i woke up today a bit cranky, i didn't really want to go to work, which is rare. my work is the place i feel most at home, I would probably live there if i could. but this morning was cold, yet i woke up in a sweat, by the time i had opened my eyes my nightmare had slipped away, leaving only the scent of pine trees and rain, but it gave me an urge to run, i needed to get away from something.
after an hour i got out of bed, knowing full well that i was late already. i picked up the old rotary phone i keep next to my bed on the cherrywood table along with a cup of water and my glasses. i had to call mr. samatoya, and hope i wasn't late on a busy day. after a short chat i hung up the phone and headed for the shower, the smell of pine and rain were gone, but my own odor remained. i kept my shower short, i was late as it was.
even though mr. samatoya was very leanieant on my hours, i liked to be as coureteous as possible, he was always so considerate, and i held much respect for him. i always wondered how he got into this buissness. It's not one of those things you do, if you're an average joe that is. it's very hard to do without letting affect you, and he's a strong man, there's no doubt about that.
sometimes i come come home from work crying. everyday i paint the dead to make the families see them as if they are alive. i replace their blood with chemicals, and arrange theier bodies in a way that makes them appear as if they are simply sleeping. it's hard not to think that the process is wrong, giving the loved ones a false sence that they still live, i wish i could take a corpse, just once and let them see it as dead, no color, no illution of warmth or being, just dead. they are never coming back, they are gone, and no makeup or sleep-like positioning can change that.
I decided to skip breakfast, i was still too shaken to eat, so shaken i thought might not be able to drive that day. Still i knew that i was needed at work. As i shaved the ice off the windshied of my beat up chevy nova, i saw my neghbor john was going to walk chewy his bassat hound, right on schedule. every time i see that dog i can't help but think about how basset hounds look dead when they are sleeping, or laying down in general. i looked over at john as he turned to close the door behind him,. he was dressed in sweat pants, probably two layers of them from the look of it, and his trademark poofy raiders jacket. his shaggy light brown hair was a mess and you could see, even through his jacket that he had gained a few pounds.
ever since his wife died he'd given up on caring about life and stopped taking care of himself almost alltogether.It really was a sad accident, everyone in the neighborhood is conflicted about his involvement in her death,the ever present situation of Mr. and Mrs. Gregory, some think it was no mistake, and everbody knows about it, esspecially john.
one side of the story, the one i know is true, goes like this..
the gregory's had plans to see their son adam and grandson Issac two weeks before christmas. they were supposed leave early in the morning to drive north that day so they could make it before the day ended. unfortunatly the roads had been closed on that day due to a snowstorm that had come overnight, leaving three feet of snow in town and making the roads north icy and dangerous to drive on. they left that day anyways, some people said they heard the couple argueing before they left, i was out of town myself, with my mother, so i couldn't attest against it.in the police report it said that ann had been driving when they left, but at the scene of the accident they found john unconcious at the wheel and ann in the back seat, badly mangled, her head almost compleatly severed by the railing that had gone through the windshield, and her rib cage compleatly caved in without any possible reason as to how it could have happend in the accident.
to be continued
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