THE WARM DEAD

Blessing Aribisala

It’s Wednesday and nothing special, yet. Without enthusiasm, I click open the PDF for today’s presentation. It still needs some editing but my mind is left behind. I stare at my laptop screen, pick a pimple on my chin, and wonder why the heck I paired this beige tie with a grey-collared shirt.
            Lunchtime. Time to stare at my phone, and scroll. The plantain frittata is salty. I make a mental note to tell the new secretary, Sally. There are two missed calls from my sister. She’s often crabby so I decide I’ll call her later since the meeting starts in three minutes. I trash my half-eaten frittata in the bin by the door and usher myself into the boardroom.
            Spent and sleepy, I plop on the bright pink leather sofa crammed into the staff lounge. Horrible-looking but very comfy. The meeting was moved so I figured I’d take a nap before the long drive home. My head hits the armrest and my phone rings, as if on cue. It’s my sister. From her tone, I picture her; with flared nostrils, wide eyes, and trying not to scream as she speaks.
            ‘I called you two hours ago! Didn’t you see my missed calls? Why didn’t you call back? Daddy has stopped breathing.’ She’s crying now.
            The Uber is late, so I sprint the 3.5 miles it takes to reach my family home and dash up the six flights of stairs. The house is teeming with doctors. My dad is one or was. I am not sure. I sit next to him. White nails and dry lips. He is dead but warm. I call softly, ‘Daddy.’
            They say I am the creative one in the family, and so I have to write a poem for the funeral. The office called today. I am due back on Tuesday. Sally sent a message too. The partners want the contract signed before Friday. Apparently, life goes on, even though the dead are still warm.
            I can’t help certain thoughts. Why couldn’t the world wait for me to grieve? Why did it expect me back so soon? Why the pressure to move on? And what was going to be my answer?
            Yes. Life goes on, and really, I don’t mind. But first, I must let them know that I am still in the room sitting by the warm dead.