Open Me by SUNSHINE O'DONNELL Read Free Book Online Page B

girl of sixteen, she cried in the dark corners of her room and prayed for something terrible to happen and it did.
    Her sister was beautiful, with thick dark hair that never needed oil. She performed brilliantly, heart-breakingly, at the drop of a hat. One day, when Aunt Ayin was pretending to cry and had started to wail, Ayin’s mother leaned over and spat right into Ayin’s open mouth. That night, after her sister had fallen asleep with slices of cold cucumber on her eyesto help keep the swelling down, Ayin weaved her fingers together over her generous belly and, weeping for real, begged Aurora for something to happen to make her sister go away. Her tears dripped down her face and got caught in the fold between her two chins, and as she moved her hand to wipe them away, she smelled smoke.
    Their mother died in the fire, suffocating in her sleep. As the two girls stood on the sidewalk, stunned into disbelief as the smell and the sirens and the heat engulfed them, Ayin knew that it had been her wish for catastrophe that had made it happen. She knew then that there were forces in the world much stronger than herself, and that she would always have to respect them. In this way, standing on the curb with her large bare feet growing colder and colder, Ayin submitted to the mysterious powers of the universe, vowing to honor and fear them for the rest of her life.
    “Today,” Aunt Ayin says, “the morning is full of good signs—and what wonderful weather for the girls’ First Funeral!” Although, she notes, it’s better to work on colder days. “It’s more authentic.” She pictures long black cloaks billowing, portentous gray clouds, wet handkerchiefs trembling between bitter blue fingertips, raw, red noses. The other Wailers say that Aunt Ayin has an active imagination, but Mem’s mother thinks that her sister is just scatterbrained. In Yiddish she calls her
ugalust
.
    The parlor door opens. A thin man with a well-sprayed comb-over and a mustache skinny as a lady’s eyebrow invites them all to step inside, greeting Mem’s mother and Aunt Ayin with subdued enthusiasm. His voice is soft and soothing, a hum, more musical instrument than voice. He says hello to Mem and hello to Sofie and leads them down a long hallway toward the viewing room.
    “I can’t thank you enough for this, Hector,” says Mem’s mother, smoothing her curls with her fingers.
    Hector tilts his head and smiles gently. “Think nothing of it,” he says. “I understand how important it is to get the girls accustomed.” He glances down at Mem, smiling benevolently. “Perhaps we can look forward to the debut of another Master today, no?”
    Mem tries to look at him and return the smile, but Hector’s pale green eyes seem to be focused in two different directions, as if one might be broken, and Mem isn’t sure which eye to look at so instead she looks down, watches her new shoes march across the soft teal runners. The runners muffle her footsteps so that she can’t even hear herself walking. Brushed brass sconces cast timid yellow halos on the floors and walls. Mem has never been in such a silent place, it is as if the air is made of pillows. She is afraid that if she says anything at all, even if she whispers, it will sound like yelling. She uses every drop of her energy to keep her mouth closed.
    Hector opens a large white door with brass handles and leads them into a small room. There are a few teal sofa-chairs and a polished wooden casket that has brass handles, too. Seeing this, Sofie’s face grows like a picture on a balloon that is being blown up.
    A glass bowl on one of the low tables is filled with candies in wrappers that say
Testamints
, with the capital “T” shaped like a cross. Mem’s mother pushes one of the sofa-chairs up against the side of the coffin and motions for Mem to come closer. “This is a corpse, Mem,” she says. “This is the deceased. You remember we talked about the deceased? I need you to look at him, get a