As I No Longer Lay Dying (Part III)

This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.


III

Morning had arrived, tomorrow had arrived. THE day that would be the last of my life (and you’re saying to yourself, “well if you’re dead how are you telling the story then?”—of course I’m not dead yet, but don’t you worry, it’s coming; I’m trapped in this bathroom, I’m waiting for the inevitable—typing this account out, for what reasons I don’t know, with nothing to be proud of by any means, a confession if I’m going to be honest about it) and the one I had hoped would be accompanied by self-sacrifice or a lack of regrets or prajna or something (the horrors on the other side of the door—vicious and unrelenting—the blood and torn flesh and malignant, soulless eyes, my just reward it seems) but features me sitting in an empty bathtub tapping out nonsense; it had arrived. “I’m amazed there’s other people here,” Renee had said. Never what you would call a belletrist, Renee was always surprised when others shared my interests; there was a tour bus parked at the entrance.

“Hmm,” I managed; I was too mollified by the now of my pilgrimage to be offended. I was in an especially good mood and feeling quite charitable. “To tell you the truth, I’m a little disappointed,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting other people to be here; in fact, I was looking forward to having it all to ourselves.”

“Graceland’s only an hour away,” Renee said.

“I think I can deal.”

We entered the clearing on the south lawn. “I got to be honest,” Renee said. “It’s lovely.”

“It’ll be really pretty in about a month when everything blooms.”

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