Page 54 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“It’s okay, bro.” Katie said, rocking him gently. “This will fix you up.”

She retrieved the joint from his jacket pocket and lit it.

Kevin took a long, slow pull, coughed twice, exhaled, puffed again, and passed it back to his sister.

“You feeling better now?” Katie asked.

Kevin nodded, a sweet smile on his face.

“I hope so,” she said, “because our entire reserve supply of recreational drugs is about to go up in smoke.”

He laughed. “Sorry. I feel like such a pussy for crying like a baby.”

“You are a pussy,” she said, inhaling and ashing the joint like a pro. “Always have been.”

He laughed again. “One dead possum, and I’m branded for life.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Shit,” Kevin whispered.

“Chill out, bro.” Katie said. “What are they going to do? Tell us we can’t go to the funeral?” She turned to the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s your aunt. The one with the keen sense of smell. Can I come in? We don’t have to talk. I’m happy to just inhale.”

Aunt Lizzie was one of the cool ones. “Come in,” Katie yelled.

Their mom’s sister pushed the door open and quickly closed it behind her. “Oh, good,” she said. “You all got the memo. Wear black. We’ll fit right in with this whole funeral thing.” She took in Katie’s red sneakers. “Nice touch with the kicks.”

Katie responded with a hair toss. “Fashionistas do not cave to grief.”

“I’ve been sent to inform you that we’re leaving for the funeral home in fifteen minutes.”

“Can’t wait,” Katie said.

Lizzie sat down on the bed. “What are you guys doing? I mean, besides the obvious.”

“Just calming our nerves,” Katie said, passing the joint to her aunt. “And reminiscing about our youth.”

“I hate to break it to you, kids,” Lizzie said. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “But this is your youth.”

“We were thinking about ten years ago,” Katie said. “The dead possum in the attic.”

Lizzie gave them a blank stare. “What dead possum?”

Kevin’s head jerked up. “Are you serious? Mom never told you her famous roadkill-in-the-attic story? Katie and I were like five and a half when it happened.”

Lizzie shook her head. “Your mom never told me anything that would make her look like she was guilty of bad parenting. And dead marsupials and small children sound like they have the makings of a serious maternal failing.”

She took a second puff and passed the joint to Kevin. “Tell all.”

He took a short hit and gave it to his sister. “It was a hot, hot summer day,” he said. “Me and Mom and Katie came back from a picnic at Magic Pond.”

“Monkey Paws and strawberry lemonade?” Lizzie said.

“Is there anything else?” Kevin said. “It’s like part of our heritage.”

Lizzie responded with a thumbs-up. “So far she’s sounding like a Gold Star Mommy.”

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