Muddy Truth

The knocking on the door turned into kicking AND knocking. I awoke from the last pleasant slumber I could recall only to walk from my room, past the living area of my apartment so I could open the door for my Uncle Phillip.


He limped in, taking his favorite seat; the one that faced the television so he could read the reflections in case anyone else entered the room. We shared a cup of tea at the table in the midst of the kitchen area, and by sharing I mean I poured a cup for both of us, but I knew he wouldn’t even take a second look at his offering.

“How are you?” Phillip asked.

“Fine,” I said.

“How’s Meredith?”

I was clueless on my answer. Uncle Phillip had been dead only a month, yet I didn’t have the guts (pardon the pun) to tell him that Aunt Sonjya was already dating; some chiropractic schmuck that lived out by the island. He’s actually pretty cool.

“She’s fine,” I said. “I think she’s come to terms with everything – she’s fine.”

“Good,” Uncle Phillip said as an earthworm dripped down his right cheek, pouring from beneath his right eyeball, biting on the last physical remnants of his rotting right cheek. He could smile, frown, or embrace apathy; either way, his teeth were going to show.

“She’s happy?” Uncle Phillip asked. It nearly broke my heart to answer him, considering how awesome of a couple him and Aunt Sonjya were, but I wasn’t about to lie to family.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Good,” was Uncle Phillips reply, but by the look on the rotting, sagging gray flesh of his brow and his sinking eyeballs; it was more than an admittance of being passed over – it was more like a relief because his greatest treasure was happy.

When I awoke the next morning I was still at my kitchen table. Apparently Uncle Phillip and I partook in a game that required tequila shots. I dragged my wishfully dead body to the front door. I opened it and peered into the hallway where I found muddy footprints departing from my apartment back to where dead bodies go and where memories of the dead blossom.