Editor’s Note: Here’s the title and link to part 1 of Emily’s story —> ‘Happy‘
It had been six months since Emily had been found on the doorstep of Pula’s Funeral Home. True to his word Paul had set her up with a job as his make up artist. The last one had finally quit after getting pregnant because she could no longer stand the smell of the chemicals in the mortuary room. Emily had balked at the idea at first, but finally she donned the mask and gloves, gritted her teeth and followed Paul into the basement. She had never used makeup on herself before and certainly had never put it on anyone. 
“It’s not hard, “ Paul had assured her, “after all they can’t squirm on you!”
Emily had slowly gotten used to it. It was depressing work, and a little unnerving. But she had soldiered on. She got used to matching shades of foundation with skin tone, to highlighting areas to make the face appear less sunken and “dead”, she became an expert at retouching bruises and other scars from the last car ride the corpse ever took. She had even gotten used to combing the hair. The hair originally had been the thing that freaked her out the most. When you combed the hair, no matter what state of rigor the body was in, the head moved slightly and this was almost too much for Emily. It made it seem as if they were about to say “Ouch, you’re pulling too hard!”.
Today she was out in the back with Paul taking a break. It was September and the weather was perfect. Paul puffed a haze of blue smoke into the cool air.
“Why do you have to go and fuck up perfectly good air?” Emily teased.
Paul waved his hand at her, “Be quiet, I’m thinking.”
“Of what?”
“How you’re going to get your GED.” Emily rolled her eyes. Paul had recently been on this kick. She had been so close to graduating high school, it hurt to think about it. For some reason the thought of walking away with only a GED made her angry and so she had not even considered it.
“Christ, what’s that?” Paul motioned to a vision in pink flowers coming around the corner of the building.
Emily squinted, it was a girl dressed head to toe in pink silk with organza flowers pinned randomly throughout the bodice and down the side. Her hair was piled high and perfectly curled, topped with a sparkling tiara.
“That’s…Angie.” Emily said with surprise.
Paul immediately stubbed his cigarette out, “I’ll be inside if you need me.” he said and disappeared.
Angie glanced around the empty parking lot, and produced a cigarette from somewhere inside her gown. Emily watched her as she felt for a match and not finding one looked around her as if hoping one would appear out of thin air. She spotted Emily and froze.
Emily gave a little wave and called across the parking lot, “Aren’t you a little overdressed Angie?”
Angie begrudgingly lifted her skirts and headed over to her.
Emily no longer felt resentful, just…curious.
The two girls stared at each other for a moment.
“So what are you supposed to be?” Emily finally said.
“It’s my Quinicerea. I’m having it across the street at the church.”
“Aren’t you turning sixteen? Not fifteen?” Emily pointed out.
“Yeah, but I got left back, my parents were pissed so they waited until this year. What do you think?” Angie spun around letting the silk lift gently in the wind. Emily watched her, noting how she seemed a little less Angie, a little harder, a little less light.
“Nice, you look really good.”
Angie laughed, “Don’t Em, I look…ridiculous.” Angie plopped down on the stoop and looked up at her, “You got a light?” Emily pulled matched out of the apron she used to keep her makeup in while working on corpses and lit Angie’s cigarette for her.
Angie smoked and the two girls stared out at the empty lot.
“Won’t your parents wonder where you went off too?” Emily finally broke the silence.
Angie shook her head and and snorted sharply the way people do when they are trying to hold back tears.
“Uh oh, what is it? What’s wrong?” Emily looked at her anxiously unsure of what to do.
“Nothing, it’s OK, it’s just been…hard you know?” Angie let a few tears escape and tried to mop them up with her now ruined elbow length gloves.
“No, don’t do that.” Emily dug around in her apron and pulled out a compact. She began carefully blotting Angie under her eyes.
“Where did you get that?” Angie said obediently looking up as Emily pulled out a mascara wand and touched her up.
“Don’t ask.” Emily answered.
“Thanks, do I look all right?” Angie got up and brushed off her dress.
“Yeah, you look great.” Emily reached out and squeezed Angie’s thin arm, “You’ll be OK”
Angie pulled her arm away, “No I won’t.”
“Don’t say that Angie, you will-”
Angie cut her off angrily, “No I won’t, look at me!” she waved at her hair and the dress, “I’m not me! I’ll never be me! At least you got to get away, you got out.” she said accusingly.
Emily was suddenly struck at how much had changed in six months. Angie had turned another year older, like her, but she still lacked the maturity to see what was coming down the pike.
“I’m living in the spare room of a funeral parlor Ang, I never got my high school diploma.” she said softly.
“You live here now?” Angie brightened up, “can I come see?”
Emily shook her head, “I don’t think so.”
“Still mad huh?” “No, not mad, just trying to keep it together, and you have a way of making things unravel.” Emily reached out and straightened Angie’s tiara. “Will you unblock me from your phone?” Angie asked hopefully.
Ah, Emily thought, so she had tried to call.
“Sure, you can call me anytime.”
Angie went in for a hug and for a moment all Emily could smell was Unbreakable Bond and pot. She felt how fragile and flimsy Angie was, so far away from being her own person, so trapped in the “now”.
Angie pulled away and looked at Emily seriously, a look that did not normally cross Angie’s face, “I’m sorry about everything Em, I really am.”
Emily shrugged, “Bound to happen sooner or later…”
‘So, I’ll call you.” Angie said shyly.
“Yeah, do that. Have fun at your party.” Emily smiled.
Emily watched her turn the corner of the building to go back to the church and sighed. She studied the cigarette buts at her feet. She didn’t understand why people smoked. Paul appeared at the door.
“She gone?”
“Yeah, you can come out now.”
Paul slid down the steps and lit up.
“Can I have one?” Emily asked.
Paul looked at her in shock, “No.”
“Why not?” “Well first of all, you don’t smoke, secondly, my employees aren’t allowed to smoke.”
‘Oh come ON!” Emily rolled her eyes.
“If that’s your way of negotiating with management, you pretty much suck at it.”
“Why do you smoke?”
Paul gazed at her warily. “Nerves I guess, tough job and all.”
“When did you start?” Emily prodded. She normally did not ask Paul questions that were not work related, he and made it pretty clear from the get go that while he was a charitable soul, he was not one to divulge anything about his personal life.
“Mm, November of nineteen-eighty six.”
“Why? You must have been what like thirty something? Old enough to know better.” she teased.
Paul thoughtfully pulled on his cigarette and smashed it out. “I’ll tell you someday.”
He opened the back door with a flourish, “But unfortunately for you, today is not that day! Back to work please, family viewing at four o’clock.”
Emily went back to the basement stopping briefly in the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, as she washed up, noting her own face was absent of makeup. Why did Angie wear so much? God knows she didn’t need it.
November 1986 played in her brain, like an annoying earworm.
She closed the taps, walked out the door and into her life.
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More short stories from her work include:
‘Saving Spaces’ <—— This story won our January writing contest!
Part II Emily Paints Faces,
