Jenny

TW: blood, mourning

Jenny ran down the street as fast as she could, her dress shoes thumping against the ground. She shouldn’t be running in such an outfit, dodging obstacles and jumping over sidewalk cracks, but she was late. She was so, so late. Though she couldn’t quite remember what for.

She woke up that morning to an eerily silent and completely empty house, dressed like she’s going somewhere important. She could feel the makeup on her face, though she doesn’t remember applying it, and a long, fit-and-flare black dress hugged her body. It was comfortable and formal, to formal to work as pyjamas. Her feet were adorned with shiny black shoes, and she cringed at the idea of her wearing them in bed. She got up and went into the kitchen, her hands rubbing at her eyes. They were sore, like a pressure was building up and cracking behind them. She felt a bit dizzy as she made her way to the kitchen calendar. Did she hit her head and pass out? Did she get a concussion? Is that why she couldn’t remember?

She looked at the calendar. On today’s date, surrounded by a circle of thick red ink, was a message from her mother. “Jenny: 1:45,” it read, followed by a familiar address. Did they have an important event today? Why didn’t anyone wake her up? She checked the time; it was 1:40. Jenny was going to be late to an important event, again. Why did she always have to be late! She grabbed a piece of paper, copied down the address written on the calendar, then ran out the door and down the street.

Despite her poor memory, Jenny knew this event must be important. Why else would she be dressed in a clean black dress and fancy shoes? Why else would it be circled in the calendar? If only she could remember what it was! She must look ridiculous to witnesses on the sidewalk, running down the street in a black flowy dress, looking like the opposite of a runaway bride. Quite frankly, though, Jenny didn’t care what other must’ve thought. She had more important matters to attend to. If this event was important enough to be circled in the calendar, then she’ll never live it down if she arrives late again. Surely Aunt Mildred would have something snarky to say about it.

As Jenny was nearly halfway there, she tripped. She fell forward, belly-flopping onto the ground in a way that was certainly embarrassing, and smacking her face on the sidewalk. The paper with the address stayed firmly in her grasp as she laid there for a second, waiting for the pain to set in. Maybe she could use this as her excuse for being late.

“Sorry, Aunt Mildred, but I’ve broken my nose,” she could say. Then everyone would have known she wasn’t some lazy teenager who didn’t care about family events. Only, as she waited, she didn’t feel any pain. She didn’t even feel any discomfort. Jenny sat up, putting her hand to her nose. It felt fine. There was no break, there was no blood. She was fine. The adrenaline coursing through her veins must have cushioned the pain of the fall. Mentally crossing a broken nose off her list of excuses for being late, she stood up, dusted off her dress, and kept going.

As she turned the corner onto the street her little piece of paper told her about, she saw her mom’s car parked in a lot outside Elm’s Funeral Services. Right, she was going to a funeral! Now she just needed to figure out whose it was. Maybe it was for Grandma Helen, who was basically a hundred years old and growing weaker every day. It was about time she kicked the bucket, wasn’t it? Or Uncle George, who’s had three heart attacks in the last couple of years. Did his heart finally give out for good? Jenny cursed her concussion for the memory loss. This was certainly going to be awkward.

Jenny walked up the steps of the funeral home and pushed open the big double doors, gasping at the elegant interior décor that littered the lobby. A gold and red carpet, fancy art on the walls, plus a fireplace and comfy leather couches in the waiting area. Not to mention the beautiful chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Wow, Jenny thought. Whoever died must have been loved a whole lot to be remembered in a fancy place like this. So, definitely not Uncle George. Jenny hoped to have something similar to this when she died.

She spotted someone she assumed to be the funeral director, based on his suit and name tag, and walked up to him.

“Excuse me-” she said, watching as he walked right past her. He approached an elderly couple standing in the waiting area, completely ignoring Jenny’s existence. Clearly, he was busy.

Whatever, Jenny would just have to find the funeral on her own. She started walking down a hallway, not knowing where she was going. Maybe that could be her excuse for being late: getting lost after an employee refused to help her.

