Amber Beads
Justine looks like anyone stuck on machines. She’s thick tongued, vacant eyed. Her skin reminds me of Tippy’s that time he had the mange-- I’m afraid to touch. I sit with my friend’s family. I wear the amber beads she gave me, the ones that belonged to her grandmother-- they are reddened with age. Justine always said they look lovely against my pale neck.
I sit with my friend’s family as we watch her body dry and fade, and wonder why we must endure this slow giving way. We thumb through photo albums, gaze with longing at snapshots of elegant memory, loving not this woman, but the pretty girl who looked so good in a tight sweater. We hold the black and white Justine-- hands on her hips, full of sass. We smile at the sharpness of her eyes, though we will not watch their subtle change from brown to black.
Justine does not want me to turn away. The night they turn the ventilator off, she speaks to me in a dream:
dear friend look at me
i hold the amber beads she gave me the one’s that belonged to nana the one’s justine wrapped so beautifully in blue satin for my sixteenth birthday I feel their warmth against my cheek justine i whisper in the darkness justine justine justine
justine
The night is not forever; dreams lose focus with the light. It is morning-- the niche has been paid for, the preacher’s on stand-by, Justine remains between conversation and the flat-line on the e.e.g.
and i have put the amber beads away