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Show Go Love/145 "Here we are." Shurl's teeth are brilliant, though she's on the dumpy side, heavy in the hips and thick-wristed. Freckles show through her rouge. But she's spritely, I can tell that She's the boss here, no way around it I follow her into the office, the walls all hung with degrees that undertakers get. Her desk is massive, a glass-covered phenomenon. Shurl sits in a big leather chair that makes her the tallest thing in the room She spins it sideways to face me. There's nothing on her desk, it's a complete blank reflecting ceiling spray glitter. "Your skin," she says "You've been in the sun." "How is she?" "I have something for that burn. You have her skin." Shurl takes my measure. "A cream to erase the red out, I mean." Funeral home air is not breathable-I nailed that first go round. "We've been at the beach " "The beach," Shurl says. "I can doctor your burn." "How's Mama?" "Mrs. Harvell is completely cosmetized." Her face shines on the desktop-two Shurls, one the inverse of the other. "You got the obit?" "It's handwritten." "Aren't they all. No problem. Though it's some's neater than others." The air's turned way down chill, so I feel my flesh and blood and breath-I'm all in my body. Life in the now, how the yoga people say it I reach in my pocket, find my balls have entirely retreated Across the glass tabletop, the glass reflects my mother's obituary, her resume in reverse Trace and I drafted the thing on Mama's own kitchen table, on top of bills and greeting |