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The fever struck the night before her birthday. She went to bed early, skipping her evening walk, and wrapped herself in her sheets. She managed to sleep, but fitfully, waking often, simultaneously shivering and sweating, mouth parched.
By morning, she’d added a sore throat to the symptoms list. She couldn’t believe this was the result of a virus, especially not the virus. She couldn’t figure out where she’d have caught it. She had no job, she had few friends, and social distancing was in her DNA. When she did brave the public—she needed food occasionally—she always wore her mask. She’d been careful.
And then the cough kicked in, slowly at first, but building in both force and frequency. Her chest felt heavy, and she heard a whistling wheeze in the moments between coughs.
She called the local urgent care clinic and, in a surprisingly short time, met with a doctor via video conference. She sat in front of the floor fan, cooled by the air blowing across the sweat on her face.
The video conference went as expected, which is to say that it felt a little inconsequential. The doctor was understandably most interested in symptoms that would indicate COVID-19. Fever or chills? (Yes, though the ibuprofen had brought it most of the way down.) Cough? (Yes—dry and hacking.) Difficulty breathing? (A little bit of a wheeze, and coughing if she inhaled too deeply, but she wasn’t sure if that counted as difficulty breathing.) Fatigue? Aches? Sore throat? (Yes, yes, yes.)
Loss of taste or smell? She had to think about that one. Her mouth tasted gross, so she figured that was okay. She grabbed an orange, dug her thumbnail into the peel, and held it to her nose. It smelled good.
Nausea? Vomiting? Diarrhea? (No, no, and no.)
Had she been exposed to anyone with the virus? (She couldn’t imagine how.)
For the most part, the advice was what she expected. Self-quarantine, above all. Lots of rest and fluids. Ibuprofen, cough suppressant, lozenges. But they also wanted her to come in for a test.
She left a message for Mayumi, begging a ride to the clinic, then managed a shower in Mr. Matsuo’s house. Despite the heat, she dressed in sweats. She slipped into her sandals, closed the trailer door behind her, and shambled down to unlock Mr. Matsuo’s gate. She paused, surprisingly tired from the brief walk, but slipped on through, leaving the gate open while she shuffled under the trees toward the open lawn.
The cemetery was empty today. There was no funeral, no mother removing her heels to join her children at their father’s burial site. She was glad for that, glad for the cemetery’s respite from grief.
At Emily’s grave, she cautiously lowered herself to the ground. She sat for a long time, cross-legged, head bowed, wet hair warming in the sun. “I don’t know how you did it,” she said, finally, “but you got me.”
She was surprised at how unconcerned she felt. Her nineteenth birthday. She thought she’d feel something deeper—fear, perhaps, especially given her reaction last year. Or maybe rage: “rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Or a sense of injustice, or of bemusement in the face of superstition. She didn’t expect this sense of empty peace.
Probably another symptom of the illness, she thought. Just too tired to feel deeply.
She sat there until the heat from the sun made her think the fever might be creeping up again. Part of her had been waiting for some kind of acknowledgment from this long-dead girl, this girl who had died two days older than Emma Lee was now. No, not a girl—a woman, buried alone, with no ascertainable family, no record of parents or siblings or spouse. No obituary, no story in the paper about her life, about her birth or childhood or how she died. A name and a date of birth and a date of death. On her own. An independent woman.
Emma Lee kissed the tips of her fingers and laid them on the gravestone. “I hope you don’t mind if I try not to die,” she said. She struggled to her feet and headed unsteadily back toward the trailer.
Mayumi rose from the picnic bench as Emma Lee stepped through the gate, pulling it closed and locking it behind her. “I should have known,” Mayumi said, and started down toward her.
Emma Lee held up her hands. “Let me get my mask,” she said.
Mayumi stepped back and let Emma Lee pass by to the trailer. “I’ll be right out,” Emma Lee said.
A few minutes later—after a long bout of coughing, an ibuprofen, and a tall glass of water—Emma Lee sat in the doorway, her forehead in her hands. Mayumi leaned forward from the picnic bench and held out a bag. “Happy birthday,” she said. Emma Lee took it and looked inside. Cough suppressant, cough drops, vitamin C tablets, zinc, Nyquil. Things she’d asked for, and some things she hadn’t.
“Thanks,” Emma Lee said.
“How you feeling?” Mayumi asked.
“Like the bottom of a shoe,” Emma Lee said. “Trodden upon.”
Mayumi raised her eyebrows. “You still sound like you, at least,” she said.
Emma Lee smiled weakly, then remembered she was wearing a mask. “Yeah,” she said.
“When do you need to be at the clinic?”
“Ah, the clinic,” Emma Lee sighed. “They said I could go over pretty much any time. I’ll probably have to wait, but they want to give me a COVID test.”
“You really think you have it?”
“I have something.”
“Should we go?”
“Give me a few minutes. That walk tired me out.”
“Emily’s grave?”
“Stupid, huh?”
Mayumi shrugged. “I’m not going to claim I’m not weirded out,” she said.
“Yeah,” Emma Lee said, and coughed into her mask.
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Story by Greg Kemble. Art and animation by John David Irvine (thejohnirvine.com).
In addition to reading the series on the blog, you can enjoy “Emily’s Grave” in a few other formats (you’ll find links to all of these versions at the Emily’s Grave (a story) page):
- Videobook (YouTube) – I commissioned my friend and former student John David Irvine—now an award-winning animator—to create an atmospheric animation to accompany the audio version of the story.
- Audiobook (mp3) – Recorded by the author (that’s me!). You can listen to it on the blog or download it.
- Print version (PDF) – If you prefer to read written text, you can view or download a PDF version.
Tip Jar – Pay what you like, if you like.
A-and there’s merch! If you like John’s cover art, check out the shirts, coffee mugs, stickers (and more!) at Redbubble.
About the author (that’s me!)
Close-to-retirement English prof.
Occasional musician, blogger, and writer.
Mildly Introverted, mostly harmless.
About the artist
Multi award-winning artist/animator/filmmaker John David Irvine is known for his unique style of handcrafted animation and darkly surreal imagery. His cryptic work explores identity, queerness, and generational trauma, wading into the everyday horrors that undulate beneath the veneer of the mundane. His award-winning short film COMMON MONSTERS is currently being expanded into his feature film directorial debut.
Check him out at https://thejohnirvine.com.
“Emily’s Grave” © 2021 (text) and © 2023 (audio and video) by Greg Kemble are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0