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The Parliament Literary Journal
Her mother called
and said she was dead
after 38 years and
a stomach full of whiskey
and pills.
Do you know any funeral homes in the city?
she asked.
I don’t know her life up there.
Twenty years of memories
flowing through my hippocampus
the journey from who I was
to whom I might someday be
always with her by my side.
That’s because you never understood her
I want to say.
That’s because she never fit in.
Too smart for her own good,
cowed by the weight
of depression and angst,
an “other” in every sense of the word,
her father was the one
who made the correct decision.
We’re donating her body to science
her mother says, another phone call
emerging from the sea of grief.
We think that’s what she would have wanted.
She would have.
To the med student whose anatomy-class cadaver is my best friend:
She didn’t like pizza.
She always shared her weed.
She had a work ethic like none other.
She loved fiercely
and without judgement.
She was an artist.
She always took care of me when I was drunk.
She stayed with me when I was lost in darkness.
She held my hand each time
I chose to modify my body.
She came to my baby shower
even with a sprained ankle
and introduced me
to all my favorite art.
We would spend hours, evenings, entire seasons
driving in her car, windows down, cigarette smoke winding sinuously
into the dark of the summer nights, music flowing and gossip bubbling and dreams being birthed, hopes for the future hesitantly spoken aloud without fear of mockery
pining over boys,
arguing over boys,
crying over boys,
always returning to the sanctity of our friendship for comfort.
Please see her tattoos.
Please see her journey.
Please see her heart
and her struggles
and her victories
and her worth.
Because she might be your anatomy-class cadaver
but once,
she was my best friend.
Shannon Frost Greenstein (she/her) resides in Philadelphia with her children and soulmate. She is the author of “These Are a Few of My Least Favorite Things”, a full-length book of poetry available from Really Serious Literature, and “Pray for Us Sinners,” a short story collection with Alien Buddha Press. Shannon is a former Ph.D. candidate in Continental Philosophy and a multi-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Her work has appeared in McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Pithead Chapel, Bending Genres, and elsewhere. Follow Shannon at shannonfrostgreenstein.com or on Twitter at @ShannonFrostGre.