A

I’m wearing your silver knotted ring as I drive your skull and bones cardigan to the cleaners.

“Smoke. Smells like smoke,” says Tina, the owner of the dry cleaners.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry” I say.

“Smoke, so much smoke. I’m going to cough. Why are you suddenly smoking?”

Jesus. Here we go.

“I’m not, this belongs to my friend.”

“Tell your friend not to smoke,” Tina says grimacing.

“I can’t tell her, she’s dead. This was one of her favourite sweaters and her husband gave it to me. He also gave me her beautiful ring, see?” I say, dangling my hand in front of her.

“Sorry she died. Lung cancer right?”

“Umm, no. Anyway, how long will it take? Can I pay extra to put a rush on it?”

“No, no. No rushes on smoke items. Smoke items are very very hard. Next Friday.”

Sighing dramatically, Tina started writing up a receipt.

“Your friend died too young. She should have taken vitamins. Do you take vitamins? I take 18 vitamins every day and I haven’t been sick in fifteen years. No COVID, no nothing. Perfect health.”

“I’m glad you have perfect health,” I say, wanting to throttle her.

“You have very dark circles under your eyes, you need more Vitamin C. Here, eat this orange,” Tina said, pulling an orange out of nowhere like a magician.

“Oh that’s very kind of you, but I’m okay. Thank you though.”

Glaring at me, Tina made a clicking sound with her mouth.

“Dark circles is just the beginning, then doctor appointments every week, you’ll see. But if you take your vitamins you’ll live a long life. You won’t be dead like your friend.”

Oh My Fucking God.

“I appreciate you trying to help, it’s just that right now I’m feeling sad, I’m missing her. I’m just trying to get through this.”

“Ah yes, you’re hanging on by a thread, not a good feeling. Look at this black thread – see how it’s frayed? It’s about to break, that’s how you feel right?” She ripped the thread in front of me.

Why Universe? Just why?

“Listen, you’re a loyal, longtime customer and your friend died and I feel your bad energy. So, I’m going to give you something to help with the sadness – give me your hand.”

Oh no.

“Hand, your hand, open your hand” she said, making the weird clicking sound again.

I gave her my hand, palm open.

Jesus Lord Please Help Me.

“These look like candy, right?”

“Yes, they look like cinnamon hearts,” I answered.

“Well they’re not, they’re medicine hearts. The recipe is an old one, passed down from my great, great, great-grandmother.”

“Oh wow, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, these are powerful – no monkey-arounding with them. Take one heart every morning at exactly 9:00 AM for seven days. Do NOT miss a day.”

“Okay, got it. What do they do exactly?”

“Well, first you’re going to feel weird, a little out of body. So no driving for two to three hours after taking the pill. Then you’ll notice that your heart feels strange – don’t freak out: your heart is stitching itself back together with the broken thread. Your sadness will be quieted. By the end of the week your sadness will be sitting in the nose-bleed seats, not the front row – if that make sense.”

“It totally makes sense.”

“Good. I see you next Friday, here’s your receipt. And don’t forget about the vitamins: if you want to get old and beautiful like me, you need all the vitamins.”

“I won’t forget. Have a good day.”

Back in the car I start crying, then laughing. Then crying and laughing some more. That was such a trippy scene, like something out of a movie. I want to text you about it, to describe Tina and the medicine hearts and the orange. But then I remember that you’re dead. And that just makes me laugh harder: like Mary Tyler Moore in the episode where she’s laughing at the clown’s funeral.