The passing, rain-drenched blinking traffic lights elicited buried memories within him. Those of Marcy sitting on the couch in her living room, her soft, waterlike fingers peeling back the layers of dried newsprint, directing her eyes to the wide open windows containing frozen and excited gazes that seemed to crack, little by little, from Harry’s incessant opening of beer cans, until finally shattering completely into chalky, white mounds of dust gathering on her arms like freshly fallen snow. The dust had kept her arms buried for 30 years, and she hated Harry until the day she died for doing it to her. Nearly a hundred people had made their way to Larkin funeral home, confused limbs and torsos spinning in place, bumping into one another in a dizzy, drunken haze before finding refuge in the chipped folding chairs, the worn, green cushions sitting on top of them smelling of an attic that had been reassembled after dwelling underwater for some time. Marcy’s older sister Clara had been responsible for most of the planning, and had decided to forego the typical eulogy in favor of putting on a short skit, using two of the nieces to act out a scene that had occurred between the sisters when they were younger. The entire room grew silent, as the two little girls made their way to the area in front of Marcy’s casket, the nearby candlelight pinching the folds of their wrinkled dresses, and seeming to wash away any trace of expression from their faces.
“I want to be one of those,” the little girl playing Marcy said. “You can’t. It’s impossible,” the young Clara replied. “There has to be a way. Jerry showed me magazines where men can be women. So there has to be a way to do it.” “You’re stupid, that’s an elephant. You can’t be an elephant.” “Wouldn’t it be something? I’d want people to touch my skin all the time. I wouldn’t think of moving without a hand on me.” “You can do that now.” “I want that type of skin. And a trunk.” “God, you’d be hideous.” “And think of how strong I would be. I could crush anything.” “You’d have to live in a zoo you know. There’s no more elephants in the wild. They shot them all.” “I wouldn’t mind. I like people looking at me. And I’d talk to them. We’d have great conversations about fashion and everything.” “Elephants can’t talk. And what happens if they decide to shoot you?” “That wouldn’t happen. They’d lose money if I was gone. People only come to zoos for the elephants.” “Wouldn’t you get lonely at night?”
They looked scared, and began breathing heavy, until after a few moments of Clara’s coaxing, gained their composure, faced the audience and launched into the scene.
“I think that would be the best time. I’d have time with my thoughts.” “What thoughts?”