Collecting a Coffin

by Taidgh Lynch

The news arrived clickety-clackety.“All flights have been cancelled due to volcanic ash…”

My mind took off to Alicante. Damo, my brother, had gone there on holiday with his mates. Wasn’t much of a swimmer. Drank too much. Went for a dip. Drowned.

I imagined him lying in a dim-lit morgue, his favourite alligator boots still on, the smell of walnut and cedar lingering on his breath, a faint sliver of Spanish playing in his ears as he waited to come home.

“What’s taking you so long, Sis?”

At Gate 13, I sat, stared out wide windows, watched airlines grounded on the tarmacadam, struggled to find the sun on the horizon.

Passengers swapped stories like stamps.“Where are you going?”“We’re having a family reunion.”“Have to be there by Friday to close the deal.”

I went to the public toilets to freshen up. Brushed my teeth in front of the mirror as lava licked rocks, and clouds

of ash billowed into the sky. In the midst of spits and rinses, cubicles clattered. I lashed on some Hot and Bothered blush as people washed and dried their hands. In-between excuse me and sorry I pulled out baby wipes, dabbing up underarm sweat.

Dee-dum, dum-dum-dum, dee-dum. A low rumble from behind the cubicle nearest me. Alligator boots snapped out from the stall and disappeared back under. I heard a shuffle then a wheezy cough.—“Please, Sis. Take me home.”