MY FUNERAL IS EVERY TUESDAY

Sunday

SEASON 3*

*Chapter 3: Sunday*

Clock says 9:01 AM Sunday. First Sunday ever we are supposed to see mother again. Text Friday said: _Thank you for marrying him, Bean. See you Sunday. Bring yellow raincoat. Bring baby. - Mom_

Mom texted Friday after she died Wednesday at 9:02 AM. Tag said ELARA VANCE - WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 23RD, 9:02 AM - CARDIAC ARREST. She volunteered Wednesday. One mother for one father. Balance. Greenfield fair. Old Man Crowe taught Elias that when he was 22 and started at Greenfield 31 years ago for him, 8 days ago for me.

Now Sunday. Bring yellow raincoat. Bring baby.

I hold baby Elara Quinn. She is three days old. Born Thursday at 9:02 AM in blue house heart that stopped beating after 124 years. Gray eyes like Elias, mole under left eye like me, freckle star on tiny wrist Hana said looks like Orion. First generation free. Tag said BORN not DIED. First Thursday with no funeral.

Elias holds my right hand. Husband. Wedding ring clean now, no dirt from Plot 9B. He buried me five times at 9:02 and dug me up at 9:03 always. Now no more digging. He smells like rain and earth but also wedding cake from Friday.

Father holds pink suitcase. Empty still. Empty since Thursday when heart stopped. Finally empty after 11 years since 2015 when he came for $20,000 grandma life insurance and pushed me at fireplace at 9:02 AM October 22, 2015. He is 51 but looks 60 today because mother coming back.

We walk to Greenfield. Plot 9B closed since Thursday. No breathing. Just dirt flat with old leaves, no iron smell. Oak tree where blue house was still there, roots just roots, not arms. No heart beating. Greenfield closed.

Yellow raincoat in suitcase? No, baby wearing it? No, baby too small. I wear yellow raincoat now. Mother's yellow raincoat that was muddy in morgue Wednesday, then my 45-year-old self wore pregnant Thursday, then I wore Friday for cake. Now I wear Sunday. It smells like mother at 60 and me at 45 and me at 29 all at once.

Clock says 9:01 AM Sunday. One minute until 9:02 AM Sunday. What happens Sunday? Tuesday wanted father, Wednesday wanted mother, Thursday wanted child. Friday was wedding cake. What does Sunday want? Old Man Crowe buried wife alive Tuesday in 1902 because she wanted to leave. That started debt. Father was supposed to die 2015, lived because I called 911. Mother paid Wednesday. Baby almost paid Thursday but my 45-year-old self paid willing.

Sunday should be free. Greenfield text said closed. Mother text said see you Sunday.

Plot 9B starts breathing again. But not fast baby breathing. Slow. Old woman breathing. Like mother breathing at 60. Real breathing, not loop breathing, not 31 years tired.

Dirt moves. Not heavy cold October dirt falling like in wedding dress. Dirt opening, like someone digging up at 9:03 like Elias always did.

Elias grabs my hand tight. "Mara, is that?"

Father opens pink suitcase empty and says, "Bean?"

Phone buzzes at 9:02 AM Sunday exactly. Not M.Q. Not E.Q. Not blue house. Not Greenfield. ELARA VANCE.

Text: _I am under. Dig me up at 9:03 like you always do for me. Like Elias always digs you up. - Mom_

Mother under Plot 9B.

We dig. With hands. Elias with scar above left eyebrow I love, hands that buried me five times and dug me up five times. I with freckle star wrist. Father with 51-year-old hands that bled when pushed at fireplace. Baby Elara Quinn in yellow raincoat pocket? No, in my arms watching, gray eyes open, not crying, like she knows grandma coming.

At 9:02 AM Sunday, dirt opens and yellow raincoat appears. Same yellow raincoat I am wearing? No, second yellow raincoat. Same muddy, wet from Wednesday. Same I borrowed as kid when it rained and mother said "Bean, bring it back" and I never did.

We pull.

It is mother. 60-year-old Elara Vance. Eyes closed. Face peaceful, sleeping, like Wednesday in morgue when tag said WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 23RD, 9:02 AM - CARDIAC ARREST - WITNESS: DAVE VANCE. But not dead now. Breathing.

