pioneertown.

            Just as grandfather died before, grandmother was dying now. She screamed but the sounds were faint. She could not make them as effortlessly as she did days before. She refused to leave her bed to urinate and left wet stains upon her mattress. Mother gave grandmother soup but grandmother turned her head away. Grandmother was very thin now. Her thinness verged on boniness. No one wanted to touch her because to touch her was to feel the bones. Grandmother barely had skin. Her hands were paper. She leaked yellow in some parts. When mother left grandmother's room, she immediately went into the bathroom to vomit. Mother always vomited now. It was because grandmother was disgusting as she wasted away. And grandmother was wasting away. It was clear. She was so thin, her organs would soon begin showing through her skin. Already, it seemed as though they were bulging out, those sacks that were her liver and kidneys and lungs and stomach and heart. They all bulged and grandmother touched her fingers to them in an attempt to push them back down. And grandmother would not eat her soup. The soup was brought to her but grandmother turned her head away. She would not even allow herself to smell the soup. She did not drink water. She did not suck on her fingers. She only lay in the bed and whined. She smelled worse now. The smell came from all over her. The smell was on her hands and in her hair. Mother tried bathing grandmother but grandmother said mother only wanted to drown her. Grandmother was not bathed. Grandmother was left for the mold and mildew to grow upon. If mother brushed grandmother's thin hair to one side, she would find greasy gray mushrooms growing from grandmother's scalp. Mother could use those mushrooms to add flavor to grandmother's soup. Grandmother would like eating a part of herself. It would be comforting, like eating a baby blanket or childhood teddy bear...

            While grandmother slowly died in her bed, mother, father, sister, brother, and I sat for the daily meal. The man joined us. He sat beside me and ate with one hand so that he could keep the other hand on my knee. He rubbed up and down my leg. He teased me beneath the table. The meat served was raw. It was not even touched by heat. It was meat taken from the animal and placed directly on a serving platter. Blood ran out of the meat. It pooled up in the platter. Mother and father stood over the meat. They pressed their forks to each piece, then shook their heads when the juices came streaming out. Father said he could not remember. Mother said she forgot. They scratched at themselves nervously. Father said the meat was raw. Mother said the meat was raw. Sister and brother pushed their plates away. The man took a piece of raw meat and laid it upon his dish. He ate it slowly, seasoning each piece with salt and black pepper. The man enjoyed raw meat. It was a delicacy he never seemed to get enough of. I hated hearing the raw meat squish in his mouth as he chewed. His hand felt so heavy on my leg and I wanted it off. I pushed against his hand but the man only put it back on me. He touched and touched. He ate and ate. Mother and father took the serving platter off the table. They put the platter on top of the stove and turned the burners on. The platter itself changed color. It was stainless steel and became a bright orange color near the edges. Mother tried grabbing the platter with her bare hands and several long lines burned into her palms. Father tried grabbing the platter as well and his fingertips seared. We smelled their hands burning. They fumbled with the platter, then returned it to the table. The meat was still raw but the outsides were slightly warmer. Sister picked out the smallest pieces of meat and ate them. She gagged between bites. Brother ate with eyes closed so that he did not have to see what he picked up. Mother and father picked out their pieces blindly. They chewed thoughtfully. Mother said the meat tasted old. Father said the meat tasted sour. Mother said she could not figure out why the meat was so strange. Father said the problem lay with the meat source. They continued chewing. The man took more meat. He chewed. He said the meat tasted better cold. He slipped his free hand beneath my skirt and touched...

            Then grandmother stopped screaming. The sound stopped suddenly. She screamed, then the sound was over. The house was very quiet now. It was too quiet and we felt itchy. Sister scratched at herself and brother scratched at himself and I scratched at myself. Mother poured a glass of wine for herself, then filled another glass for father. They drank the wine in a few quick gulps, then filled the glasses again. The man continued touching me. It was a nervous habit for him. The more anxious the house felt, the more his hands came over me. Sister and brother tried laughing as the man touched around my backside but they could not get the sounds out. When they tried, the laughs were more like choking. I pushed the man away but he continued on. Sister, brother, and I scratched and scratched and scratched. The scratching became painful as the irritation to our skin grew. Then I had a thought. If we all screamed so that the house was filled with screaming, perhaps grandmother would come back to life. She would hear the screaming and be inspired to add her own screams to the chorus. It was not that we wanted to save grandmother. It was that we were very tired. Funerals made us all very nervous and grandfather's was terrible. Mother's back still ached from having to dig the burial hole. Father could not get the taste of deli meat off his tongue. Sister and brother and I hated the smell of the dead body. Mother made the first attempt at screaming. She screamed but it was more of a yelp. Father screamed as well but his scream was a shout. Sister tried but her scream was too deep. Brother tried but the scream was too high. The man screamed but the scream was more of a whimper (the man was unusually quiet). I screamed and the sound was almost there but then I began coughing. We waited to hear if the screaming made any difference. We waited a very long time. The house stayed quiet. Grandmother did not answer our screams. Grandmother would never scream again...

