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All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Selena Kitt
Kandinsky’s Shirt Button © 2009 Giselle Renarde
eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
Kandinsky’s Shirt Button
By Giselle Renarde
Arthur’s mother died Tuesday at 7:32pm. They were all there to see her into the next world, not that she believed there was a “next world” to go to. They decided on leaving all the sorting through curio cabinets and underwear drawers and piles and piles of junk mail until after the funeral. The funeral was Saturday at 10am, though to be perfectly accurate it didn’t get started until 10:13, the witching hour, according to Judy. Something to do with The X-Files. The burial was to follow, of course, and that didn’t get underway until 11:27. Much later than anticipated. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
“Are you coming in our car?” Judy asked, stone-faced as she handed Arthur a tissue. “Or you could go with Nancy instead, if you want. She has room.”
“Nancy’s patronizing.”
“Don’t be a pest,” Judy scowled, clawing at the tree sap on his lapel.
Arthur brushed her hand away. “She’s the pest. And those kids of hers irk me.”
“Be nice! Those kids are your nephews.”
“They’re always staring, and if they’re not staring they’re jumping. It vexes me.”
“What’s with all the new words, Arthur? You been reading the dictionary again?”
“I didn’t get to the library this week.”
Knowing his sister was looking at him, Arthur stared down at her feet. Did she realize she’d worn navy shoes with black slacks? Call the fashion police! Major faux pas, and if Arthur noticed everyone must have.
“You okay, Arthur?” Judy finally asked. He knew that was coming.
“Yeah. I’m gonna walk back to Nancy’s.”
“Walk? It’ll take you an hour.”
“It’s not that far. I just…” A firm grip like the icy hand of death took Arthur’s throat in a stranglehold. He waited for a moment, still staring at Judy’s shoes, to see if it would release his vocal cords and let him say, I just want to walk. Arthur squinted away the tears welling up in his field of vision and they fell into the gravel road of the cemetery.
“You just want to walk,” Judy said, always the telepath of the family. She put an arm around his shoulder, offering another tissue as he nodded. “Okay, you walk then. We’ll see you at the house.”
Most of the cars were already gone. The rest drove by him as he trudged down the path listening to the sound of gravel underfoot, of gravel under tires. Then there was a different sound, the sound of something shifting, something moving through the hedges. It was a rabbit. Not a white rabbit –not that kind of rabbit—but a grey hare with wide eyes. When Arthur crept around the side of the hedge to get a better look, the hare was off like a shot towards a row of pine trees near the old stone wall keeping the cemetery from spilling into the outside world. The city can’t handle too much death, though God knows it gets enough on the news. As Arthur tiptoed around the pines, the rabbit got bigger and bigger until it was as big as a woman crouching in the grass. Wait, no, that was a woman crouching in the grass. Her long grey coat looked like the rabbit’s. Still as can be, her arm was extended toward the hare. In her palm sat an orange.