Home Is Where the Bodies Are

by Jeneva Rose

Death reminds us that life isn’t infinite and that one day, our time will come too. We pause to listen to that reminder, to acknowledge it, to show it the respect it demands, and then we spread out into the world like pappi on a dying dandelion, waiting for it to call us again, hoping the next call will be to gather, rather than to be gathered around.

Some people never see it coming, others have a countdown, and I don’t know which is worse.

Most people who leave the Grove don’t come back. And those that do never return because they want to. It’s kind of like a cemetery in that way.

flowers reminded her of life—beautiful, delicate, and short-lived.

she’s a stubborn woman who visits the doctor about as often as one visits the DMV.

“The wrinklier the skin, the harder the life.”

will rise and it will fall—no matter what. Don’t matter if you’re sick or sad. Don’t matter if there is war or there is peace. Don’t matter if you see it or you don’t. That sun. You can count on it.

love you, Mom. Thank you for having me, for raising me, for loving me, for being like the sun . . . the one thing I could always count on.”

It’s a dead end, but the last house on the left is where I grew up. I’ve thought about how our street goes nowhere, almost like foreshadowing for the people who stuck around.

When you shine brighter than the sun, it’s hard for others to look at you,

a reminder of what life could have been like if things had happened differently for them. No one wants that kind of reminder.

I’m the most successful of anyone that’s ever lived in this town. A giant to ants.

don’t think of this place as home. But it also doesn’t seem right to announce my presence, as though I’m a guest.

We all had things going for us at one point, like locomotives on a set of tracks with no end in sight. But my train stopped, Nicole’s train derailed, and Michael’s . . . well, his went full steam ahead. And I can’t help but resent him for it.

I guess you can only grow so much when you’re stuck in the same place—like a house plant that’s never been repotted.

you can control your emotions, you can control anything.

Someone choosing to leave your life is a hard thing to live with.

My eyes go back to the fly. It’s flipped on its back in the tomato water. Dead. Too much of a good thing.

It’s the safety blanket of emotions. “Fine.

Her mind was truly a beautiful thing before the drugs ate away at it.

Some things are just better left unsaid.

It’s better to be unaware of what you’re missing out on, those things you’ll never have access to and how the one percent lives—especially when you know it’d only be temporary.

I know it cost more than my car, but he wears it like it came out of a quarter machine.

I’ve actually never understood that saying. Going crazy . . . because crazy isn’t a place you go, it comes right to you.

know if I push too hard, he’ll shut down. That’s how he was as a kid, and most people don’t change. He overthinks, overanalyzes, and then keeps it all to himself, amassing clever little secrets. It’s probably why he’s done so well with his life.

The next time I see her, she’ll have been injected with a couple gallons of formaldehyde to slow down the decay. She’ll be wearing makeup for the first time since her wedding day. Her hair will be done up in a way she’s never worn it before. She’ll be dressed in her Sunday best. And she’d hate all of it.

Typically, that’s reserved for the morning after, but sometimes there is no gap between an action and a regret.

Money changes people the same way death does. If you don’t know how to manage every aspect of it, it’ll bring out the worst in you.

time isn’t the only thing that ages us.

She smiles, not like she’s happy to see me, but like she’s happy she’s not me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been attacked. When you chase all the wrong things, you’re bound to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It hurts to inhale deeply, like I’m only sucking in enough air to survive, not enough to thrive. But I’ve felt that way about life for a long time.

Her eyes skim over me, carefully noting each injury. It’s how she always looks at me now, like a claims adjuster appraising the damage and deciding whether or not I’m salvageable.

I’ve never been fond of eye contact. It feels too intimate. It’s a way to establish trust—but no one should trust me. I don’t even trust myself.

“Easy to have good taste when you have money,”

Last week, I wrote a short story. It started out strong, lost its way in the middle, and never got back on track. The ending fell flat, the potential from the strong beginning faded, and it seemed unsalvageable. I rearranged words, deleted, added, but no matter what—it just wasn’t what I intended it to be. I wanted more for it, but some things just can’t be polished, so I threw it away. Mom, is that how you felt about me?

As we age, we shed layers of ourselves, disintegrating like any other organic material, but some of us just break down faster than others.

It’s hard to see someone when the memory of them is stronger than the person standing directly in front of you.

That’s how memories are—dormant dust waiting to be stirred up.

it’s important to remember both the good and the bad because together they keep us grateful and grounded.

I’ve always loved flowers. There’s something special about their existence. They’re how we greet the ones we love and say goodbye to the ones we’ve lost.

There are some things we can’t say out loud, and it’s just easier to write them down.

I’ve told her a hundred times she’s going to blow her eardrums out, but it falls on deaf ears—perhaps

Her personality has always been all or nothing, which worries me sometimes. Zero or a hundred makes the middle, where everyday life exists, feel like a slump.

there’s a fine line between keeping your children grounded and killing their dreams,

“If you’re afraid of falling, you’ll never fly. If you’re afraid of failing, you’ll never try. If you’re afraid of dying, you’ll never truly be alive.”

sees me mostly as a buzzkill. I’m her drill instructor, her boss, an impediment to freedom, and a barrier to the life she wants to live. Everything cool, I am the opposite. This dynamic is a rite of passage for parents of teenagers. One day, she’ll grow out of it. When that day comes, I might even miss her sass.

“Guilt can eat you slowly or swallow you whole.”

This is one of those situations where there isn’t a right or wrong answer. You just have to pick one and convince yourself later that it was the best decision at that time.

the worst things always happen in an instant, and once you’ve experienced it, you’ll forever be on the lookout, bracing yourself for it to happen again. It’s both a blessing and a curse because it forces you to live in the moment while also fearing the next.