memphis, tennessee janey smith
1. Saturday I have come home for my father’s funeral. I have not been invited and I don’t know where the service will be located. But I know it’s around here somewhere. I don’t own a suit. I get a paper one at a party store across the street and try it on. It fits a little stiffly at first, but the more I walk, the more I get used to it. In fact, the more I walk, the more my paper suit relaxes, and takes to my body. My paper suit rips a little down the side. I ask the party store guy if I can get a refund or maybe another paper suit, “My dad’s dead.” The party store guy sells me a rope, says, “You’ll need a tie.” He helps me fasten it, snugly. He’s right. It looks good with the suit. I stand among bike racks. I’ll walk home from here. I don’t have a bike. Someday, I’ll have one and I’ll stand among bike racks with a bike. I feel like an empty parking lot is the saddest place in the world. I don’t know why. A tumble-‐ 156