Throwback Thursday: ‘Whole’ by Joanna Lesher

The integrity of my body had begun to annoy me.

Skin firm and pink, while his was soft and gray. Stomach flat, while his was swollen with rot. Eyes whole in their sockets while his were eaten and digested. It was another reminder of the distance between us. I remedied it as best I could.

“You look disgusting,” my sister said, peering down at me.

I said nothing. The dead don’t speak.

“Mom’s going to be upset if she finds you like this,” she continued. “You never think about Mom.”

This was demonstrably false. I had spent the bulk of the past three weeks holding my mother while she cried, cleaning the house so she didn’t have to, shopping for groceries, paying bills, answering calls from sympathetic almost-acquaintances. Yes, it was an accident. No, we haven’t thought about suing. Yes, I’m sure he’s in a better place. No, there’s nothing you can do, but thanks for offering. Please don’t cry. It’s going to be all right.

“Why are you doing this?” my sister asked, but there was no explanation I could give that would make sense to her.

It felt right. It felt fair. It felt like I could restore him to some facsimile of life by reducing myself to some facsimile of death. We were closer this way — close enough to facilitate some sort of trade-off.

“You’re too old for a goth phase,” my sister said, and she left, and she was right, but that was not what this was about.

An hour more on the floor, then I was up and walking to the bathroom. I had to resuscitate myself before my mother came home.

The make-up wouldn’t come off. The bluish-green circles around my eyes, the dark emaciating slashes beneath my cheekbones, the highlights and lowlights that gave my chest a sunken look. I scrubbed with water, with oil, with acetone, but the paints and powders stayed put. 

What the hell was this stuff made of?

Taking note of the sinking of the late summer sun, I realized that I was exhausted. Grieving was a full-time job with long hours, negligible benefits, and a shit vacation policy. I needed my bed.

I’d tackle the make-up when I showered in the morning.