autumn convalescence

“All right,” he said, crushing the leaves under his boot and walking over to the pyre that had been built for us by some of mom’s people. “Put her down, boys.” Bryan and Patrick lifted our mother up, so careful, laying her on top of the pyre. She was wrapped in a white shroud, with white ribbons tied around her, prayers written on them in a scrawling, cryptic hand. Patrick carefully laid the ribbons on top of her, touching as little as possible, making sure they weren’t left dangling. We couldn’t look at each other. Patrick wiped his hands on his jeans and stepped backwards. Bryan just stood there for a long moment before cracking his neck and turning back to his, walking with a slow, deliberate swagger until he stood behind Lewis. We were all silent, awkward, standing there in an uneven arc. Our father nodded. “Suppose we ought to begin.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his coat. “Take one, everyone,” he said, pulling out a cigarette and then passing the rest of the pack to Patrick. “This can be your last smoke, Corinne. Official.” “I’m not doing it,” Lewis said. He shoved his big hands in his pockets, his shoulders sharp, hitched up to his ears. “I don’t smoke and I’m not going to start now.” “Jesus Christ, Lewis,” Bryan said, “just take it, it’s not a big deal.” “No.” Lewis turned red, a bloody bloom from his neck to the rounds of his cheeks. His voice rang in the cold air. “I said I’m not doing it, none of you can make me. And mom wouldn’t have made me, either.” “You don’t have to smoke it,” dad said, sensible, conciliatory, but his voice with that soft lilt that we had all learned long ago meant danger. “You only have to light it. It’s symbolic. We don’t got candles, for God’s sake.” He sucked his teeth. “So take the fucking cigarette, Lewis.” Patrick took a cigarette and then passed the pack to me. I took it and passed it to Lewis. He didn’t look at any of us, his ears still red, but took it and passed it to Bryan. “You got the lighter, Corinne?” dad asked. “Yeah,” I said. I let out a breath. I pulled mom’s lighter from my pocket. My head was still throbbing, and at any second, I was afraid I might break down. But I wanted the nicotine, almost greedy for it, hungry, so I lit the cigarette and took a drag. Lewis took the lighter after me and lit his, holding it awkwardly away from his body. Bryan took the lighter and lit his, then threw it to Patrick. “This is.” Patrick huffed and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “This is so illegal. This is such a bad idea. Oh my fucking god. We’re about to burn mom.” My hands trembled, and for a second I couldn’t breathe. “You done with that lighter?” dad asked. Pat made a desperate, pained sound

54 CAROLINA QUARTERLY