Duchenne

Hey Sammy. There’s something we should talk about.

In her bedroom, curtains drawn, before a candlelit altar was where Veronika knelt at precisely 8pm each night before bed.

I’ll be going out for a bit this evening. Nothing too crazy, just a few hours. So I don’t want to startle you-

As she stares at a framed photo of her deceased lover, Veronika can’t help but notice a mark at the bottom right corner of the glass.

I mean, I know it’s been 3 years-

She wipes away at the smudge with a bit of excess draped over the table.

So I don’t mean to startle you-

She wipes again with furrowed brows.

I know it’s been 3 years.

The streak becomes larger.

I don’t mean to- I don’t mean to startle y- I know it’s been 3 years so I don’t mean to startle you. Hey Sammy, there’s something-

“Shit”.

The frame is nudged over the altar as Veronika leaps to find a water bottle. Frantically attempting to extinguish flames from the fallen candles, she continues to recite:

“Hey Sammy. There’s something we should talk about. I’ll be going out for a bit this evening…”

It takes a total of 20 minutes to finish her monologue upon a scene of burnt fabric, dried candle wax, and an empty Arrowhead. Placing only the picture back in its original place, Veronika bids the 6x8'' rectangle goodbye before leaving her apartment.

…

“So when exactly did you move here?” asks Eugene, Veronika’s coworker and now partner. This was the first time she agreed to go on a date with him that entailed more than just superficial talk, and was already feeling remorse for the catastrophe that transpired earlier in the evening. If anything, it’s all that was on her mind. At a restaurant table too small for personal foot space, Veronika couldn’t find room to make herself feel present.

“About a year ago, the same time Duchenne’s was bought out”. Duchenne’s Funeral Home was where Veronika spent most of her life, as it was a family business. She learned the ways of being a mortician, and eventually worked to become a licensed embalmer herself. Unfortunately, small-town establishments cannot serve a town that is no longer small, in which case a corporate entity then buys out every funeral home in the city.

“Do you still keep in touch with your family? Or, do you miss them?” Eugene builds on the conversation.

The long-time office manager of Forever Light Mortuary and Cremation Services found immediate interest in Veronika when they first met. He never encountered many young women his age working in the funeral business, let alone as an embalmer. She was also a source of joy for him at work, so he understood the delicacy of trying to surpass the friendship stage. After a few months, he took a chance on himself and asked Veronika out on a date, hungry for her backstory.

“Somewhat. I think after my ex passed,” she pauses for a moment, remembering that this would be the first Eugene would have heard about this, “I couldn’t seem to move on too easily? I was diagnosed with OCD soon after, so you could imagine staying in the same city, with the same job, with the same people was a blessing and a curse for my healing. I finally accepted that I couldn’t do change unless I tried, so now I’m here. And they’re there. In Soderton”. 

Is that too much Sammy? Does it make you sound like a bad person?

Veronika hears Eugene say something in return, but chooses to focus on his mouth and the way that his lips are a bit uneven. The way that the right side of his cheek lifts higher than the left when he talks, and the way that he keeps scratching at the outer left corner of his mouth in between sentences. 

“Veronika?”

“Yeah?” she simultaneously goes to graze her nail against the right corner of her mouth before continuing. “Sorry. Yes, the trees are pretty over there this time of year. California could never match their fall season”. 

…

Maybe it was the extra glass of wine that made Eugene seem more interesting, or Veronika’s delirium from staying up well past midnight that made her decide to invite him over. She lazily introduces him to the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and beelined for the bedroom. She was inches away from giving him a kiss when she is reminded of the smell of wax.

“Is this, uh-,” Eugene turns his head toward the picture of Sammy and tried to make sense of what he was seeing, “sandalwood?” He knew that bringing up a dead boyfriend wouldn’t set the mood, but nothing about a large shrine dedicated to one looked particularly subtle either. He chooses to comment on the candles in hopes that Veronika would acknowledge more than that.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Yeah, sorry, this is awkward.”

“It’s okay.” Eugene sees the abrupt pain in Veronika’s eyes. It’s the type of pain that never heals, but merely waxes and wanes. He likes it. He enjoys seeing a side of her he’d never seen before, so he sits cross legged in front of the photo motioning for her to join. “Tell me about him”.

