January 2024 short story of the month
Rebecca enjoyed her train ride home. She would sit quietly and listen to a book on tape while she worked on a needlework project or crochet. She let her mind wander and focused on counting her stitches. It was her daily meditation, and today of all days she needed it.
Work had been a nightmare. The company was downsizing once again, and as head of human resources, she had to sit in on all of the firings. She didn't have to actually fire them, thank God, but she had to witness the shock on many of their faces followed by heart ache.
Firing someone was hard enough on a normal day, but it was only three weeks till Christmas. Rebecca had begged the bosses to consider waiting, but they claimed their orders came from the board. Twelve percent of the staff had to go, no waiting.
She let herself be lulled into a state of calm by the gentle rocking of the train and the soothing voice of the story spilling through her earbuds. She glanced up occasionally to watch the scenery flying by the window. The sky was a solid shade of grey that made her pull her coat a little more tightly around her shoulders. It was a sky that foretold the inches of snow that would fall later that night.
She kept making loops with her crochet hook and ignored the sky. She tried to convince herself that snow this time of year was pleasant and that it would make everything look more "Christmasy."
She didn't notice when someone sat down across from her. The person didn't speak for several minutes but just watched Rebecca crochet. The observer also felt the rhythm of the train and the relaxing toxicity of the task of crocheting.
"Would you like a cookie?" the newcomer asked.
Rebecca looked up to see a woman sitting across from her and leaning forward with a tin of cookies in her hand. Rebecca hadn't heard what the woman said but she gathered from the expression on the woman's face and the cookies being pushed towards her that she'd missed something.
"I'm sorry," said Rebecca. She reached up and removed an earbud. "Did you say something?" she asked.
"I wondered if you wanted a cookie?" the woman asked.
"No thank you." Rebecca shook her head and was about to replace the earbud and return to her isolated state when the woman spoke again.
"I'm sorry, but would you mind talking with me for a few moments?" the woman asked. "I can see you are in your own world, but I've had a terrible day and need someone to talk to, even if only for a few moments."
Rebecca sighed as she removed her other earbud. She wanted to say no, but instead, she understood. She wished she didn't feel sympathy sometimes. Her mother had always told her that when someone reaches out, don't let their hand go until you're sure they're okay.
"I get it," said Rebecca. "I've had quite a day myself." She smiled a weak smile that was meant to convey comfort, but the emotion didn't quite reach her eyes.
"I've had the worst day of my life today, and if I don't tell someone about it, I think I might explode." The woman replaced the cookie tin in her tote and settled bag. She rested her hands on her lap and leaned bag letting out a deep sigh as she did. "I don't even want to say it out loud because it sounds so strange."
Rebecca watched as the woman closed her eyes and sighed again. She looked like she was trying to gather strength. Rebecca instantly felt shame for dwelling on her own day. Afterall, she wasn't the one who'd been fired. She should feel bad for them, not herself.
"I should probably start by introducing myself," said the woman. Her mouth was flat, and her face showed little emotion. "My name is Tonya. And like I said, today has been the worst day of my life." She sighed.
Rebecca didn't know what to say yet, so she waited to let Tonya gather her thoughts.
An awkward amount of silence passed, and Tonya finally reopened her eyes.
"Sorry about that. I just can't believe it's all happened in the last twenty-four hours." She repositioned herself and sat up a little straighter. "Let me start at the beginning, which is actually yesterday afternoon."
Rebecca nodded her encouragement.
Tonya dropped her shoulders dramatically. "Around three yesterday, I got a call from the Coston funeral home that my mother's ashes were ready to be picked up, so I made an appointment to go and get her first thing today."
Rebecca wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but anything that involved a death of a family member was bound to be tragic, especially at this time of year. She couldn't imagine losing her own mother just before the holidays.
"Going to get the ashes wasn't what made this day so awful though. You would think that it would be, but it's only the beginning of things going wrong for me today." She shook her head. "Okay, so I fully intended to go to the funeral home first thing in the morning, but instead, I had to call and reschedule as soon as they opened. Instead of going to the funeral home, I had to take my cat to the vet to be cremated."
Rebecca's brow furrowed.
"I know, you're probably thinking how did that happen? Well, I don't know. Sometime over the night, my cat passed away. It was very unexpected. She was only eight. I went into the kitchen to feed her, and she was stiff as a board on the rug. So, that's how the day started." She paused and shook her head again. "So, I called my vet as soon as they opened. Loaded Tilly in a box and took her to get cremated. I called the funeral home to drop by after my appointment. And this is when things started to get especially bad."
Rebecca couldn't imagine what would be worse than finding a pet dead unexpectedly like that, but she didn't dare interrupt.
"When I called the funeral home, they said that I'd already picked up the ashes that morning. I explained to them that was not possible because I'd been elsewhere. I also pointed out that I would have remembered picking up my mother's ashes. It wasn't something you really forgot only an hour later. The woman on the phone talked to me like I was confused. I asked to speak to someone else. She put the funeral director on the phone. I went through the whole thing again. He told me the exact same thing that the other woman had and added that grief did strange things to people." At this point, she stopped, and a deep scowl settled onto her face. "I would have remembered. I'm not that old or forgetful."
Rebecca studied the woman then. She was older, maybe in her late fifties if Rebecca had to guess. She had grey-brown hair pulled back in a bun. She was wearing a floral dress with a hunter green cardigan over it and an unzipped burgundy coat. Her clothes were clean and crisp. Everything was coordinated, even her tote. She looked sharp for a woman her age. Rebecca had to admit that at first glance, Tonya didn't appear to be a woman who was forgetful or confused.
"So, I went to the funeral home rather than argue over the phone. I got there, and can you believe, the receptionist said I'd already been in to pick up the ashes according to the computer. I asked her if she'd been working all morning. She said she had. I asked her if she'd seen me that morning. She shook her head. I then pulled out my driver's license to prove I was who I claimed to be. Then, you're not going to believe what she said to me." Tonya stopped and made eye contact with Rebecca to confirm that she was listening to this next part.
Rebecca raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
Once Tonya was sure Rebecca was still listening, she continued. "She said, 'Oh no, not again.'" Tonya threw her hands up. "Can you imagine someone saying that when you're at a funeral home?"
Rebecca shook her head no.
"Me either. Apparently, they've had a series of people coming and claiming ashes under false pretenses. I asked if they made it a habit of signing out the ashes without checking ids. The reception said they were supposed to check them, but she could tell when people were 'really' grieving. So, she didn't make it a point to hassle them about their ids." When she said the word really, she made air quotes.
Rebecca shook her head side to side again.
"Believe it or not, she couldn't understand why I was so upset. She made the observation that they were 'only ashes,' and that my mother was not coming back. At that point, I asked to speak to the director."
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