Midnight was approaching, and they were almost at their destination. The Triplets were practically right above them now.
“I've been meaning to ask you something, but I haven't gotten the chance till now,” Mireh said.
“What is it?”
“Remember when you told me that I helped inspired you to start writing poetry again?”
“Yeah.”
“I still don't understand. You said something about how I look at the sky or whatever, but I don't get how that inspired you.”
“Mmm...It's hard to explain, but...I might be mistaken, but when you look at the sky, you're looking at your moon, right?”
“Not always, but usually, yeah.”
“Well, it could be how often you do it or the way you do it that—I'm not sure...” Temera thought for a moment. “It's almost like you're obsessed with death.”
“......You could say that......It's a pretty good guess, though. Kudos for figuring it out.”
“Why are you obsessed with death? If you don't mind me asking, that is.”
“I don't mind, but like you said, it's hard to explain.” But she explained it nonetheless. “When I was a kid, I had a pet iguana. I was, I don't know, maybe seven or eight when I first got him. His name was Bradley. He was a pretty cool pet. But right after my tenth birthday, Bradley died. By that time, I understood what death was, but I didn't understand what death was, if that makes any sense.”
“I think I understand?”
“It's like, I knew that he wasn't going to move around or eat anymore, but I didn't know what it was like to be dead,” she elaborated. “Bradley dying didn't make me obsessed with death or anything, but I think it was the beginning of me wondering what death really was. You know how some people wonder who or what God is? I wondered who or what Death is.”
“Who or what Death is...” There seemed to be a seedling poem sprouting in Temera's mind. “Do you think animals have moons?”
“Don't know. They won't say,” she said. “The second death I encountered was when I was thirteen, I think. My mom had picked me up from school, and we were driving home when we drove past the crime scene of a murder.”
“You saw someone get murdered?!”
“No, it had already taken place, and the police were investigating by the time we drove by,” she said. “I didn't see a body or anything, but that also got me thinking. Thinking, 'What if Mom gets murdered next Tuesday? Or Dad is driving to work when someone T-bones and kills him?' What if their moons are meters from their heads and they're not telling me? Like what Retta did...”
“.....”
“...The last death, and probably the one that impacted me the most, was when my uncle died the two years ago. He was a firefighter for most of his life, but after my aunt died, he turned to drugs to cope with her death, which ended up costing him his career and was what killed him,” Mireh said. “I went to the funeral, and the thing that stood out to me so much was that he seemed to be remembered more so for the last couple of years he was alive, when he was addicted to drugs, than any other point in his life. Some of my family members like my mom remembered him for running into burning buildings without a second thought, but there wasn't a single person who delivered a eulogy and didn't mention his drug addiction. Everybody mentioned different things about him like how he was cheery or how he worked overtime a lot, but nobody didn't say how sad it was that he let drugs kill him.
“It—It really got me mad, you know? Like, here was my uncle, this cool guy who saved a bunch of people, yet everybody's obsessed with how his life ended up down the shitter. They were obsessed with the person he was when he died, not the person he was when he lived. If that makes sense.”
“It does a little.”
“It's like, if I went streaking through town and then jumped off a cliff, nobody would remember me for being the girl who got okay grades and listened to an unhealthy amount of EDM and trance. No, I'd be the girl who went streaking through town and then jumped off a cliff. I'd be remembered for how I died, not how I live, and that—that really pisses me off.”
“I guess you'll have to die as you lived?”
“Great advice, but if I'm walking and a piano falls on top of me, I'll appear on fun fact websites as the girl who got crushed by a falling piano. Nothing about where I was born or who my parents were or what my favorite pizza topping was or the sorts of shows I binged on the weekends. Nothing, none of that. I'd be lucky if those sites referred to me by my name and don't jump straight to calling me Crushed-by-a-Piano Girl.”
“...”
“I can't help but wonder about the world after I kick it. What're people going to say at my funeral, and what're they going to write as my epitaph? Are they going to mention that I grew up in a well-off family or that I didn't have my first kiss until I was fifteen or that I think most modern pop songs are too formulaic or that I have all sorts of embarrassing things in my dresser that I hope nobody finds? How are they going to remember me? How—How am I going to remember Retta? And—And how is she remembering me...?”589Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcLjxoXe4ZQ
