Katie Collazo lives in Seattle Washington where she moved, after twenty years of small town living in Oklahoma, with enough money for one months rent, four suitcases full of Stephen King books, and a suit of armor. (It’s aluminum). That was six years ago; and although she still has the suit of armor, she also has more Stephen King books, a husband, and three cats. She thinks the move worked out well. She recently got her associates degree in art and currently works at a small publishing company which allows her to keep her green hair and inspires her every day.
The Urn
That wasn’t where the urn had been last night. Scott remembered putting it back on the fireplace mantel. He was sure of it. But there it was, sitting on the dining room table. Large and black, full of Joan’s ashes. He remembered taking it from the mantel and holding it while he watched the football game. Joan had always loved football. And yeah, okay, he’d been drinking a little, but he knew he had put it back. Scott picked it up. It was cold, like Joan always was. He put it back on the mantel before going to work.
When Scott got home, the urn was still where he had left it. Scott went to it, and carried it with him to their bedroom so he could read to Joan as he had done for the past three months since she died. As he walked with it, he noticed it seemed to be slightly larger. But, no. That couldn’t be. It must’ve seemed that way to him because he’d been thinking about it all day. That’s all. Surely. After reading another chapter in her favorite western, Scott set his alarm for work and closed his eyes.
Behind his lids were troubled visions, full of cars driving too fast, and snow falling too thick. Joan was with him. Telling him to go faster, faster. She liked the way the snow looked on the windshield. Made her think of Star Trek. Warp speed. The semi in front of them swerved. Black Ice. “Faster, Scott,” Joan said. “Warp speed.”
Scott’s eyes opened wide with his alarm. He was sweating and his mouth was full of sour breath. The urn was gone. It was back on the fireplace. Smaller now. Too small. No way could Joan fit inside such a small tomb. Scott set the urn on the coffee table and watched it until the sun went down, ignoring the worried calls from work and friends. It didn’t move. Scott closed his eyes, still on the couch.
Joan was in the passenger seat, her skin the color of ash. Her lips bruised like an old plum. “Slow down, Scott. You’re scaring me.” Joan said. “The ice, Scott. We’re going to crash!” Their car swerved into the semi.
Scott rolled over on the couch with the moon still high in the sky. The urn was massive. It bent the wood of the coffee table under its weight. He had to carry it to the kitchen table with both hands, staggering. No way could Joan fill up such a large tomb. He tried to sleep, but as he neared the realm of dreams he convulsed back into consciousness, and watched the urn. At dawn, Scott picked up the book and didn’t stop reading until its conclusion, and the urn was back to its original weight and size. He returned to bed.
Joan screamed at him. “You need help Scott!” The snow on the windshield was ash. Her ashes. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut. She was driving, taking him to the hospital. The one in the mountains. The one you can’t talk about. “Maybe this can work if you’d just get some help.” Scott didn’t need help. He needed her to pay attention to the semi, swerving. Black ice.
Scott opened his eyes when he heard the sound of the urn crashing onto the bricks below the mantel. He went to get his love’s ashes back into a safe place, but there was no broken urn. Just four identical urns, lined up on the mantel. But he knew the real one by touch. That cold, black ice, touch. He held it to his face and whispered apologies to her. Accusations. Why did she haunt him this way?
Why had she needed to drive him to the hospital during a blizzard? Why had she urged him to drive so fast?
Scott slept. Or, at least he thought he was sleeping. He was back in the car. Joan was crying in the driver’s seat, her broken eye and bruised lips trembling. She flinched when he pointed towards the snow. Like Star Trek, he told her. Warp Speed, she agreed.
Scott was not sleeping, he knew that now as he traced the lid of the urn. Scott hadn’t slept in a long time.