The Tiniest Mortician
This is a story about a strange little girl who tended the insect cemetery down the hill. She seemed happy, but always covered her face to hide her crooked smile. Staring out the window dreaming about dust specs or copying facts from a dictionary for fun. She was a quiet thing, not because she had nothing to say. She was quiet because if she opened her mouth she would stumble over her words. She would say something wrong and people would point and laugh and say, “You're weird!” She would turn red, instead of invisible which was the hue she was always striving for.
You may be thinking she was a morbid child with an insect cemetery and all, but far from it. Death terrified her. She didn't understand death. It was a quiet murmur after a phone call, a hushed tone, solitude, uncomfortable silence, and nothing more. There was never talk of a funeral. She'd never been to a real cemetery. Death must be dreadful. That's why we can't discuss it.
Morbid? No far from it. She loved life. All living creatures fascinated her. From aardvark to zebra, she loved them all. She loved to catch things and study them gently. No dissecting here. Just admiration and appreciation. Weird, right. The cemetery happened by chance, organically if you will. After rescuing a spider off a merry go round, she made it a little paper shelter for her spooky friend. Of course that caught the attention of all those normal kids so they started in with the teasing and eventually crushed her eight legged buddy. She was inconsolable. She took the crumpled paper shelter to class with the withered arachnid folded inside. Then she took a new piece of paper and started folding a box. Not a square or rectangle, this box was more long and hexagonal. Her favorite and weirdest teacher took notice and admired her craftsmanship. She asked why there was and opening on top. The weirdo quietly explained that that was the viewing window. Things progressed and it turns out the lifespan of a bug is quite short. Soon her origami skills had advanced and she had a collection of little bugs in little boxes with little windows in a little patch behind a shed. A little place all her own.
I know that little girl. Her crooked smile, and bright red face, and all her weirdness have made me a lucky and happy man for a long time. So smile you bright red weirdo, it's who you are and I love you, and so does everyone you meet.