Title: Who said if you go in hard you won't get hurt

 

A faux-flower scent assaults Jan as soon as she steps into the overly perfumed room. It’s no doubt designed to cover the vaporizer smell (though pleasant enough, it’s maligned for its association with death). She picks a seat in the corner, to be out of the way for the will reading. The sofa is too soft and she sinks and sinks and sinks, gripping the arm so it doesn’t swallow her whole.

Eric, Ed’s older brother, gives her the stink-eye. He thinks the little gathering should be family only. But Jan loved Ed, far too much to ever tell him how she felt. It sounds like a bad romance novel, but their friendship was too wonderful and bizarre- too life-giving and nebulously fantastic- to tarnish.

Now that the image of Ed’s corpse is imprinted on her mind, she regrets her decision.

Ed’s father arrives at last and the will-reader begins speaking,

“Edward has said that he doesn’t wish to be cremated or vaporized.”

Jan bites her lip to silence herself.

Ed’s father blinks, his mother frowns.

Evie, Ed’s little sister, jumps out of her seat to look at the holo-screen and then sits back down before she can even read it.

Eric scowls. “What does he expect us to do then?”

“He wants to be buried, his whole body in one piece.”

“Oh,” Ed’s mother says.

“That’s ridiculous, this is the twenty fourth century, we’re not burying a whole body.”

“Is it even possible?” Ed’s mother asks.

Evie stands and begins to pace, “People still get buried, it’s rare but it happens…”

“She’s right,” the will-reader says, turning the screen to show a figure, “but there’s a significant cost.”  

Eric, who is far richer than everyone else present, scoffs. “Well that settles it. It’s not happening.”

Jan wants to protest, but she feels out of place, and it’s not like she has the money for such an expense.

Evie picks up a water jug and moves it across the room. “…It was only thirty years ago when the majority of people began getting vaporized…”

“It’s what Ed wanted,” his mother says.

His father stares, in a grief-filled daze.

Eric glares. “We’re not indulging the whims of someone who isn’t even here!”

Jan can’t stand it. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

“…Before that about half the people were getting cremated still, and twenty years before that, one in ten were still being buried- whole or partial…” Evie gestures frenetically.

Eric lifts his head and folds his arms. “I’m not paying for it.”

Jan removes her lip from between her teeth to say, “I’ll pay.”

Everyone turns to her in surprise but no one argues.

The will-reader adds, “He’s also requested that no machinery be used to dig or refill the grave.”  

“For heaven’s sake,” Eric exclaims.

“Not even garden-bots?” Ed’s mother asks.

Evie straightens her cardigan, then picks up a tissue box and puts it back down. “It will take hours…” she turns to Jan, “But I’m up for it if you are.”

Jan knows it’s a hard task: none of them are used to manual labour of this kind. But Ed would have a reason. He had some weird ideas, but there always turned out to be some reason behind it. She forces the edges of her lips into a smile. “I guess I’m buying shovels.”

*

Jan watches Eric leave the funeral before they even pick up their shovels. If Ed’s plan was for this thing to bring them all closer together, it’s not off to a great start.

She pushes the spade into the dirt. The ground is damp and surprisingly unyielding. She leans her weight into it, forcing the shovel down, movements slow and measured.

Evie hacks and hacks and hacks maniacally, as though there’s some devil to exorcise beneath the soil.  

Ed’s parents stop digging after a few minutes, too laden already with the weight of grief to take on the added weight of earth.

Jan continues to move steadily, pausing when she needs to, ever aware of Ed’s mother and father watching her. She wonders what they might’ve thought of her, if she’d ever made her confessions.

They leave once the hole is half done.   

Evie never stops, her limbs seem incapable of it- even when they’re three quarters down and her arms are trembling.

“You need to take a break,” Jan says.

Evie ignores her, right up until she collapses into a ball on the ground: shaking and shaking and shaking.

Jan calls the parents, who bundle Evie up and carry her away. They say they will all be back tomorrow.

*

Jan’s only just begun refilling the hole- the coffin can still be seen- when she hears the first thump. She swivels, but can’t see what could’ve made the sound. She carries on. It happens again, louder this time.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She’s hearing things. She jumps into the hole anyway, bare hands pushing aside the dirt and prying the lid open.

Jan could kick herself when she sees Ed’s paleness, wishful thinking that was all.

And then his eyes open.