A THING by LAUREN KARCZ
Bereavement Leave Policy
Due to a variety of questions from employees about situations in which bereavement leave can be taken, we have reconsidered the policy. You may find the additions below:
If your favorite musician dies: Boomer musician – take 1 day, Gen X - 2 days, Millennial – 3, Gen Z – we haven’t thought that far ahead, hang tight.
1 day for the first nice day in March, and 1 day for the last nice day in November. We believe in giving everyone the opportunity to brush against time, to observe the way sunlight breaks on the grass, to consider how perishing and rejuvenation meet in a single moment.
5 days for the death of your old best friend, the one you hadn’t talked to since 2005, the one you last saw in line at Trader Joe’s the day after the 2016 election. You thought perhaps you’d exchange looks of shared horror, or sympathy nods, but, no, she chirped “oh, not bad!” to the cashier and never glanced back at you. Anyway, she’s dead and the Legacy dot com obit gives no clues as to how. She’s dead and the funeral was two weeks ago and you just found out on Facebook. There aren’t any songs for this, or any warm thoughts or sent prayers or virtual hugs for you on social because what would you even post about it, so, here, take 5 days.
0.5 days for seeing a terrible take from your ex on social media. I’m against abortion because I’m a Catholic! We hear he totally fucking wasn’t back in sophomore year of college.
1 day after you’ve been driving alone at night and are set upon by a sweet melancholy you can’t shake.
Perhaps another 1 day for your friend, the dead one, because you’re thinking about the pages of inside jokes you scrawled in her yearbook. Her kids are going to find those one day and wonder who you are. They’ll wonder at the anagrammed teachers’ names (seriously, have you been as clever since?), the recipe for Death by Cherry Coke, the list of important dates. Will her kids know how a ghosted friendship is like a mirror with no reflection? Will they suspect you knew their mother’s nervous lip bite and the rough skin of her elbows?
2 days after you’ve stood at the ocean and considered its vastness, and the person on the other side. (1 extra day if you couldn’t stop thinking about the garbage island between the two of you.)
3 days after the first time your dad looks like an old man. 2 more days when he forgets your sibling’s name.
Oh hell, take another 3 days for the friend, because you’ve always twisted a bit inside when thinking of her. You tried to copy her lip bite. One of the dates in the yearbook is just the day you pressed your shoulder to hers. And you never told her, did you?
2 days after, at the pharmacy, you heard a song you knew but couldn’t place. The one about how we ain’t got money but I’m still in love with you, honey. Then, slowly, you can hear it in your mother’s voice, soft and slanted. Maybe you can hum the song next time you see her, you know? Maybe you’ll meet in that moment.
Lauren Karcz (she/her) is the author of a novel, “The Gallery of Unfinished Girls” (HarperCollins), as well as short stories and essays in Stanchion, JAKE, Anti-Heroin Chic, Tinge Magazine, and the Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Connect with her at laurenkarcz.com.