First Death (Sketch, part of "The Last Plantaion, series)

First Death
((for Langdon, Abernathy) (1956-1972))


Occasionally, Jerome La Rue, from Fayetteville, North Carolina, had his friend from Elementary school over to his house, that being, Langdon Abernethy, to study for the next day’s tests, or if it was a weekend, for Monday’s tests.
Jerome had a brother, Henry La Rue, two years older than he and Jerome being of the same age as Langdon.
Jerome’s father and mother (mother’s name being Loretta) were split up, not divorced, just separated, on a long term bases—he was an alcoholic and womanizer for the most part.
The father was fifty-three years old, in 1959, and Langdon and Jerome were both eight, Loretta in her late forties.
It was near the forth of July, 1956 when this happening took place, to be exact, it was the second of July.
Langdon and Jerome were both elbow to elbow on the floor of Jerome’s bedroom studying for tomorrow’s test, pointing out this and that, laughing at this and that when his mother, Loretta came in, to tell him some news, she had a face that showed a crisis was at hand, it showed love that never worked out, but love all the same, the love that once produced two kids, that old love lost, now remembered on her face small face, someone was dead, “It’s you father, Jerome (Henry was nowhere around)…he was found in his car, dead a few hours ago, evidently he died yesterday, it was parked by a downtown theater, clearly he fell to sleep, drunk, and never woke up, I need to go down to identify him at the morgue, the police called, you both can come and wait in the car if you want,” she said as if she had almost expected someday, something like this was going to happen, to happen abruptly, and so she was prepared, and tried to ease it out to Jerome, and perhaps because Langdon was present, Jerome was at ease for the moment, if not a little in disbelief.
Next, Loretta put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the kitchen table near the fish aquarium, fumbled with her keys to the car, as Jerome and Langdon put on their shoes and gathered out by the doorway, waiting for Loretta.

At the morgue, Jerome and Langdon went with Mrs. La Rue into a cold room, there a body covered by a sheet, a white linen, lay over the body Loretta was to identify, a man pulled back the sheets—looked at Loretta, “Yes,” she said, it is Bob, Bob La Rue, my husband,” his face was purple and color distorted, almost burnt from laying in the way of the sun a whole day, the sun seeping through the front window of the car, baking, almost frying it up like toast, to a crisp and dark purplish red, somewhat inflated.
Death did look pretty, thought Langdon, it looked like, ugly as a new born infant, all covered with blood and whatever other substances the infant carries out of its mother’s womb, with him into the new world, it seems like this dead man picked it back up, to carry it back with him, to bring back to where it originally came from.

Written: 6-30-2008