Blackthorn

by J.T. Geissinger

We stand in respectful silence for a moment, until Bea says, “What’s that?” She points at something wedged between Lorinda’s elbow and the cream satin lining of the casket. I lean over and pluck it out. It’s a feather. A glossy black bird’s feather, as long as my forearm. Smiling, Davina shakes her head. “Oh, Mother. You and your birds.” Bea looks at me in confusion, but gets distracted by the sight of Davina withdrawing an elegant pearl-handled knife from a pocket of her dress. “Here. Put this in the casket.” Bea stares at the knife Davina’s offering her as if it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. Which it undoubtedly is. “Why would you want that in her casket?” “Because she’ll need it where she’s going.” I look at the ceiling and exhale in a gust. Why is my family so determined to be flamboyantly strange? It’s as if they’re getting paid for it. “Your mother can sigh all she wants, Bea darling, but before we can pass through Death’s cleansing fire and be remade, we have to battle some nasty characters in our journey through the underworld.” “For God’s sake, Auntie D. She’ll have nightmares for months.” She dismisses my parental concern with a flick of her wrist. “Life is a knife fight. Why should the afterlife be any different?” “That’s just great. Thank you. I’m sure she’ll be discussing this in therapy for years to come.” “Don’t be ridiculous. Blackthorns don’t need therapy. We make other people need therapy. Bea, put the knife in the casket along with these....