Burn Everything but the Heart

Deanna did not agree with Jim's decision to have his ashes shuttled to the moon and scattered in the Maurolycus crater.

"You can't decide where they throw them," she said. "They'll probably not scatter them at all. They'll probably take a big canister of everyone's ashes together and toss them out the window."

"You can't just open a window to the moon," he said. "Besides. I paid a thousand dollars, so they'll do what I say."

"I doubt it. Some people paid five or more. They're the ones who'll get Maurolycus."

"Can I borrow four thousand dollars?"

"No."

Jim ate his mashed potatoes and Deanna speared her corn kernels. This was not her favorite Thanksgiving. The last anything couldn't be the favorite. They were trying, though. This turkey-with-all-the-fixin's dinner was their hoorah, their at-least-we-got-the-chance-at-life-at-all celebration. They were the only ones in grief counseling who thought that way, and that was what had brought them together in the first place. While Jenny had cried, while Kevin had raged, while Adolf had bargained, Deanna and Jim had passed glances across the circle. After one of their sessions just over a year ago, she’d stopped him outside.

"You are dying, aren't you?"

"Sure. You?"

"Yep."

"You want to get some coffee, or something?"

"Love to," she had said. "I know this great place on Davenport."

It had been a sunny spring afternoon, so they'd sat at one of the iron tables outside to watch the people walking back and forth with years, at least, to keep walking back and forth. They talked about that, a little.

“We’re aliens in masquerade,” Deanna had said. “Do you feel it? If they knew, we’d be pariahs.”

“Popcorn! Bags overflowing, one dollar!”

Across the street under the theater awning, a man with a popcorn stand and an apron stitched in white to read ‘BUD’ nodded at potential, then passing, customers, no popcorn today, thank you, until, finally, he snatched a boy dripping a half-eaten ice cream cone. Bud scooped and salted and buttered a bag.

“We’re dying!” Jim had suddenly screamed. “Cancer! Both of us! You hear me? Dying!” and Bud dropped the bag. Fluffy white corn kernels flutter-bounced on the sidewalk and snuggled into pavement grooves. And as predicted, passers-by ceased to pass by, instead crossing the street to Bud’s stand. Popcorn kernels flew in the exchange of more bags than he’d likely sold in a month.

"Doesn't bother me," Jim had said and motioned to their server for another coffee.

"Me, neither," Deanna had agreed. “You know, though, Jim — maybe they crossed the street because you were screaming.”

“Indeed.”

“Jim.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Jim chewed his cranberry sauce and Deanna said, "How far apart do you think we'll be?"

He shrugged. "Two weeks?"

Deanna poured corn into a mashed potato crater. "That's too long. I say ten minutes. Not that it matters, since you're already in outer space."

"Just my flesh and bone. I'll have my heart burned separately. Save it for you."

"Would you really?"

"Consider it done. I don't know why you won't go with me. Haven't you ever wanted to know about the moon?"

"Sure. But, Jim, you do know that--"

"I'm not an idiot, Deanna."

She was still thinking about his heart. Neither she nor Jim was particularly romantic. She knew the heart pumped blood and that was all it did. Still.

"Why the Maurolycus crater, anyway?"

He looked up and blinked at her. "Why not?"

"It just seems," she said, "that there are other places. Mountains. Bigger craters. Maybe some nice valley."

"I guess I just like the sound of it," he said.

"And it's too late to change anything?"

"No. But I won't."

She thought of her spot in the woods by the water that pooled under the drainage pipe's big mouth. When the sun hit it just right, she could see the little bubbles pop and sparkle.

As a kid, she’d sat there for hours.

"I think your crater will suck."

"No worse than your sewage pit."

Jim smiled and ate a piece of turkey and Deanna laughed into her milk glass.