Jayne Doe (4 page)

It’s there.

The tunnel has a pulsing, iridescent glow. Strength surges through me. I just need to reach it.

I’m sorry your mother hasn’t come to see you.
I hate when they don’t come before the cremation.
Casey’s thoughts capture my attention. They’re pure. He’s a good person. Like Jayne.

Wait a minute. Cremation?
I’m dumbfounded.

She needs closure. Maybe I should call Jayne.
A faint blush rises to his cheeks when he thinks of her. He’s dying to call her. Why wouldn’t he be? She’s beautiful and alive. Everything I’m not. Nobody should care about me. I can’t listen to him anymore. I clap my hands over my ears in a futile attempt to drown out his thoughts. He’ll never understand how unsettling cremation sounds to me. I’ve always thought I would be buried. Placed in the ground, instead of being devoured by plumes of heat and smoke. Maybe I’m selfish. Maybe I want Jayne to have a physical place where she can grieve. I can’t imagine what will happen to my ashes if mom gets them.

A random thought stings me like a hornet.

Cremation?

No evidence left behind.

Johnny’s idea.

His plan to evade blame. Everyone knows his family is filthy rich. They help several needy families in the area. Jayne told me about them every Christmas since she started having a crush on him.

He
wants me cremated.

He
wants everything gone.

Erased.

My temper flares and I look up in time to see the tunnel above me slowly closing. Johnny deserves to be punished. He should suffer.

I move closer to Casey. He gently wraps my body in clean, white linen so as not to expose any of my private parts. His thoughts are clean, respectful.

I need him to uncover me, but I know how hard this is going to be.

“What did she die from?” I ask aloud hoping it will do the trick.

Nothing.

Not even a spark in his thoughts.

“Casey, what killed her?” I shout at him, placing my hands on his shoulders; they fall through his white lab jacket.

He looks up, eyes growing wide. I’ve disturbed him. He thinks it’s his own subconscious talking.

Asthma.

Bullshit.

He removes his hands from my body and looks down at his own.

Yes, she did. Asthma from her mother’s smoking.

Your bedroom window faced our house. Mom only smoked on the porch once a week, if that. When she had her dry days because we had no money. When she would scream and break things. You know this.

Except for the quiet whir of the fluorescent lights overhead, the room is silent.

Unusually silent.

He’s not thinking, unless he’s guarding his thoughts.

I know.
His body slumps.
None of this
makes sense. Asthma is just stupid. She didn’t die of asthma.
He thinks of Mr. Mason. How Mr. Mason’s orders were to prepare my body for cremation. How nobody is going to listen to him because of a feeling he has.

“Stop.” I scream. “She needs a full cavity search.”

Casey reaches for the linen and winces, hesitating. He thinks he’s a pervert, uncomfortable with the thought of violating my body. He steps away and begins to clean up the instruments. Now he plans to leave early, let Mr. Mason know he couldn’t finish everything today.

This isn’t going to work for me.

I step in front of the door, speaking in a louder voice. “Search her.”

He covers his ears, protecting himself from the vulgarity in his head. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

I can’t let him leave. He’s my only chance. I scream at the top of my lungs, “Damn it, Casey. I was murdered. Search me.”

He looks over to the door and for a fleeting moment I think he can see me. Except his eyes are glassy and bloodshot; he's looking right through me. His face falls and his eyebrows scrunch together. Like he knows what happened. A small tear rolls down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he says out loud. “I can’t do this.”

Five

Black.

Everyone’s in black.

Martha hates the color. It’s much too dull for her vibrant personality. Billy loves it; the dark color suits him perfectly. He wishes everyone could look like this everyday. Jayne is focused on lighting a lavender candle to drown out the rank smell of the old trailer house. She’s not paying any attention to what she’s wearing.

Mom hates everything.

It wouldn’t matter what she had on, her body is full of anger. I move closer to her.

She’s sober.

Seems strange, considering today’s my funeral.

The shakes haven’t hit her yet, so I know she hasn’t been this way very long. I stare at her clutching a tiny white cloth in her hands. She isn’t going to use it. She won't cry. It’s just a prop. Something to give her the appearance of a grieving mother. A perfect distraction from the pain caused by sobriety. Her fingers dig at the threads like she’s counting every single one.

