Everything felt tight when I woke up, and I remember lying there, in the dark, eyes wide open, thinking, today we bury my mother. I searched myself for emotion and could not find any. Not that I was numb. But I did feel a kind of tightness all over. A bursting-at-the-seams. I bound out of bed and hopped on enormous calves over to the bathroom, switched on the light, and had a good look at myself in the mirror.

I should have been startled. I was not startled. Before me in the mirror was a square chin, a large brow, nearly shoulder-length blond hair. My eyes were now blue. Gone was my thin nose, my overbite, my tendency to have five o’clock shadow by 10:30 am. No more need for glasses. I opened my mouth, wide, and I had all my teeth. I set to brushing them vigorously, something I normally don’t look forward to doing.

While I was flossing, my wife came into the bathroom. She, alas, was unchanged. When we’d met and she was in her thirties, she had been a fire cracker. Now she was more of a sparkler. The analogy is bad, but the sentiment is accurate—she was half-burned-out. Not that I minded. She sat down on the toilet seat as if I wasn’t even present, and the sound of her micturition was thunderous. This has always been my experience: skinny women are the loudest in the bathroom.

After a few seconds she seems to realize I was there, and began to look me up and down. Her eyes lingered on my now massive thighs, glanced playfully at my powerful buttocks, and stopped with unhidden lust on my private parts. I glanced at them now too—I hadn’t even thought to do so before. I had once been a grower. Now, it seemed, I was a shower, and the enormous tube hanging down was almost unwieldy. That I had missed it before just goes to show you the power of the hypnopompic state.

“Flossing?” she said. “But you never floss.” And then she looked into my eyes, and I knew her expression. She thought I was sad, about my mother. She thought I was going through the motions, off in my own world of pain, old habits anchoring me and keeping me going. She didn’t seem to realize at all that the man in front of her was not the same man she’s gone to bed with the night before. And I wasn’t about to tell her that burying my mother today felt more like a minor duty, like stopping by the polls to vote for some candidate who would or would not win whether I voted for him or not.

I shrugged, she wiped, leaned against me with one hip poking me through her panties and washed her hands, and then left. As she went she turned off the light, then turned it right back on again. “Sorry,” she said, and laughed. “Force of habit.” I have to admit, in the brief microsecond of darkness, I forgot what had happened, and this time, when the light came on and I saw this blond God in the mirror, I had a moment of fright.

***

None of my clothes fit, to say the least, but I managed to squeeze into a pair of old sweatpants and tank-top. The effect, however, was striking. I looked like one of those personal-trainer types, the ones in the gym, the ones who are able to sneer without moving a muscle in their face. I tried not to think about it too much. I’d have to go to the store and pick up some new clothes, for the funeral.

Downstairs my two daughters were eating cereal. Emily, 12, and Also Emily, 5. Actually, her name is Alicia, but we call her Also Emily because lately she’s been going through one of those phases. She wants to do everything exactly the same as her older sister. The only thing Em hates more than when Also Em imitates her is when we laugh about it and call her little sister Also Emily. Today they wore black.

“Put on a shirt dad, we’re going to a funeral today,” Emily said. They didn’t seem to notice I looked different.

“Yeah, dad, you need a shirt.” Also Emily was trying to time her cereal spoonfuls to match her sister’s, but was failing in the not-letting-the-cheerios-spill-down-her-chin department.

“And good morning to you too.”

“Where’s Elizabeth, doesn’t she dress you right?”

“Yeah, where’s mo- I mean Lizabeth.”

I was standing in front of the pantry, looking for something, not sure what. Protein powder, maybe. What did blond muscle-men eat? “She’s upstairs making herself beautiful. She’ll be down in a bit.”

“Good luck with that.”

I abandoned the pantry and stepped to the frig for some raw eggs, maybe. “Really, Emily? Is that necessary? The whole jaded step-daughter thing is so cliché. I thought you were more original than that.”

“Whatever.”

I took the eggs from the frig, opened the carton, cracked two into a glass, and swallowed them whole. They tasted absolutely disgusting.

***

The funeral was supposed to be at 11, and then everyone over to my sister’s house for casseroles and cakes. Yesterday, if you’d injected me with truth serum, I would have told you the only thing I was looking forward to was someone’s lasagna and a piece of cherry pie. But standing by the front door, trying to put on a pair of flip-flops, the thought of eating all those carbs was kind of revolting.

But I needed to get to the mall and pick out a new suit if I was going to do this right, so I opened the door. There in front of me was Joan, the neighbor, in mid knock. I’d startled her; her eyes went wide and her cheeks turned a deep red.

“Malcolm! You scared me.”

“Joan.”

“I was, uh,”

“The dog, Joan?” Joan had made it a point to let us know, in no uncertain terms and on several occasions, that our dog was what kept property values down for a three mile radius. The barking. The digging up neighbors plants. The discrete piles of poo on street corners. All of it a bunch of nonsense. But Joan didn’t have any hobbies.