She sits up at 9:03 AM Sunday. Like my 34-year-old body sat up in Chapter 2 and took suitcase and ran. Like all dead bodies in Greenfield sit up at 9:02 AM because Greenfield doesn't let dead stay dead. But Greenfield closed, so she sits up at 9:03, not 9:02. One minute late. Free.

She looks at me at 29 and says, young voice, not 60-year-old, but 60-year-old voice with no tiredness now, "Bean? You brought yellow raincoat back? You brought baby?"

I cry. Same as Chapter 1 when found own body under sheet with driver's license photo with bangs hated. Same as Chapter 5 when kissed him first time in shed. Same as Thursday when 45-year-old self faded into heart.

Mother holds baby Elara Quinn. Third generation. Elara Vance holding Elara Quinn. Same name, 60 years apart. Same mole under left eye all three of us have.

Baby grabs mother's finger with tiny hand. Grip strong. Same grip that held my finger Thursday when born at 9:02 and held breath until 9:03.

Mother looks at father Dave Vance, 51, suit too big, and says, "Dave, you came for pink suitcase with $20,000 at 19. You pushed Elara at fireplace at 9:02. You caused wish. Now you stayed for granddaughter. You are father."

Father cries. Real tears, not silent. "Elara, I tried to steal money for your chemo you never told Bean about. I am sorry."

Mother nods. "I stayed but lied 24 years about father being dead when alive buried under oak. That's why Wednesday took mother. Balance. One mother for one father. Now balance paid. Greenfield closed."

Elias looks at both Elaras, his wife Mara who is Elara Vance's daughter and mother of Elara Quinn, and says, "No more Tuesday funeral?"

Mother shakes head, holding baby. "No more Tuesday. Old Man Crowe's wife left 1902 Tuesday at 9:02 AM. He buried her alive. That started Tuesday. Then father left 2015. Then you buried Mara five times Tuesday. Now closed. No more Tuesday."

"No more Wednesday?" I ask, small voice, throat full of dirt from Plot 9B wedding dress memory.

"No more Wednesday. Wednesday always took mother because mother stayed but lied. Now mother told truth. Closed."

"No more Thursday?" Father asks, holding empty pink suitcase that is finally empty.

Mother looks at baby Elara Quinn, firstborn, first generation free, and says, "No more Thursday. Thursday wanted firstborn because family debt started 1902 when Old Man Crowe buried wife alive because she wanted to leave with child. Firstborn debt. Now child born at 9:02 and not died at 9:02. Debt paid. My mother stayed willing Thursday, your 45-year-old self. She looped 16 years for baby."

Clock ticks to 9:04 AM Sunday. We all breathe. Real breathing. Not loop breathing.

Phone buzzes last time ever. Not M.Q. Not E.Q. Not blue house. Not Greenfield. Not mother. No number. Just oak.

Text: _Greenfield closed. Plot 9B closed. Blue house closed. No more funeral every Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Only Sunday dinner. Bring yellow raincoat. Bring baby. Bring pink suitcase empty. - Old Man Crowe's wife, 1902_

Old Man Crowe's wife texting. First victim 1902.

She waited 124 years to text.

We walk home from Greenfield. Plot 9B closed for real now. Oak roots just roots. Dirt just dirt, smells like worms and old leaves, no iron, no blood.

We have mother back. 60-year-old Elara Vance alive Sunday after dying Wednesday. We have father 51 alive. We have baby Elara Quinn 3 days old free. We have Elias husband. We have empty pink suitcase empty after 11 years.

And yellow raincoat. Two yellow raincoats now. One I wear, one mother wears, both muddy but now dry in Sunday sun.

We go to apartment above laundry. Laundry noisy but nice noisy. Hana there with wedding cake leftover from Friday that said MRS. QUINN - FRIDAY - NO FUNERAL - FIRST GENERATION FREE. Now cake says SUNDAY.

We eat cake Sunday. No funeral. Only Sunday dinner.

Baby Elara Quinn smiles. Second smile. Gray eyes like Elias, mole like me, freckle star like Orion.

Clock says 9:05 AM Sunday.

No more funeral ever.

*End of Season 3 Chapter 3 - 1500 words*