter. She looked at the table. Saw flowers, a vase, a photograph. Saw flowers, a jardinièere, a photograph. Saw flowers, an urn, a photograph.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she said to herself. She shake and baked me.
Alice shake and baked me.
I’'m in that thing. Holy shit, I’'m in that thing.
She canned me like preserves.
All I am is dust in the wind.
How is Martin—--once she finds him—--supposed to cry over my gorgeously made-up dead body if I look indistinguishable from the stuff that shot out of Mount Saint Helens?
I look like the killer of Pompeii.
Oh, my God, Lucy thought, I would throw up if I still had a working stomach.
Instead, Lucy jumped up, ran toward the back of the room—--picking up speed as she raced—--and without much thought, ran right through the heavy, ornate set of double doors, not feeling much of anything.
Outside in the massive hallway, Lucy paced up and down, up and down, trying to take it all in. Just like that, Lucy’'s life was gone. She was just gone. Poof. Vanished. Not to be eulogized, not to be mourned. Not to be missed.
“"Hey,”" she heard someone call, and she turned around to see a portly man in bright yellow golfing attire staring at her from the opposite side of the hallway, next to a set of doors identical to those on her side of the hallway.
“"Me?”" she mouthed as she pointed to herself.
“"Yes!”" he said, and chuckled. “"Yes, you!”"
“"You can see me?”" she said aloud.
“"Of course I can!”" He laughed, then moved his hand straight through the Chippendale table that flanked the set of doors. “"I saw you stampede right through that door like a buffalo!”"
“"Oh.”" She nodded, understanding his ghostly identification gesture. “"I just had to get out of there.”"
“"A bit overwhelming, huh?”" He chortled. “"I know how you feel. This thing has been going on for almost an eternity, people taking turns talking, telling stories. There was a string quartet, a slide show presentation. There were even some people that couldn’'t make it who sent in videos. After this, they’'re going over to the club to unveil a statue of me taking a swing. Can you believe it? Got a girl in there now singing ‘'Wind Beneath My Wings.’' I had to take a break. I was getting a little choked up myself, you know? How much can one guy take at his funeral? Standing room only. What a way to send a guy off.”"
Lucy tried to nod, and smiled faintly.
“"How’'s yours going?”" he asked, nodding in the direction of Lucy’'s doors.
“"Good, good. I got ‘'I Will Always Love You,’'”" was all she could manage to say.
“"All right, then,”" the yellow golf man said, tipping his little yellow golf hat. “"I’'m heading back in. Don’'t wanna miss too much. I’'m taking a running start this time; you’'ve inspired me!”"
And just like that, the man began running, his belly flopping, and in a flash like a chunky bumblebee, he vanished through the doors.
If Lucy had had any doubts about truly being dead, they were gone, and if she’'d still had any visions of slipping back into her life, she knew now they were ridiculous.
Never, in her entire life or death, had Lucy felt more alone.
There was only one thing left to do.
“"ROOOO-BEEEEE!”" she bellowed.
chapter seven Boomerang
“"Lucy, what happened to you?”" Bethanny said after she pushed the door to SD1118 open and saw her friend slouching in her seat inside. “"I knocked on your door a couple of times last night, but you didn’'t answer. If you went bowling without me …...”"
Lucy shook her head. “"No, I didn’'t go bowling,”" she assured the perky blonde, who was now dressed in a tank top with a number pinned to it, stretchy shorts, and athletic shoes. “"Nice outfit. Better than pajamas. I’'m sorry. I just needed to decompress a little, have some alone time.”"
“"Ruby brought it over. There was a marathon in record heat yesterday, and more people survived than they thought,”" Bethanny explained. “"These are extra ghost clothes, I guess. Did you see someone you didn’'t want to see at your funeral?”"
Lucy couldn’'t help but laugh. “"No. I was very happy to see who I saw,”" she said simply, not wanting to talk about it. “"How was your trip?”"
Suddenly, Mr. Russell, still in his Tommy Bahama wear, opened the door and stepped inside, followed by Mr. Marks, the bicyclist, and Mr. Granger, the hunter.
“"Well, I couldn’'t believe it.�
�" Mr. Granger chuckled. “"I have never worn a suit in my life! I guess I should just be happy they didn’'t have me stuffed and mounted!”"
“"Chuck, that’'s hilarious!”" Mr. Marks commented. “"I can just see you standing in someone’'s living room, upright and ready to pounce, just like a grizzly!”"
“"I’'m telling you, Elliot,”" Chuck replied, “"it’'s no less funny than having your head stapled back on and the seam hidden with a turtleneck!”"
All three men laughed heartily.
