Bessie

17

The sun rose and everything fell. The entire powdery contents of the plastic packet arced majestically through the morning air and then dropped onto the rocks below.
“Shit.”
Alex and her mother observed the ashes from the dock in silence. They lay in fluffy piles on the high rocks, yards from the swirling water of the Atlantic.
“Shiiiiiit.”
“Alex!” Alex’s mom cried.
“I totally thought they’d go over! I thought they’d have more, like, velocity? Momentum?”
“It’s powder, imbecile.”
“You told me to do it.”
Another long silence. The ashes began to dissolve into the wet rock, mingling with the bird poop and barnacles like some kind of repulsive version of a Jackson Pollock. A seagull landed to scope out the scene and immediately took flight in distaste.
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Maybe he’ll like it on the rocks. At least it’s an ocean view?”
“I don’t know. That’s a depressing place to spend eternity.”
“Are there any left?”
“Maybe... yeah, nope. I went all in.”
“Damn.”
“Why did we do it at the ocean anyway?” Alex ventured. “We don’t even have any nice family memories here. Unless you count the time when you were piggybacking me in the water and he yelled, ‘Whale rider!’ ”
“I don’t.”
“Good thing I missed, then.”
Alex left the dock and went to wade in the water. She dunked the plastic package, swirled it around, and dumped it into the oncoming tide. The flecks of ash dropped into the water and rushed back toward her, splashing all over her thighs. Great. She turned around to look at her mother and shrugged.
“It’s like a Woody Allen movie!” Alex’s mom called.
Slightly more heartened, they walked away through the sand.
“What do you want to do now?” Alex’s mother asked as they crossed the street to their motel.
“I don’t know.”
“We have the rest of the day...we should do something Dad would’ve liked.”
“So, like, eat mixed nuts and watch spaghetti Westerns.” Alex said.
“We could.” They’d reached the room.
“Gross. I won’t watch anything with Clint Eastwood. He’s so anti semitic.”
“That’s Mel Gibson, Alex.” Alex’s mom replied.
“Oh. Then that won’t save us.” Alex stared at the door handle and slowly turned the knob.