Each hallway looked just as fancy as the lobby. The walls were a dark mahogany, the carpets were all red and gold, the walls held pretty paintings of various landscapes and abstract depictions. Each doorway was lined with fancy décor, and shiny chandeliers hung on nearly every ceiling. Jenny figured this place must be a wonder to rob if you’re looking for quick cash.

She turned the corner and saw two people at the end of the hallway, standing in front of a dark wooden door. Getting closer, she saw it was none other than Aunt Mildred crying into her handkerchief as Uncle Bob tried to calm her down. Jenny stopped, not really wanting her first interactions of the day to be with Crusty Aunt Mildred and Sir Bob the Divorced.

“Millie, you know she wouldn’t want you to cry,” Uncle Bob said. Jenny rolled her eyes. Uncle Bob was never good at cheering people up.

“She was so young,” Aunt Mildred cried. “There was so much life left in her.”

Young? It was someone young who had died? There goes Jenny’s theory about Grandma Helen. She tried to think of who else it could be. Was it her cousin, Pam? That would make sense. Pam lived life on the edge, literally. She was a rock climber, and she didn’t like to use a harness because she “can’t improve her skills with safety nets in place.”

“Man,” Jenny said to herself. How could she have forgotten Pam’s death? They were close. Well, close for two people who only saw each other a couple times a year.

When Aunt Mildred calmed down, she and Uncle Bob went inside the door. Jenny followed silently. The door led to a little room with some tables and chairs along the wall. The visitation room, Jenny guessed. There was a set of double doors on the other side, right behind a sign that read “Private Function; Invite Only.” Jenny pushed open the doors, wondering why this building had so many doors. Inside, there were at least a hundred chairs all lined up in rows and columns, facing the casket at the front of the room. Jenny figured she should probably go pay her respects to Pam’s corpse as an apology for being late. Not that Pam would have minded, she was late to everything too. While avoiding the watchful eyes of family and friends, she made her way up to the front of the room.

The casket at the front of the room was surrounded by two tables full of memorabilia, one on either side. Trophies, academic awards and photos were displayed across them. Pam sure was studious, Jenny remembered. She and Pam used to always compete to see who could get the most school awards each year. Jenny looked at the photos. They didn’t look much like the Pam she remembered. The girl in the photo had dark hair, whereas Pam was a dedicated blonde. And Pam wore glasses, but the girl in the photo didn’t. Actually, Jenny couldn’t recognize the girl in the photos at all. She seemed familiar, yet not. Who was she? As her confusion grew, Jenny heard a familiar voice come from the other side of the room. She turned, shocked, to see Pam alive and well and speaking solemnly to Aunt Mildred.

“What?” Jenny wracked her brain trying to figure this out. Who was it? Who was dead? She was glad that her family was too preoccupied with their mourning to yell at her for being late, but wished someone would tell her what was going on. She grabbed the photo from the table, inspecting it closely. This girl was definitely familiar. Was she a more distant cousin? Jenny looked to the table on the other side of the casket and noticed a photo that could actually help her. It was one of those “In Memoriam” announcement cards that get sent to friends and family of the deceased, sitting in a pretty gold frame.

Jenny picked up the frame, admiring the girl’s smile in her memorial photo. Underneath the photo, in bolded block letters, was the girl’s name. Jenny dropped the frame as soon as she read it, taking a step back. It thumped against the carpeted ground, the memorial photo facing up towards Jenny, taunting her. Suddenly, the girl in the photos became very well known to Jenny. Suddenly, her relatives ignoring her existence in the funeral hall made perfect sense.

“No, what?” Her head began hurting again, a horrible pounding on the inside of her skull. The feeling from before came back, the one that felt like her skul was cracking open behind her eyes. She cradled her head in her hands, gasping, only to tear them away from herself quickly after. She stared at her hands, and at the blood that covered them. Her head was splitting open, spilling deep red down her neck and onto her dress.

“I-” she breathed. “I don’t understand-” she shook her said in disbelief, feeling herself grow dizzy once more.

Frantic and confused, Jenny threw open the casket, gasping like she was running out of oxygen. There, nestled neatly in the wooden box, dressed in a clean black dress and fancy shoes, was Jenny.