I’ve known her since. Before the funerals and the receptions, back when her tight coils were hidden under rows of futuristic weave. It looked good on her; cosmic purple silk covering her eye as she scanned cans of tuna behind the pharmacy’s cash register. Evening shifts mostly. My cousin was convinced that she didn’t wear a bra so my pubescent self would squint over her counter, trying to make out the form of a nipple veiled by her lint-riddled uniform. She caught me once and I played it off. “Ed-vi-er-ge” I would slowly whisper, pretending to struggle with the french pronunciation, avoiding her stabbing stare as I focused on her name tag at chest level.
Ten years into the now and I see her at almost every funeral. Jason’s stabbing two years back, when Omar’s sister got hit by the ambulance, when what’s-his-face’s uncle died from ting-a-ting. And now at my cousin’s funeral. Edvierge has changed. No more weave. Hair cut low; line-up, Dax waves and all. She is big all over now; chest stretches into belly seamlessly. The rest of my family sobs for our loss and here I am in front of my cousin’s coffin looking back at the transformation of one of my closest strangers.
At the reception, she sits next to me, her paper plate heavy with macaroni pie and curry goat. “You good?”
Licks gravy fingers and extends hand.
“I’m Ed..don’t know you like that..but you and Garry were, I mean, are….”
I jump up and hug Ed hard through my tears.