#106

the room was well lit, but it smelled heavy and dark, like paint fumes without the mind-liberating qualities.
they pulled down the sheet, thicker than i expected, not a 250 count, like my ones at home. i nodded that it was him, yes, at least, it was him based on the only picture i'd ever seen.
strange that they called me, the only still-relevant phone number in his rolodex (and who still uses a rolodex?) even though i was too young to remember ever meeting him and my phone number had changed 8 times since then.
strange that a life can be so innocuous that your own nephew is unaffected by the blue of your lips, the odd, cold pallor of your skin.
they covered him and escorted me out of the room. condolences and slips of paper were handed to me in the same moment, and i accepted both before heading out the door.
the day was well lit, but not like the room, but everything still smelled heavy and dark. i looked at my phone, wondering who to call, who to tell about my very bizarre day, the way i felt suddenly hungry, and realized there was not a single person who would understand.