“We’ve got to go, Mom.” Jayne scoops under her shoulders to help her up off the couch. “They’re starting at five with or without us.”

Jayne must’ve talked to Casey. Good for her. I’ve ignored him since he decided to chicken out. I don’t want to know what they talked about. Who cares. My body is burned to ashes for all I know and it doesn’t matter as long as everybody’s happy. Ha. I’m still fuming with a bad attitude, I guess.

Everyone heads outside and piles into the Grand Prix. I squeeze in between Billy and Martha, but try not to touch them or listen too much. The pathetic conversations rolling around in their heads make me sick. Especially the sex parts. I don’t really understand, and I don’t want to.

Mom pulls out a cigarette and cracks the window.

“Please, Mom, not today,” Jayne mumbles barely above a whisper.

“For God’s sake, Jaynie. I can’t drink. I can’t smoke. What the hell am I supposed to do?” My mother begins one of her fits. She turns to face the backseat. “Does anyone in this car give a shit if I smoke?”

Billy and Martha shake their heads. They know better. What they really want is to get this woman a stiff drink. Everyone is surprised that Jayne spoke up. I’m a little shocked myself. But she’s distant today. Not normal. I can’t understand what she’s thinking. Every movement is mechanical, intentional. She's robotic, numb.

“We gonna eat after this?” Billy questions under his pothead breath.

“I don’t have any money,” Mom says, dipping her fingers into her pockets, and rolling around a twenty.

“Figures.” Martha rolls her eyes and picks at the split ends of her trashed blonde hair.
But you’ll have enough to stop by Sinclair and grab a six-pack.

The car goes silent for a while until Mom turns up the radio to a Lynard Skynard song. I catch Jayne’s reflection in the mirror. A small tear travels down her face, leaving a streak in her foundation. Still, even now, I can’t get into her mind and figure out what she’s thinking.

She pulls into a church parking lot. At least I think it’s a church. I used to pass the worn out building every time I went to school, admiring the tall A-frame pitch of the roof. Mom always said she wanted a log cabin house built the same way. She’d live in the mountains away from the world. I’d dream of those days. Somewhere people wouldn’t stare at us everywhere we went.

Casey is waiting for us. He’s ashamed of his thoughts about how amazing Jayne looks. He slowly refocuses and ushers my family to a wood-paneled room with long, worn pews and a large wooden altar up front with a microphone. The ceiling resembles the outside. Seven wood beams come together in a point at the highest peak. I always imagined this place looking different. It’s sort of sad to see the dreary popcorn ceiling covered in dust and cobwebs. I glance to the front again and notice a yellowish-orange stain caused by a leak in the roof. This church is as old as our house by the looks of it. The same puke mustard paint adores the walls just like in mom’s room.

“Does anyone play?” a church guy questions, pointing to the piano against the sidewall. I’m not sure if he’s a Pastor, or what. He’s not wearing black and white, so I assume he’s not a Priest. Unless Priests only wear that stuff in the movies.

Jayne shakes her head.

Mom, Billy, and Martha ignore the man and plop down on the hard seats. They’re ready for this to be over. Martha checks her buzzing cell phone. Her friends are going to a kegger up in the ritzy end of town. She’s thrilled to be invited. She thinks if she plays her cards right she might get some sympathy from the death of her sister. I don’t mind. It’s probably her only chance to get attention from boys other than the filthy things she thinks about doing with them so they’ll want to be around her. Billy is content enjoying his high, other than the blow of not going to Golden Corral after. Mom is still clutching the little cloth, and Jayne is standing. Her eyes are focused and quizzical. She’s searching for something. I stare at the exit doors, hoping Johnny doesn't come.

Bubba from lot 22 walks in with his family. I can’t remember if there’s ten or twelve of them. His boys are wrestling as they move down the aisle. Mom doesn’t say a word, but Jayne welcomes them. They sit down, taking up two rows. Bubba isn’t wearing his overalls. He actually dressed up as much as I'd ever seen him. It looks like his wife tried to take an iron to his flannel shirt because half of it is still a wrinkled mess. That’s the least of his worries. He has a lot of things on his mind. I’m at the top of the list. He’s remembering how I used to jump rope up and down the street. My hair is braided. I must’ve been ten or eleven. He wonders why I ever stopped. He loved seeing me laugh. His kids loved playing with me. He blames himself. Thinks I babysat for them too much.
Bubba, don’t think that. I grew up. Or maybe it’s that I got heavy and it hurt too much. I’m not sure, but it was never because of your family.

