New Mail

By Eddie D. Moore

Ignoring the preacher, Roger let his eyelids close and rested his eyes. Everyone else at the funeral would just assume he was grieving or praying. The sunlight seemed bright even through the stained-glass windows. Who in their right mind schedules a eulogy at nine in the morning in February? Saying goodbye to a friend with a late-night poker game seemed like a great idea until the alarm went off at the crack of dawn. He remembered dreaming about drowning his ex-girlfriend’s Chihuahua in the commode and trying to hide the body just before having to slap the snooze button. The preacher raised his voice, and Roger decided that he better lift his head and let the man at least think he was paying attention.

The glance tossed Roger’s direction between points almost made him laugh out loud. To hide the smile that touched his lips, he turned his head and rubbed his earlobe. Lloyd wouldn’t have been pleased by the garish gold finishes on the casket. There was no way that he picked that out. His wife must have selected an upgrade during the arrangements. Her choice of red seemed appropriate after two marrow transplants. Life just wasn’t fair. The man survived cancer just to die from an offshoot of a stupid virus.

Roger’s phone vibrated, so he tapped his email icon. Concealing the phone between his legs, he deleted a notification about a purported epic sale from his favorite store and one about a new episode in a series that he really didn’t want to miss. There was nothing of any paramount importance, but he went through them anyway out of habit and boredom. How much longer could this preacher last? He had to boil it all down to a single point sometime.

A new message appeared in his inbox, and Roger blinked twice. A lump formed in his throat when he saw that the email was from Lloyd. He glanced at the casket and back to his phone. Was Lloyd’s widow using his email address? Why would she be sending emails during the eulogy? Curious, Roger tapped the screen to open the email. The skin between Roger’s eyebrows wrinkled as he mouthed the three words in the message, “I’m behind you.”

Roger turned to see if anyone was sitting behind him and jumped to his feet as he shouted, “Oh, holy hell!” The preacher stopped mid-sentence and every eye turned Roger’s direction. For a split second Roger was sure Lloyd was actually sitting behind him, but a single blink later, he was gone. Half a dozen emotions flashed through Roger at once. Who’s ever heard of seeing a ghost in broad daylight?

Roger’s face blushed with embarrassment when he realized that everyone was watching him. The preacher raised an eyebrow and wasn’t even trying to hide his annoyance at the interruption. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Roger mumbled an apology and left the sanctuary with three quick steps. He locked himself in the restroom, splashed some cold water on his face, and tried to control his breathing. After three or four long slow breaths, Roger felt the pounding in his chest slow, but his chest felt tight. His hand shook as he fumbled in his jacket pocket for his antacid.

Roger’s phone chimed with a new email. Fatigue washed over him when he saw that it was another email from the deceased. Time seemed too slow as he stared at the email: Don’t worry, Roger. It’ll all be over soon. You won’t believe the people I’ve invited to your first card game here.