Veronika was taken aback, but appreciated that Eugene abandoned the charming advances.

“He was always smiling,” she says before cocking her head as if to correct herself, “He would always smile. I guess you don’t see much of that when your childhood is surrounded by death. We met, ironically, at a funeral. His grandfather died when he was 5, and I was just a kid playing in the courtyard during the ceremony. He somehow found himself in the same place, and well, long story short, it was family friends-to-lovers. It was 25 beautiful years of just…laughter”. 

Eugene looks at what seems to be a high school-graduated Sammy with squinted eyes and bright teeth. It felt infectious, the beaming-ness of his character.

“May I ask then, how…?” he slowly looks at Veronika with curiosity.

“It was a drug overdose,” she answers quickly, knowing the question was inevitable. “He got into some sad life stuff and had to start taking meds. I always say, ‘the intention was for the pills to keep his smile, but they really just washed it away’. My parents started to lose their trust in him too.” 

Veronika hated that she was opening up so quickly, but had never felt such power to tell the story outside of her hometown, where much of the bias was against her rather than for her. “He started acting weird,” She observes the ground with concern. “He started to visit me in the lab during my work hours to tell me about his dreams and aspirations, and how all he wanted was for everyone to be happy”.

“Well that’s not so weird is it? I mean, to wish happiness for the world?” Eugene lets out a small laugh, but Veronika cannot match his expression while she breaks eye contact with Sammy’s face.

“Well not that, but his actions started to reflect that”. She catches a glance at the holes in her satin fabric, being reoriented to where she is. She shakes her head. “It just became too much, you know? I think…I think we should call it a night”. As Veronika tries to get up, Eugene takes her hand and pulls her into an embrace.

“Tell me more”.

Silence ensues for a few moments as Veronika feels herself enter a realm in which she long since has tried to abandon. Her face molds into a look of discomfort, not knowing whether to feel sad or relieved. Tears begin to flow and fall onto Eugene’s shirt.

“Sammy wouldn’t come into the lab sober - he started using alcohol as another way to cope with life. He spent enough time with me to know a thing or two about embalming, so he would start to mess with the tools while I was at work”. She begins to pull away from Eugene.

“Would he- would he hurt you?” Eugene holds her shoulders away as he begins to regret asking about the story.

“No, he wouldn’t. Not me at least. I mean, they’re all dead right?” She finally lets out a giggle, and Eugene’s expression changes from concern to uneasiness. “So we have these needle injectors. They let us suture mouths to keep them closed. Well, it became his favorite toy to play with. He wanted everyone to be happy, even when they’re dead”. She stops crying, now reaching for something behind Sammy’s picture.

Eugene starts to grab for his keys, but stops as she pulls out what looks like a tattoo machine with two metal eyes on its side like a scissor’s handle.

“The needles were malleable, so he would just,” Veronika loops her two middle fingers around the eyes and pulls them into her palm for a *click*, “make ‘em look happy”.

“I’m sorry…what?” Eugene pauses for a moment before breaking into a cackle. “He would sew smiles on dead people? I mean, that’s strange and all, but kind of funny right?”

Veronika whips her head toward Eugene, with a new crazed expression. “Oh of course, Eugene. It’s hilarious until you remember that these people were hit by cars, died of terminal cancer, and shot themselves in the head. Smiles are supposed to be worn during moments of lived happiness, not as a final image of someone who died scared.” She starts to pace around her room as if annoyed by what Eugene had said. One by one she begins to light each candle with a match, watching the altar come back to life.

“When I found him,” she feels her throat start to close as she remembers the scene vividly, “he had used the needle injector on himself before ingesting all of those antidepressants”. She stands still in front of the waving flames. “How confusing is it to know that something terrible happened, but that the person looks satisfied? And now here I am, committed to a toxic relationship with consistency, not knowing how I could ever accept misalignment”.

Eugene, now with a face sprinkled with sweat and tears, stands to say, “Good night Veronika”. As he walks away, he sees his shadow grow larger on the walls of Veronika’s bedroom. Turning to find the source, the last thing he remembers is fire crawling up from the bottom of his slacks and a wide-eyed Veronika shooting a wire thread toward his face. 

Hey Sammy. Sorry about the wait. You know, some people just need to cheer the hell up quicker, right?