Brains for the Zombie Soul (a parody) (11 page)

“Hello?”

Skipping all pleasantries, I asked, “How do you
know Rick?”

“I work with him,” she said without
hesitation.

“What did you call him about?”

“That’s private.” I could hear her defenses
going up.

“This is his girlfriend, and he’s dead. So it
doesn’t matter if you were sleeping with him.” I was already
impatient.

“Oh no,” she said quickly, “it was nothing like
that. I owed him money.”

“For what?”

“What does it matter?”

I yelled into the phone, “He’s fucking dead, and
I’m trying to find out why! Are you so fucking cold and heartless
that you’re not going to help?”

“Jeez, okay. He said he could get me out of a
DUI if I paid him. He held up his end of the deal and got it off my
record, but I still owed him a fiver.”

“Five dollars?”

“No, five hundred dollars, duh.”

“How’d he fix it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, defeated, and hung up
the phone.

Now what? I thought. I started looking through
his pockets and found his wallet. When I opened it up, I was
staring back at myself. He kept a picture of me in his wallet, the
first thing he would see. I tried to cry again, and couldn’t.

Rifling through the rest of the contents, I
found a business card for a detective for the city police. I
thought about calling him, but what would I say? So I did the next
logical thing, I Googled him.

The first thing that came up was his Facebook
page, complete with a picture of him with his dog. He had dark
brown eyes, and looked quite short. And he had a distinct widow’s
peak. And Rick was listed as one of his friends.

I easily guessed Rick’s password to his Facebook
account and got access to the cop’s photos. His profile picture was
a cropped version of him and his dog in front of his house, with
the number 502 next to the door. Browsing through more pictures, I
found some of a Halloween party he had in his backyard, with the
city monument close by in the skyline in the background.

Hm, I should be able to find that house. What’s
the worst that could happen, that I’d be killed? Again?
Whatever.

Downtown, I had no problem finding his house. I
went to the backyard, did away with all subtlety, and broke in the
back window. Cutting my dead flesh, I reached in and unlocked the
door. It led into the kitchen. And there next to the sink, washed
and drying next to his dinner dishes, was my filet knife. I used a
towel to pick it up, stuck it in my apron, I couldn’t believe I was
still wearing it, and found his bedroom.

Just as I predicted, I found a loaded gun under
the bed. I took it with me too, and headed back home.

I dropped the knife next to Rick. The police
should find it along with the detective’s fingerprints. Then I put
the gun to my head, and prepared myself to fire. I better not wake
up this time.

(back to
TOC)

****

Fine China

I
couldn’t remember back to a time when my mother had been living.
Obviously, she had to have been alive to give birth to me, the
youngest of three kids. But as long as I could remember, she had
been a zombie.

She worked hard to be sure that us kids still
had a normal childhood. We had trips to the zoo and Christmas
mornings and dinner at the dining room table as a family every
night.

It was my oldest sister’s job to cook the
vegetables, my brother’s job to do the dishes, and my job to set
and clear the table. On July 27th every year, my mom would tell me
to set the table with the good china. When I asked why, she would
always say, “It’s been too long since we’ve last used it. We should
get it out more often.”

As the years went by and I grew more aware and
more mature, I realized there were questions I should be asking.
When I was eleven, I asked, “Did you get these plates when you and
dad were married?”

“No,” she said. “They have been passed through
our family for several generations.”

When I was twelve, I asked, “When I get married,
can I have the fine china.” She smiled and told me yes.

When I was thirteen, asked what was so special
about July 27th. “I’m glad you asked,” she said. “That was the day
your father and I got married.” Then she looked down at her hands
sadly. “That was also the date when your father died.”

On July 27th of my fourteenth year, I set the
table with the fine china without my mom asking. As I was getting
the plates out of the cupboard, I noticed another plate tucked in
the back. I pulled it out, and saw that it had been broken and was
glued back together.

I set it aside and set the table. My mother came
in and smiled and said, “Thank you for remembering.”

“You’re welcome, Mom,” I said, then grabbed the
broken plate. “But why do you keep a broken one in here?”

She took it from me and caressed it lovingly.
“When I was in high school, my brother brought his girlfriend over
for supper. But her family was strict and wouldn’t let her come
over without her brother. Well, her brother was very handsome, so
when I set the table, I sat him next to me.

“During dinner, he handed me his plate and asked
me to put some of the mashed potatoes in front of me on it for him.
In my nervousness, I dropped the plate. This plate.

“Although my brother didn’t date that girl long
after that, her brother asked me out. I eventually married
him.”

“So this plate is from the first time you met
Dad?” I asked. She nodded.

“Mom,” I asked, “how did Dad die?”

She looked down at the plate. “It was our
anniversary. You were only two months old. I had tried to make us a
special dinner, complete with the fine china, to have ready when
your father came home from work. I left the kitchen only for a
moment to check on you kids. The flame from the stove caught on the
paper towels, and the house caught on fire. I was caught inside, in
your room. I was able to shield you from the flames, but my back
was severely burnt.

“Your dad came through the burning house to
rescue us. When he got us outside, the paramedics went to work on
me, but the outlook wasn’t hopeful. That’s when your father told me
that he was infected with the zombie virus. He bit me, and said,
‘you’ll need to be around for the kids.’ Then he went back into the
burning house to rescue your brother. He didn’t survive.”

Years later, when I married, my mom did in fact
give me the china, the whole set, complete with the broken
plate.

(back to
TOC)

****

Trimming the Tree

The past year had been difficult for Levi and
Heather.

Their older daughter had finally moved out of
the house and was on her own for the first time. She had accepted a
job across the country. Her boyfriend had moved with her, but only
a few months later, stole all the money out of her accounts and
moved away. She wouldn’t be home for Christmas this year, she just
couldn’t afford it.