Mrs. Wootig entered the room, still surrounded by her puffy jacket, tailed slightly behind by Mr. Morse, the guy who had electrocuted himself by wetting his bed during a drunken blackout. To Lucy’'s surprise, he was grinning ear to ear, and the hair was almost swept entirely off his face.
Lucy wasn’'t the only one who noticed. When Ruby swept into the class a moment later, she stopped in front of him, cocked her head, and grinned.
“"Why, Mr. Morse, not so glum today, I see?”" she mentioned.
He held up his hand, his fingers stretched far apart. “"Five girls that I wasn’'t related to cried at my funeral,”" he bragged. “"Five of them. And two of them—--well, one really—--is super hot. The other one would be hot, too, if she got that one tooth fixed. The other three were okay, but I was just amazed they came. I didn’'t even think they knew I was alive! Being dead is so cool. I love being dead. And you can call me Danny. That’'s a great name! Danny of the Dead!”"
“"Well, I think that’'s wonderful, Danny,”" Ruby said, moving on to her lectern and plopping her stack of binders and folders right on top of it, just as she had on the first day of class. “"Who else would like to share their experience from yesterday?”"
Mrs. Wootig’'s arm shot up.
“"My service was at the finest church in San Diego,”" she gushed. “"You have to pass a board vote to get in. Sixty-seven cars in my procession. It was the fifth-highest attended funeral in the history of the church. I came in behind the president of the Junior League. Of course, there was an invitation list. Every seat was taken, although I was a bit disappointed there was no red carpet. It was a wonderful day, except that I heard one of the girls in my tennis class whisper to another that she heard I’'d died in a liposuction accident! Can you believe such a preposterous thing? It’'s absolutely ridiculous. She obviously never got a very good look at my ass. I completely survived my liposuction!”"
“"Well, there is no doubt you’'ll be buried in the shallowest grave of them all, Mrs. Wootig,”" Ruby said, and grinned.
“"Oh, you bet I will,”" Mrs. Wootig heartily agreed. “"I’'m sure my husband paid extra for that.”"
“"Mrs. Wootig, now that we’'re getting to know one another a little better, what would you like for us to call you?”" Ruby asked.
Mrs. Wootig looked like she was stumped. She furrowed her brow as much as her Botox would allow, and thought very, very carefully. For ten seconds. Thirty seconds. A full minute.
She finally looked up when genius struck, and she smiled at Ruby. “"I would like to be called,”" she began, “"Countess.”"
Ruby looked away for a moment and then reattached her gaze to the woman.
“"But I’'m afraid you’'re not a countess,”" Ruby explained. “"You’'re the mother of two sons of young adult age, one of whom locks himself in his room for substantial periods of time, listening to German death metal music and badly drawing flaming skeletons with enormous breasts, and the older one was just thrown out of college for running a gambling ring on campus. Your husband bilks people out of their savings by claiming to remove mold from their houses, but is really just using a big vacuum, and that’'s just one of his business scams. I don’'t know many counts who pretend to clean up mold with a Hoover, I’'m sorry to say.”"
Mrs. Wootig sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “"Fine,”" she conceded. “"Mrs. Wootig, then.”"
“"Mr. Russell, how was your day?”" Ruby prodded, attempting to move on.
“"Well, I got to see a lot of old friends that I had lost touch with, and that sure was nice,”" he replied, and somehow, Lucy thought, the Hawaiian print didn’'t look quite so garish on him today. “"There was a huge buffet at the reception, and everyone was just stuffed. It looked great. And listen to this, I have great news: The company I was going to see that day felt so bad about me dying on my business trip that we got the account! How’'s that, huh? Isn’'t that impressive? Yep. ‘'Good ole Kirk.’' That’'s what everybody said. ‘'Bringin’' them in even after he’'s croaked! He’'ll do anything to land ’'em!’' At the office, I heard there’'s talk of naming the cafeteria after me!”"
“"Congratulations, Mr. Russell,”" Ruby replied, and offered a petite round of applause, which everyone else eventually joined in on.
“"Call me Kirk,”" he said, his chunky face beaming. “"Kirk Russell. No, Goldie Hawn is not my girlfriend! Don’'t I wish? Ha, ha, ha!”"
Bethanny’'s hand went up next.
“"I didn’'t get a funeral because, well, pretty much every part of me is still missing, but I did get a DJ!”" she interjected cheerfully. “"I was so excited! They had a memorial service at my favorite club, and my boyfriend had an open bar, so everyone had a great time. Two people even had sex in the bathroom! That tells you right there it was a great party!”"
Another small round of applause went out for Bethanny and her cocktail service.
