Obituary #4: Oldest Cousin

Cleared her throat like a paper cutter.

Pulled me by my arm to face a mummy in a museum display.

Told me my dog was queer-bait. Raised his back legs off the ground. Hey, I said. Stared at me and wiggled the hams of his little shaved behind. Hey.

Said I had common sense but that didn’t mean IQ.

Said I was the kind girlfriends would cheat on, not with.

Dove into swimming pools the way she told me Navy Seals do: upright, with their arms crossed over their chest.

Me at 15: skateboard tricks until called home.

Her: making fried potatoes for a stepfather.

Asked me that first time at Morrison’s Cafeteria: These butter mints free?  

Looked at her and then at the cashier, who wasn’t looking at either of us.

Told her: Free.

Asked again: Free?   

Told her: What’s wrong with you? Take as many as you want already.

Free mints, she said to herself.

Reached for the end of the spoon in the crock.

Placed the mints on the spoon with her finger, picky as a jeweler: one. one. one. one. one.

Then the spoon was full.

Then she put the entire spoon in her mouth.

Died in a care center repeating the same question she inevitably asked in every conversation: Am I right or am I right?

Began the eulogy with a literal truth: she was the tallest cousin in the family.

Ended it with an apocryphal one:

It rained so much one day that the flooded streets ran with water.

She carried us cousins on her shoulders to keep us dry. Bent a knee to let down one and the other and the other again.

Onto the big front porches all our houses had back then.