(from Gagplanet Daily Thought – June 12, 2003)
Lydia made this funky little noise. It sounded like a tank running over a
plum. It was
the unholy sound of innards moving out. Of gases and fluids being expelled out of the
body at the moment of death. Yet it wasn’t as horrible as I expected it to be. I
expected the death murmur to be much more brutal and final. Lydia’s was near musical
and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t comical. But she was always that way. She was always
the blast of sunlight in any dark moment. Blood ran from all parts of her face and
puddled in the autumn leaves that littered the sidewalk and even in her ending she made
a comedic impression. The way her mouth gaped open, with her tongue hanging out and
her stare made me chuckle through my horror and sadness.
This really wasn’t how it was supposed to end for her and me. I always
imagined us in
old age, sitting on a park bench, defying the years together. How wrong I was. I only
realized this as I watched Lydia’s memories being lapped up by countless wild dogs.
Lydia loved dogs. She had owned several in her life. It would make her happy to know
that in her horrific, messy death she was able to help some lost and lonely pups.
In the noonday sun I could tell that at the moment of impact her bowels had emptied.