“"My family is doing well,”" Chuck added. “"They all met at our favorite hunting lodge, shot a moose, and had a big barbecue. I hope this doesn’'t sound like I’'m bragging, but it was the best funeral I’'ve ever been to. My brother even brought a keg!”"
The rest of the class nodded and murmured their congratulations.
“"I’'d like to share my experience,”" Mr. Marks, with the shiny spandex ass, offered as he exuberantly raised his smallish girl hand. “"As a result of my untimely execution by the side mirror of a planet-destroying Hummer, my cycling club staged a protest, it got on the news, and as a result, a bike lane just may be created from the point where my body rode off on the bike and finally fell over, to the point where they found my head. All they need to do is raise the funds for construction materials! My decapitation may not be irrelevant after all!”"
Lucy looked at the beaming Mr. Marks, realizing that she was inexplicably irritated by the sheen of his toothpick Jazzercise legs in shorts eleven sizes too small, the fact that his ass was the size of a four-year-old’'s, and that he was still wearing his helmet. She couldn’'t help but sigh.
“"Lucy?”" Ruby asked quietly, leaving it open-ended.
Lucy said nothing for a moment, just sat and shook her head.
“"People staged a protest for you, Mr. Marks,”" she finally said. “"How could you possibly think you were irrelevant? Kirk is getting a cafeteria named in his honor, the countess’'s funeral had a guest list, Chuck’'s Clan of the Cave Bear over there slaughtered and gorged on a sacrificial moose, Danny discovered he had weepy groupies, and Bethanny’'s friends celebrated her by getting laid in a bathroom like they were at Studio 54 and had just snorted an eight ball with Bianca Jagger. I hope you all consider yourselves very lucky, because at my funeral, guess what? Nobody showed. Not my friends, co-workers, or my very recent ex-fiancée. No one except my sister, my nephew, and cameo appearances by some strangers. Other than that, nobody came. No one could be bothered to come. You worried about being irrelevant, Mr. Marks, but I can tell you how it feels to have it confirmed.”"
“"Oh, Lucy,”" Bethanny cried, throwing her bony pixie arms around her ghost friend’'s neck. “"I’'m so sorry. I bet there’'s a very good explanation for why your friends didn’'t come. Maybe there was another funeral they had to go to that day. I bet there’'s a good reason!”"
“"Maybe they got the days mixed up,”" Mr. Marks said kindly. “"That happened to my neighbor. The dates were printed wrong in the newspaper.”"
“"Maybe someone’'s car broke down and they were all coming together,”"
Chuck offered.
“"Who cares if no one came,”" the countess remarked. “"How did you look?”"
“"Another great surprise,”" Lucy replied. “"I would have to say I probably looked overdone. Or like an ashtray at a casino at the end of the night. I was roasted and packaged in a ‘'parts is parts’' pot. All facets of me are now all mixed together, public and private. I’'m a canister of human crumbs. I live in a jar like I Dream of Jeannie. Being cremated never even crossed my mind when I was alive. I had this vision of looking fantastic in my casket. Roses around my head, maybe holding some flowers, looking peaceful and lovely. I have to admit that I wanted very badly to leave an impression, you know?”"
Ruby clucked her tongue and stepped down from the podium.
“"That is a masterpiece of understatement,”" she interrupted. “"There certainly was an impression, Lucy. It was an impression from a three-ton city bus that left a tire track across your face. We all know you did not win that fight, so the truth is that your sister probably had no choice. And, not to be tacky, but there is always the issue of funding, dear. An ashes to ashes send-off is a little more economical than finding you a pretty mausoleum or a marble headstone. And besides, how much should it really matter to you? You should know more than ever that it’'s simply a symbol for the living. I know you are very upset about the attendance, but forget about who wasn’'t there. People don’'t get mad at you because you die, and decide to stop speaking to you.”"
“"But I had such high hopes and was so looking forward to it,”" Lucy cried. “"I mean, I’'m only going to get one funeral, and I’'m rather disappointed at how this one turned out.”"
Ruby reiterated what she had told Lucy the day before when she’'d walked out of the elevator doors at the funeral home to find her student upset.
“"This experience is different for everyone,”" the old woman said to the class. “"Some people are elated, and some wind up distraught. I’'m sorry this was the way it turned out for you, Lucy, but the important thing is to focus on the people who were there and not the people who were missing. I’'ve had students who didn’'t get a service at all, didn’'t have one person they knew present when the time came, and no one said a word about them. It was just a body and a guy with a shovel. I’'ve even heard of people who wound up in the trash, a little cardboard box with a bag of ashes inside. No vase, no I Dream of Jeannie, and no sister to take them home with her.”"
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