A Good Place to Die - A Short Story

"If you could have a song played at your funeral, what would it be?"

Brandon took his right hand off the steering wheel and let it hang beside he and his girl. He began to pull up a litany of songs. "Good question." He began to process his options. Something mellow perhaps - like Coltrane or Oasis. Or maybe country - an old spiritual plucked out on a guitar and sung by some sweet voice ... Emmylou Harris? Maybe, though, the best song would be nothing but moods, like Moby's Everloving. Yeah, that was good enough.

"Everloving. Everloving by Moby. That would be my song. What 'bout you?"

Laura turned her head away from the passing darkness and towards Brandon - staring at him while pulling her chin to her chest and raising eyebrows. "You can't be serious. Moby. Everloving. No words, no message? Just some random collection of beats and effects?"

"Yeah. That's what I want. An effect. I don't want anyone thinking my life can be summed up by some song - like three stanzas and a chorus could capture my life."

"And Moby can?"

"No, but it's as close as I can get." He wasn't hurt. He knew it was a silly answer. But, shit, this was a silly question. And if he was going to play, he at least wanted to play the whole thing out. "Okay, what's yours?" Brandon asked - shaking his head and turning his palms up towards the roof.

"Easy. When They Ring the Golden Bells. Natalie Merchant. Beautiful. Haunting. Simple. And it says it all."

"And it moves like a cow through crap."

"Oh, come on. I didn't knock your song, but then again I'm not planning on having my funeral in a club."

This was all either could handle of this brief, flirtatious game. They both began to laugh and roll their eyes. Brandon was trying to figure out how to extend the evening - cruising in the countryside and extending his left arm out the window he felt the cool air settling down upon the fields.

"Laura, this is good."

"What is Brandon?"

"This. Life. Driving through the country, talking about nothing - just piecing together memory after memory. You do know we'll never forget this evening."

"It has been great - dinner was excellent, probably the best meal I've ever had."

"Yeah, that was good, but that's not what I mean. I mean ... I mean the whole of it. These are the nights that stick deep into your heart - the quiet sunset, the easy conversation ... and now, a memorable subject. Death songs."

Still giddy from the wine, Laura left Brandon's words alone, choosing instead to focus her attention on the way his eyes reflected street lights and celestial stars. God, she loved this man. Not to the point that it ached in her. Not yet. Right now, it was more of a burn, a subtle, strong pulse of flame and ember. And part of that burn came from the tension of attraction and resistance, the delicate game of waiting and wanting.

Brandon continued along the road - easing the car into a ninety degree curve that bent to the left. Corn fields guarded both sides of the road - sequestering cars and making the roads seem both innocent and dangerous. Laura closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She conjured up an image far back in her happiest days - running with her grandmother to a back patch of land where raspberries and blackberries grew wild and where she would stroll along picking berry after berry - eating one, keeping another.

As Brandon cruised around the bend he began to notice a strange brilliance in the periphery. Laura kept on dreaming of yesteryear while also beginning to hum When They Ring the Golden Bells. And before Laura ever got to the first line, a wave of light flooded the interior of Brandon's car. It was the high-beams of an old Dodge truck - hellbent and swerving. It was too late. All Brandon got out in the end was a brief curse. Laura opened up her eyes just in time to throw her arms at the light. She could only stutter, "Brandon, no."

And after the cars collided and shattered and dislodged various parts, the quiet country road was full of nothing but the subtle murmur of crickets and Gimme Shelter from The Stones - pouring out from that old Dodge.

Wes