Dear God,

Today I went to another funeral.

I wonder how many more you'll make me go to.

People down here are wondering too.

My funeral dress is getting small.

I'm going to have to get a new one soon.

Love,

Peyton

Peyton’s P.O.V

I stand awkwardly in line to meet the daughter of my great-aunt, one I didn’t really know. In fact, glancing around, I really only know about two people here, and even then, not that well. I tug the hem of my skirt down, wincing when it goes back to where it was originally, which is to say, about mid thigh.

Way too short to be appropriate for a funeral.

When I meet my cousin (?) she smiles sadly at me.

“Peyton!” she exclaims, somehow remembering me and grasping my hand tightly. “So glad you could make it.”

“Well,” I say, glancing behind her at the body of my great-aunt. “I wanted to lend my support.”

“Thank you,” she says, wiping at her eyes and even though I should feel bad for her, I’ve been to so many funerals that tears and death don’t really affect me anymore. “But we only see each other at funerals, we have to stop meeting like this. Isn’t this, what, your sixth funeral this year?”

“Eighth,” I say, smiling tightly. Even though she means well, my cousin is kind of an idiot and has no tact. I have been to eight funerals this year alone, and that doesn’t include the ones from my earlier years. At least once a month I’m at a funeral.

People in my family really need to stop dying.

 “So, when will I see you again, Peyton?” my cousin asks, and as she talks, I decide that she’s not really my cousin at all; we’re not really related, and if we are it’s only faintly and I don’t consider her my family.

“Oh, um,” I say, stalling. “Maybe…in a couple weeks? I have a job.”

“Of course you do!” she smiles, trying to be happy but she’s failing miserably.

“Mm-hm,” I say, tugging at my skirt again.

My cousin notices this movement and comments, “Your dress looks a little small, don’t you think?”

“It is a little small,” I say through gritted teeth. “But it was the only black thing I had.”

“You poor thing,” she says, and I wonder why she even felt the urge to say that.

Shouldn’t it be a good thing that I don’t own a lot of black?

“We’ll go shopping sometime, okay, Peyton?” she says encouragingly and I paste a fake smile on my face.  “Get you some new dresses?”

“Sure,” I say but I have no real intention of keeping this date.

I don’t need another funeral dress, this one is just fine. This is the dress that I’ve been wearing for a long time and I don’t want to change that. Change is bad-change leads to things that lead to death, and death is the reason that I’m standing in this church talking to someone that I don’t even know the name of and making plans to go shopping with.

Yes, I go to too many funerals, I think.

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cover by @FillesBleu