January 3, 1939

It had been two days since I last saw my boss. The news had been true. He had died from the virus, along with two other people that day. When I woke up, I felt something deep in my chest. Sadness had found its way into my heart. I could not shake the feeling that my boss was just another person taken by the virus. He was the guy that paid me to bury bodies. He knew me since I was a baby, but I knew nothing about him. My boss was the kind of guy I would that allowed me to eat spam when I was hungry. I loved spam and he knew it. He urged me to cry when it comes and goes, chaotic, powerful, spilling hot tears. In-between the floods it sits heavy in my heart. I won't sit still though, I won't curl up and refuse to move like my body wants. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but my mom found me like that. In a ball with hot tears.  

My mom told me not to go to school today, that it was canceled. "Theodore's funeral is today. I prepared you some clothes to wear. Use the water from the bucket in the kitchen to clean yourself up nicely. I do not want to hear anything out of you today. Your boss was a good man, too bad he couldn't live past 50." She pats me on the head, dismissing me. I do not know why she thought I would speak bad about the boss. I only did it a couple of times. 

The water is cold, nothing I can do about that. As the winter progresses, I do not expect to feel any warmer. I pulled my clothes off slowly, slipping off my trousers. My mom handed me the wet, soapy cloth I needed. The soapy water trickled down my back. Once my body was covered in soap, I dumped the water in the kitchen sink. I turned the knob, seeing as gushing cold water begins to fill the bucket again. I could feel the presence of my mom behind me, staring at the scar.

"Did you tell anyone about your scar?" I shook my head. "No." But it does not mean I will continue to keep it a secret. Someone needs to know the truth about what is going on. I like the way it looks. "I hope the way I feel about it does not change." Her eyes fell to the ground, disappointed. I turned the water off. I grabbed the cloth and began wiping away the soap. I squeezed the towel over my body, watching as droplets of water to hit the hardwood floor. I got a dry towel, wiping myself down slowly. 

"I left a bundle of clothes for you in the other room. make sure you wash your face. Hurry now, we do not have much time," she exclaimed, walking into the next room. Within an hour, we were both dressed and out the door.

The funeral was all black clothes and white waxy faces, every one of them with puffed red eyes. There were many there that I had never seen before. Most them were older, about the same age as my mom. A grave had been dug close to the lane that ran the length of the cemetery, along a row of dead trees. the brilliant wintry light, for today there is no weather; no wind, no cloud, just subzero temperatures. As the preacher speaks, my eyes become wet, yet I don't realize I'm crying until my ribs begin to heave like they suddenly weight too much to allow breathing. I feel a hand rub the center of my back, and I realize that it is Jack. His face is as dreadful as mine.

After the service had ended, Jack and I decided to spend time alone in the boss's backyard. My mom had accepted my decision, making it clear that I am home before dark. The white rain from the sky fell faster and faster, almost mimicking my emotions. And then it stopped. The flakes settled, and I watch as the snow slowly begins to melt beneath my feet. The snow would stick today, but I don't think it would be here tomorrow. The snow now reflected the sky. A breath of heat against the numbing air made a small cloud of smoke. How odd it was to look on that view, so familiar and yet so different.

"I don't know if you knew this, but our boss had dirty hands," Jack said, shoving a bottle of beer in his mouth. "We were apart of his dirty work too." He drank like a child who hadn't seen water for a week. But this was no child and it certainly wasn't water he was drinking. As he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Why are you talking bad about the boss? He told me that our job was going to be simple, burying bodies. He said that the virus had killed them and we needed to bury them to give the proper graves." Jack shot his bottle into the air, causing the liquid to fall on his jacket. Besides, my mom already told me that what I was doing was bad. I did not need Jack to repeat it. 

"You remember that boy we buried the other day?" I nodded. "Didn't I tell you he was murdered."

"Yeah, but I do not believe you. How did you know? The virus can kill anybody," I said, matter-of-factly. Jack tilts his head toward me, making a face. "You're just talking smack again."

"The boss killed him." With that, he chugged the rest of his drink and threw the bottle in the air. In the distance, the sound of breaking glass rang my ears. There is a tightness in my throat. My lungs feel as elastic as old underpants, just sagging instead of contracting for the next breath. Jack seemed unfazed by his words.

"Focker, don't let your mommy fill your head with bullshit. Open your eyes man!" he shouted. "We bury dead people for crying out loud. We got paid seventy cents per body. That is enough to feed you and your mommy. The economy is all-fucked up. I used to work at a high-end restaurant and look where it has gotten me." His eyes were focused on mine. "At this point, I don't care if I go to jail. I didn't do anything, I swear!"

"Where did all those bodies come from? Jack, who were those people?" The voice I heard was far from my own. It sounded weak and wounded. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to a shed located a few feet away from the boss's property. Before Jack opened the door, the smell of rotting flesh had taken over. They lie like dolls over the grass, limbs at awkward angles and heads held in such a way that they cannot be sleeping. Most of them had similar injuries to their bodies, such as missing hair, nails, or organs. I could feel the sweat going down my back. What exactly did I get paid to do?