The Coffin
By Karen Probert
 

        The coffin lay on a wheeled cart. About one third of the lid was open. The puffy lining was silky. Blue. I’d never seen a dead body before except when my cat died a few years ago.
         As the line of people moved forward I shuffled along, too. The closer I got, the more of Grandpa I could see – his steely hair first, then his forehead and closed eyes. He looked asleep except his hair was neatly combed and his mouth was closed. The saggy skin that flopped down when he snored was flat against his neck. His skin was the colour of ashes. Someone had combed his eyebrows so they were flat, not bushy. Why? Maybe someone thought he looked better that way. They were wrong. Dead wrong.
         A giggle escaped me. Dad’s hand was on my shoulder and he leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Hang in there, son.”
          And I did. Even when I saw Grandpa’s hands lying across his suit jacket. His huge, gnarled hands with their brown spots and broken veins that cannot be hidden or changed. Somebody had dug the dirt out from under his fingernails so they were the same grey colour as his face. I love those hands. I reached over the edge of the coffin to put my hand over his. I heard Mom suck in a breath. I stood still. Grandpa’s hands felt like a raw chicken – cool and dry. I remember the warmth of them against my cheek or on my back when he was teaching me to fish or to milk a cow. The strength was all gone now. They just lay there. I took my hand back, put it in my pocket all fisted up.
        Following the line, I moved right to the top of the coffin and then to a chair in the second row. Dad sat beside me.
        “Okay, son?”
        “No, it’s awful.”
        “Agreed.”
       Mom and Grandma sat in front of Dad and me. Dad reached forward to hold a shaking shoulder of each of them.
        A man wearing white gloves closed the coffin. Music started.
       “So, that’s it then?”
       “Yeah. We just need to get through the service for Mom and Grandma.”
     “But... Grandpa isn’t really here. He’s fishing with his buddies. His hands told me that. And he’s smiling.”

Texting
     by Karen Probert
 

            The text read, HELP. I’m off the highway. Snowing.
            Mark replied, What highway? Where? It’s not snowing here.
            Leanne looked over his shoulder at he phone. “First thing we need to know is who sent the text.”
            Mark tapped the screen to make a number come up, but neither of them recognized it. “Don’t know. But we have to do something.”
            Mark texted, What’s your name? Where are you?
            The phone buzzed. Casey. In my truck. Highway 567 near Airdrie.
            “God, that’s a long way from here. I’m going over to the RCMP detachment. Are you coming, Leanne?”
            Leanne looked up, startled, and then grabbed her coat and purse. “Yeah. I need to know. Let’s go.”
            In the office they showed an officer the series of texts. Looking at Mark and Leanne, both straight in the eye, he asked, “You don’t know a Casey?”
            “No, sir, we don’t. But we’d like him to get the help he needs.” Mark looked straight back at the officer.
            “We’ll do that. I’ll send a report now to the local detachment there. They’ll find him.”
            Leanne leaned forward with her hands on the desk. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “How will we know he gets rescued? We need to know or we’ll worry all night.”
            Office Johnson smiled at her. “An officer out of Cochrane is on his way now. He has reports of two vehicles off in that area. It’s snowing hard there tonight he said. I’ll tell him to have Casey text you when he’s safe. Okay?”
            “That’s good. I’m glad we could help. Maybe we’ll meet him some day,” Mark said as they got up to leave. “Amazing what you can do with a cell phone even if you don’t know the person calling.”
            Leanne took Mark’s hand. “I feel a lot better. I didn’t know what to do before. Coming here was a great idea.”
            At home they left the phone on the table. It seemed to haunt them. Mark kept turning it on to check that it still had power. Leafing through a magazine didn’t hold Leanne’s attention for long. She wandered into the kitchen. She hummed a tune, but lost her concentration before the end of it. She decided to make some dinner although she wasn’t feeling hungry. As they were clearing the plates the phone vibrated against the table. Mark snatched it up.
           The text read, Thanks. Safe! Truck’s been towed to Cochrane. Thanks again.
            Leanne grabbed the phone and texted back, Glad to hear. Stay safe. Stay in touch, before she started to cry.
            A large bouquet of flowers arrived three days later with a note, Can we meet next time I’m in Edmonton? Text me. Casey.
            Three months later Mark’s phone buzzed just as he arrived home from work. He was surprised that the house was dark. Where is Leanne?
            In the dark he could see the lighted text. Hey, Mark. Casey and I have flown to Cancun. I know you’re surprised, but I’ll explain when we get back on the 4^th.