“Well, Um, no, actually.” Joan, it seemed, couldn’t help herself, and was letting her eyes dance all over my body. “I wanted to, I guess. Offer my condolences. It’s your poor mother’s funeral today, yes?”

I folded my arms, which made my biceps bulge bigger, veins in my forearms popping, my shoulders becoming somehow wider. “How kind of you. Yes it is. In a few hours—I was just on my out to pick up a suit.”

“Oh I see.” She leaned forward, saying nothing else.

“Joan, are you sniffing me?”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous!” Her blush deepened, and she stepped back, doing that arm motion women do when they want to cover their breast and midsection from view, which only serves to bring that much more attention to those parts.

“Okay. Well, I need to get to the mall.”

“I, uh, okay.” She smiled then, looking me in the eye, a toothy smile. I smiled back, a to-be-polite smile. She turned and walked away, with a little sway to her hips. It would have been a bit unsettling if it weren’t such a gorgeous day outside.

***

I drove to the mall. Thank goodness for my lack of insecurities, and the need to buy some tiny sportscar. I don’t know if I would have fit in it. The minivan suited me just fine. I drove with windows down, letting the air whip my blonde hair into and out of my face, the radio turned up loud.

I had no reason to be in a good mood, and yet I felt pretty good. My father had died shortly after I’d married my first wife. Then she had died shortly after Alicia was born. Then I met Elizabeth, and we were well past the honeymoon phase and approaching the seven-year itch. She was a divorcee herself, and her ex was an alcoholic and a lawyer. The house had two mortgages. The minivan was paid for, but out of warranty. My mom had passed away, leaving me with a mountain of hospital bills and leaving my sister with a good reason to feel like the world was continuing to use her as its personal toilet.

But I felt pretty good. I was a new man. I had no idea why. I didn’t even think to consider it a phenomena of any kind. I had been a spineless, weasely little man, prone to colds and bad flatulence if I ate too many vegetables, constipation if not enough. Now I was a muscle-bound he-man, healthy as an ox, hung like horse, and hungry as a bear. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d felt so hungry. And it was the most natural thing in the world, the kind of natural that didn’t bother thinking about. Why do eyelids blink? Why did I change? Silly, trivial, meaningless questions with boring answers.

I found an excellent parking spot right up close to the doors, and eschewed it. I parked as far away as possible, determined to enjoy the sun on my face for as long as I could before walking into the mall.

***

It’s probably my imagination, but when I walked towards the suits area in the department store, I could swear one sales lady elbowed her colleague out of the way to get to me. “Can I help you?” She said. Emotional emphasis on the word “can” as if to say yes, she could, one way or another.

“I’m burying my mother today, and none of my suits fit.”

“Oh dear.” She tried to find the right kind of smile to proceed. “Something in black, then?”

“Sure,” I said. “Doesn’t have to be too somber, I suppose.”

She led me over to a rack. “Well, normally I would suggest one of our custom fits, but it sounds like you’ll need something sooner than that.” She pulled a few selections and handed them to me. “Changing rooms are right over there.”

I took the suit into the changing room, put it on—it was a horrible fit. Much too small. And yes, admiring myself in the mirror, it looked pretty good. I mean, it was clearly the wrong size—despite my now flat stomach, my chest was much too big to even get one button closed. And the pants, well, let’s just say that there’s more to trousers than inseam and waistline. Nevertheless, I looked incredible.

I stepped out of the dressing room, and the sales lady was right there. She glanced me over and said “Oh my.” Then she dashed off. Who was going to be at the funeral today? My sister had arranged it all. The sales lady came back with something else, and I stepped back into the dressing room.

This time the fit was perfect, and even in a tank top and barefeet, I looked absolutely incredible. I stepped out of the dressing room and the look on the sale’s lady’s face showed that she agreed. “This will do,” I said, and she smiled.

With my sweatpants in my hand we went to the register, and she proceeded to ring me up, stealing little glances at me. But then glances stopped when she started to frown. “I’m sorry, do you have another card? This one’s been rejected.”

“Really.” And you have to know: this had happened to me once before. Many years ago, I was way over the limit, and my card had been rejected, and it sent icicles through my gut. I was mortified. Almost stupefied. But this time, I just didn’t care. I don’t know why. I just didn’t.

I shrugged off the jacket, stepped out of the trousers, and put on my sweat pants right there by the counter. “Well, sorry about that. I’ll give the bank a call later and see what’s wrong.” I started to walk away.

“Sir? What about your mother’s funeral?”

“You know what? I bet she won’t even notice.”

***

The minivan had been broken into. Shattered glass, stereo ripped out. Also, the tires had been slashed. Fuck it. I walked home. It was only four miles.

***

In the 90 minutes it took me to walk, I played with little scenarios in my head. I would arrive home, and find it on fire. Elizabeth on the lawn, stabbed to death, Emily standing over her with a bloody butcher’s knife, Also Emily standing next to her holding a butter knife. Or perhaps it would be our dog, gone rabid, jaws dripping pestilent foamy saliva, my wife and daughters trapped in a tree. Or Joan, gone finally mad, shotgun in hand, holding my family hostage, police cars swarmed onto my lawn, ruining the sod, their lights spinning blue and red flashes.