This would be the first year without their
younger daughter as well. During the summer, she had been out with
friends when their car was hit head on by a drunk driver. The girl
in the back passenger side seat had survived and was in a coma in
the hospital. Their daughter, the driver, and the other passenger
had died at the crash site. The drunk driver, although injured, was
alive, and had fled the crash scene. Therefore, their car wasn’t
found until hours later.

The final topping on the sundae of misery was
Levi’s death. Just days after Halloween, a disgruntled worker who
had been fired had come back into the office. He had been turned
into a zombie, likely voluntarily, and wanted to inflict the
disease onto the people who were involved in his firing. Levi
worked in human resources and was a natural target. He had been
working in his cubicle when the ex-coworker bit him on the back of
the neck.

Heather could have just kicked Levi out of the
house like many other spouses had done to their zombie husbands and
wives. Perhaps she didn’t have the energy. Tension between them was
still high, and divorce seemed inevitable.

So when Heather woke up early Christmas morning,
it felt just like any other night. They hadn’t decorated the house
or bought presents this year. They didn’t even have a tree.

As the clock ticked, by every minute that
Heather stared up at the ceiling, she thought about the past year.
Through all of it, Levi had been her rock and supporter. She had
been depressed, it affected her work, and she got fired from her
job. Levi took on a second job to get them by and hadn’t pressured
her to go back to work.

Even after his death, Levi continued to be
supportive. As badly as she had treated him, here he was making
supper for her every night, keeping the house clean, and generally
taking the entire burden off of her. The only thing that was
different about Levi now was that he was a zombie, but he was still
the man that she had always loved.

She got out of bed and got dressed. At the
department store that stayed open all night, she bought a tree,
lights and ornaments, a ham, and a brand new stereo for Levi’s car.
Quietly as to avoid waking him up, she decorated the tree, wrapped
the presents, and put them under the tree. She put together a meal
ready to pop in the oven.

As the sun started to rise, she made cinnamon
rolls from scratch and started coffee. Levi was awakened by the
wonderful smells and stared in astonishment at the tree. Heather
walked into the living room where he was standing and handed him a
freshly iced, warm cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee, then gave him
a huge hug.

“Merry Christmas my love.”

(back to
TOC)

****

Easter at Church

Easter was upon us. It was typical early
springtime weather in Michigan: dreary, cold, the clouds threatened
snow but none fell, and the wind was brisk.

I wasn’t looking forward to spending the holiday
with my family. I was the black sheep of the family, the godless
heathen. They never said it aloud, but I knew that was their
thoughts of me. My mother was in church every Sunday, accompanied
by my stepfather, and followed by my sister and her perfect family
of four. They attended bible school and bible camp and supported
the church any way they could.

My mother did call me, “your father’s daughter.”
My dad died when I was a toddler. My memories of him are very
vague. For a widow, my mother was very bitter. She talked ill of
him and “his type” any time I tried to bring him up. Therefore, I
knew very little about him.

I think Mother felt betrayed when I finally went
on my first date in high school. Oh, it’s not like she didn’t want
me to date. She was trying to hook me up with boys from church all
the time. She was just caught off guard by the person who came to
pick me up that evening. It definitely threw my stepfather for a
loop. All of his rehearsed lines were lost when it wasn’t Billy
from church at the door. Neither was it Mike from down the street,
or even one of those “rude” boys from school (what my mother called
any teenager she didn’t know).

No, when Melissa knocked at the door, my mother
looked behind her expecting to see two boys, for a good wholesome
double date. “I’m sorry,” said my mother, “Susan is getting ready
to go out on a date.”

“I know, Mrs. Sheldon,” my girlfriend replied.
“That’s why I’m here to pick her up.”

My mother forgot about Melissa standing there,
summoned my father, and together they lectured me on their
requirement that the boy I’m dating must be the one to pick me up.
“Don’t you understand?” I said. “Melissa is my date.”

I didn’t get to go out that night. Eventually, I
had male friends pick me up from church when possible, and then
drop me off at my girlfriend’s house. I moved out the day after I
graduated high school, then went to college as far away as I
could.

Eventually, I had to come back home. That April,
my mother had a heart attack and ended up in intensive care. She
recovered just in time for Easter, and I was of course expected to
attend church and Christmas dinner with them.

In my borrowed dress, I followed them into the
church and slid into the pew. They gossiped with other
parishioners, and I gave my polite greetings when introduced.
Meanwhile, I looked around.

Over in the back corner sat a gorgeous woman
with dishwater blond hair and eyes so blue I could see them across
the church. She must have felt me staring, because she looked in my
direction and waved. I sheepishly waved back. She smiled largely
before putting her hands back in her lap. At that point, I noticed
something... off. Her hand was missing some skin, and her lips
seemed worn somehow. That’s when I realized she was a zombie.

I should have been put off, in a church of all
places, but instead I was intrigued. During the sermon, my eyes
kept wandering over to her, and she kept meeting my gaze. When the
pastor preached about Jesus rising from the grave, I looked over to
her, and she gave a wink. I was in love.

After the sermon, everyone filed out into the
lobby and continued with their conversations and gossip. As soon as
I had decided to break away and find the woman, I felt a tap on my
shoulder. She smiled that big, wonderful smile again and said,
“Hello, my name is Clarissa.”

I extended my hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to
meet you. I’m Sue.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied. “Excuse
the cliché, but what is a girl like you doing in a place like
this?”

I blushed in spite of myself. “Do I look that
out of my element?” She nodded. “What about you. You seem to be..
alone here.”

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” she suggested. I
followed her outside, and we strolled around the manicured lawn. “I
never used to go to church unless my family dragged me along. And
then the accident happened.”