“I am perfectly capable of distracting myself in other ways I’ll have you know. For example: I enjoy books and recreational drugs and flirting with hot cowboys. So, I resent the implication that I would do this just to pass the time.”
“Okay,” he said. “Then why?”
“Well, because my dad needs help. That’s one reason. He’s not going to make it otherwise, and he’s at a point in his life where he might not have many more chances. He’s that much of a screwup.”
“And?” said Daniel.
“And... I’m actually good at it,” I said. “I can plan somebody’s death party like a pro, and it feels good to not suck at something. I know you and Jonah were computer geniuses or whatever, but I’ve never really found my thing.”
I looked at the water, clotted with patches of bright green algae.
“Is that it?” said Daniel.
I was heading toward the dock. I felt my heart rate increase as I grew closer and saw the sign cautioning against swimming.
“No,” I said.
I imagined the feel of the slimy stuff on my bare arms,the way it had adhered to me like a second skin when I made it to the surface. I closed my eyes. The sunlight flickered orange and yellow beneath my lids.
“I’m also doing it because I’m terrified,” I said.
Daniel watched me a moment.
“Of what?” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “Everything. But mostly my impermanence.”
His eyes searched my face.
“Some people are comforted by that,” I said. “Not me. I like existing. At least most of the time. I like having a body. I want to keep it. But someday I won’t have it anymore. That’s unsettling.”
I looked at the chipped railing on the dock.
“And I’m scared of being buried underground where worms and bugs will digest my remains. I know I won’t be conscious, but still. It doesn’t sound pleasant. Does that sound pleasant to you? I’m scared of being burned into a pile of oxidized matter. I’m scared of rotting and decaying.”
I was building up steam now.
“I’m scared that I don’t matter, even a little bit, and that no one matters and nothing matters. I’m scared that it all matters and I’m fucking it up. I’m scared I’m living my short short life wrong in every possible way. I’m scared I’ve already made so many mistakes and I don’t have enoughtime to fix them. I’m scared I won’t die with the slightest amount of dignity, like on the toilet or watching Bravo. I’m scared no one will care when I do. I’m scared that the only person I ever loved wasn’t real. I’m scared I will never get over him. And I’m scared I’m making the same mistake again.”
Daniel took this in. He took a step toward me. I didn’t want to look him in the eyes. I didn’t know what might happen. So I walked past him out onto the dock.
“I live with all of this like lots of people do,” I said, “and sometimes, I can keep it away. But when someone dies, there’s a rupture in all that, right? And all those fears come pouring back in at once. Maybe a good funeral can help people face it.”
I looked down into the muddy water, hoping maybe I could see my dearly departed laptop down there shimmering like a tiny futuristic shipwreck. But, of course, I could only see down a couple of feet.
“Maybe a good funeral can help people find enough order to keep going. At least it shows you that you’re not alone. I wish I’d had that. But I didn’t. So maybe I can help my dad give it to other people.”
We were quiet for a moment after this. I looked deeper into the water.
“Tess,” said Daniel.
He was by my side now.
“No more questions,” I said. “That’s all I have to say.”
“Tess,” he said again.
I turned to him. His brown eyes were wide.