Sarah Jean walks in next. She’s by herself. She had an affair with Mr. Lee two doors down. Everyone in the trailer park knows about it. She’s been shunned ever since. It’s hard being on this side, because I can feel how bad she feels. Sarah Jean only wanted to be loved. It’s Mr. Lee that did a bad thing. He only wanted the glory of getting the young girl. She’s thinking about my family, wishing she could’ve helped my mother more. She loved being around Jayne and me. We made her feel good, worth something. I had no idea people noticed me like this.

More familiar faces shuffle in and fill the seats. Not many of them are comfortable. They’re not church people. Good people. Just not the type to preach the bible.

The room is bustling with questions and crying babies. When Mr. Mason enters, he’s holding a large canister. With him up front, everything quiets. As if everyone, including the little ones, can see something is about to happen. The tin can Mr. Mason is holding has a beautiful picture of birds on it. Two happy little birds playing in the sunshine.

There it is.
I finally hear Jayne.

I turn back to look at her. Her eyes are welling up with tears. She’s having a hard time swallowing the lump in the back of her throat. She rushes over to Mr. Mason and takes the sweet little can and cradles it in her arms.

I’m so sorry, Jill. It’s all I could afford.

It’s perfect, Jayne.
I move next to her and squeeze around her waist to look at the tin. Ironically, one bird looks just like my painting. I stare at what’s left of my body and absolutely know she’ll take care of it. I no longer worry about my mother having it. Jayne isn’t going to let anyone touch it. She makes her way to the front of the room, clutching what she has left of me and begins to speak into the microphone. “I want to thank everyone for coming tonight.”

I stare into the crowd and chuckle at the sound of her being so business-like. Everyone in this room is terribly uncomfortable. But she wants this to be wonderful. Perfect. Just for me. And obviously no one has planned anything.
Why would they?
Mom couldn’t afford it. That’s why we’re in this church, why I was cremated. It’s all the state would pay for. It wasn’t Johnny’s evil plan, although it made his life easier. He lucked out is all. It’s all making sense now.

Casey jumps out of his seat and scrambles next to her. “Thank you, Jayne. I believe we should start out with a word of prayer, if that’s okay with everyone.”

Nobody says a word. They avoid Casey's probing eyes. Casey bows his head and thanks the Lord for my special presence on this earth. I feel goose bumps prickle across my skin. His prayer is being heard. I know it. He then asks, “Who would like to speak first?”

Nobody gets up.

Jayne stares down at her thin, black heels and steps back in front of the microphone. She speaks so softly, I’m not sure anyone can hear her. But it doesn’t matter. I can hear her. She says all kinds of things. Things that only she and I shared. How much they meant to her, like they meant to me. How much she loved me. That part she doesn’t guard and I feel it. The warm sensation overwhelms me.

I love you, too.

She turns and stares directly at me, like she heard every word. Her eyes fill with tears and she presses my remains closer to her heart. Everyone is silent, staring at her shaking and sobbing. Casey wraps an arm around her, holding onto the thin sleeve covering her bony arm.

“Are we done?” Martha speaks so loud everyone can hear. She’s so sick of Jayne talking about me, she could scream. Her whole life has been Jill this and Jill that. Jealousy radiates from her and I step back in shock.

Mr. Mason nods and wanders over to the piano where he sits down, fingers gliding over the keys. I try to dismiss Martha and watch him play, wishing I’d learned to play like that, except my mother could never afford it. I think of painting on the cave wall. It doesn’t matter if she could. That wasn’t my gift. Apparently it was Mr. Mason’s.

Casey pulls Jayne aside and whispers in her ear. The melody of the music has me so enraptured I don’t pay attention to what they’re saying. It’s not until he pulls out a Ziploc bag that I want to vomit.