            Grandmother was dead on the floor between her bed and grandfather's. Her back was twisted the wrong way and her face was red. Grandmother's knuckles were scraped from banging against the floor. Mother opened grandmother's mouth and looked in. Grandmother's tonsils were so swollen, they nearly filled the back of her throat. An uneaten bowl of soup sat on the small table beside grandmother's bed. Father put a finger in the soup and said the liquid was very cold. The soup smelled of old meat. The smell reminded us of grandmother, who smelled even more like meat now. Grandmother had a terrible smell to her in death. She smelled of meat and chlorine and butter. Sister and I retched. Brother waved a hand in front of his face. Mother sighed. She pulled at grandmother's hand, then dropped it. Grandmother's hand thumped against the floor. Mother sat at the edge of grandfather's bed. Father stood at mother's side and rubbed her shoulder gently. It was easy to feel badly for mother. Grandmother and grandfather were her parents and now she had none. There would never be a grandmother and grandfather in this house again. There would only be corpses referred to as grandmother and grandfather. Mother sighed. She said at least the house would be quiet now. She said grandmother had such a terrible scream and she hated hearing it. A little stream of yellow liquid leaked out the corner of grandmother's mouth. The liquid was the same color as the liquid puddled beneath her pelvis. The liquid made grandmother smell worse. It was difficult to feel bad for the death of anyone who smelled so badly. Grandmother needed to be stuffed with lavender soaps and potpourri. She needed to be dusted with baking soda, then sprayed with odor-eating chemicals. Still, I did not suggest any of those ideas although the thought of them made me smile...

            Grandmother was soaked in rubbing alcohol to remove the old stench from her skin. The alcohol dried her skin and when she was lifted from the bath, her arms and legs flaked. Bits of her floated around the basement and gathered on mother and father. Sister, brother, and I joined mother and father at the preparation table. We felt prepared for grandmother's body. After seeing grandfather's corpse, we knew what death looked like. Although seeing a body was not the same as smelling one, we were more comfortable now. Mother and father washed and brushed grandmother's hair. Grandmother's hair was thinner than we remembered grandfather's hair being and as the brush went across the scalp, hair broke off and wrapped around the bristles. At the end of the brushing, grandmother was half-bald. Her scalp shone dully in the basement light. Grandmother almost looked skinned. Her skin was pinker than before. The blue arterial lines were more visible beneath the skin. I traced the arteries with my eyes and sister vomited at the end of the table. The more I looked at grandmother, the less familiar she seemed. Not only was her hair mostly gone and her skin too pink, there was a muddled look to the rest of her, as if she were slicked with a lacquer, then left to dry overnight. The lacquer made her shine in the parts that were not meant to be shiny. Grandmother was creamy in the other areas. I watched the spaces where the shine met the milkiness and the two textures did not meld together seamlessly. Instead, they created ridges that were jarring against her body. The ridges were high and pointed. They looked like the aftermath of removed stitches. Grandmother's skin was pulled too tightly. Her organs pushed out from within her body. Every organ was bloated from disuse. Her stomach cavity was fat with gas. Mother punched a straw between two of grandmother's ribs and pushed against her stomach. The air came out with a squeaking sound. Grandmother's body flattened. The escaping gas smelled strongly of grandmother's mouth. Grandmother's mouth smelled like it was never washed. Sister and brother backed away from the table. They shook their heads miserably. Mother hooked a finger in the corner of grandmother's mouth and drew her lower lip down. Grandmother's bottom gums were blackened. I gagged. Grandmother's corpse was worse than grandfather's. They were both dead but that was the end of the similarities. Father looked at me. He said we all rot differently...