But instead, everything was status quo. I walked through the door. “Where have you been?” Elizabeth shouted from upstairs. I could smell her perfume from down here; she always put on too much, the legacy of her smoking years.

“Sorry. The minivan was vandalized, so I had to walk.”

You couldn’t call?”

“It was a nice day.”

“Well get dressed, we have to leave three minutes ago. Girls!”

I just stood there by the front door, not closing it, looking up the stairs. My daughters appeared, and walked down, ignoring me completely, walking outside and over to their step-mother’s Corolla.

Elizabeth appeared. “Where’s your suit.”

“Credit card was rejected. Didn’t you hear me? The minivan was ripped to pieces.”

She shrugged while putting on an earring and walking down the stairs, and for a moment, I was moved by the unconscious act of gracefulness. “Shit happens, Mal. We have to go.”

“But what am I supposed to wear?”

“You look fine. I’ll drive.”

***

The funeral was exactly as you’re picturing it. Just like they do it on TV. Gorgeous green grass and a bright yellow sun, but all of us under the shade of a convenient elm. A straight-edged hole in the ground, shiny mahogany coffin to one side, all the rest of us to the other side. My sister in a black dress and too much makeup. My wife next to me, my two daughters next to her. Some old ladies that my mother had known. Some cousins, I think. Flowers on the casket, Priest at the head of the hole. I had not attended my father’s funeral, and we’d had my wife cremated, her ashes scattered someplace. So this was a first for me.

My head bowed, my hands clasped before me. While I stood there listening to the priest or pastor or rabbi or whatever the fuck he was drone on and on like the world’s most boring asshole, I practiced flexing my new muscles. Without moving I worked my deltoids, my lats, my traps. My biceps where like two cantaloupe, straining and relaxing, straining and relaxing. I scrunched my glutes, bulged my calves. I clenched my fists until my knuckles where white, feeling power course through me, and only stopped when I realized I was grinning like a maniac.

My mom. What can I say. She was this lady I knew when I was a kid. Gave me food in the morning and at night, a dollar if I wanted to see a movie. I think I got a hug every once in a while. If I remember correctly, she smoked, but not a lot. She quit when dad died. Then my wife had a few babies. Then my wife died. Then I remarried. I’m pretty sure my mother was aware of all these events. But for some reason, I can’t think about her without also thinking about a chair. Some chair we had in the living room when I was growing up. It wasn’t a special chair. It was just a chair. It filled \ a space where a chair should go. That was my mom.

There was some weeping, some Latin, and then two guys in dirty overalls and knitted caps were hauling the casket up with nylon straps and lowering it into the hole. We each grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it in on the box. Then we left. All I could think about as we walked back to the car was the way the grass was tickling my feet in my flip-flops.

***

My sister and I used to have these epic fights. One of us would spend too long in the bathroom, and the other would bang on the door, and the one in the bathroom would get mad and decided to take longer, until the one outside the bathroom had to yell for mom, who wouldn’t do anything. Then the two of us wouldn’t talk to each other for weeks.

We were never close, so I walked around her house now with a glass of club soda, looking at the walls and furniture like I was a stranger. She never married, never went to college, has had the same job as a bank teller since when she was in highschool. It paid for a few art classes, a few pottery classes, the rent on this house. The place stunk of burnt popcorn and cheap deodorant.

I stood there in my tank top and sweats, shaking hands with the wizened old husbands of the wrinkled old ladies who had known my mom. Not a single one of them said a thing about my clothes. A few of them gave my pecs a look or two, obviously impressed. But that was about it. I was bored. I wanted to go the gym and lift weights. I have never been to a gym a day in my life.

My sister sat by the table adorned with a pathetic scattering of freezable, reheatable food. It was like a potluck for people who just don’t give a damn. I knew she’d throw most of it away. My sister was the kind of skinny that makes her invisible, most of the time.

After a while I felt something in my hand, and looked down to see Alicia standing there, holding it. She wasn’t looking at me, but just sort of looking around, like she was waiting for something but not waiting for anything exciting, just waiting, nothing else to do. On a whim I picked her up, and held her for a while, but eventually we both got bored with it so I let her down and she wandered off. I found a chair and sat down.

When I woke up, Elizabeth was standing over me. She had a look in her eye. I stood up, trying to cover my erection poking through my sweatpants. “I’ll get the girls. Go wait for us in the car.” I did as I was told.

***

Lying in the dark, my stomach rumbling, Elizabeth naked next to me. She could hear the rumbling, and laugh. “Sex never made you hungry before, Malcolm.”

I smiled. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

I could feel her smile next to me.

“You know what I mean.”

We lay there, and after a while she said “I don’t know, Mal. You seem to be taking this all pretty well. “

I shrugged.

“I don’t know how I’m going to handle it, when my mom dies.”

I said, “I’ll be here for you.” But they were just words.

She chuckled. “Any advice?”

“Yeah. Make sure the credit card’s paid off before you go buy mourning clothes.”

We had a good laugh at that.