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The Pharaoh's body lay cold on the large stone slab. His hands rested on his stomach, and his eyelids shut. His body naked and covered in a pile of salt. He had been lying there for over two full cycles of the moon. His body was only a whisper of what it once was. All his organs were removed for some time, with only his heart left. Each organ lay in a decadent vase in the room's corner. Each vase was painted with a god associated with that organ, ensuring the Pharaoh’s devotion to each god. With the organs removed from its life source, taken away from the circulation of blood, they too were just as shriveled, and sad, as the Pharaoh’s body. With his body so empty, the skin had rested in his hollow shell. Every bone could be identified through his skin. Pulled so taut, that he appeared as if he could rip at any moment. The Pharaoh was never big. Never quite that tall, never more than just barely fighting off malnutrition, and never fit. Yet even his body lost a great deal of mass. Akron approached the Pharaoh and placed his hand on his. He shed a little tear, as he looked at his friend under that pile of salt and stepped away.
***
British Museum: 1972
Millie stood in front of the thick glass box that contained the remains of the 3,000-year-old Pharaoh. She read the little card filled with information about who this Pharaoh was, and what was known of him. But it was incredibly short, and it didn’t seem to be filled with much. Millie had loved ancient Egypt and was particularly excited about her class visiting the British Museum. Ever since watching Cleopatra with her mom about a year ago, and seeing how glamourous Elizabeth Taylor was as Cleopatra, she fell in love with it all. She loved the idea of the ancient rituals, the hieroglyphics, their architecture, and the daily life of what it was like to be a Pharaoh. Yet no one else in her class even bothered to look enthralled.
“And on our right here, we have the famous Boy King of Ancient Egypt, King Tutankhamun. Or just King Tut for easier pronunciation. Brand new to the exhibit, you are some of the first non-historians to ever see his remains.” the tours guide said while pointing to the glass box Millie stood directly next to.
Millie knew little about Ancient Egypt. She had only recently discovered her passion for the era. She was only nine or so and had much time to explore that passion that would become her profession.
“Does anyone know why he’s important? Or why he’s here today?” The tour guide looked around and could see a lack of interest from the class. Most of them looked as if not a single thought lay behind those eyes. Millie looked around before raising her hand. She was never one to answer many questions. But, with her interest in the subject, she wanted to know more.
“Yes, you in the pink jacket in the back,” The tour guide said.
“Was he an important ruler?” She said timidly, and in her little kid British accent.
“Not quite, but good guess. He was said to be about eight or nine when he took the throne. Very sick from the generations of incest that he was a byproduct of. Dying around the time of his twentieth year. This of course is not what made him famous. He had little time to leave an impression on the empire. And due to his illness, he was not much of a Pharaoh. His advisors often did the work for him, as he lay ill.”
Millie felt a wave of questions wash over her. She was only nine, and so was this boy when he took the throne 3,000 years ago. She felt something inside of her that almost connected her to him. She put her hand on the glass next to her and stared at the wrapped-up body behind it.
“How did the mummification process work?” Millie asked, continuing to stare at the Pharaoh’s body.
“Excellent question.” The tour guide began.
***
Egypt, 1323 BCE
“I know this is hard to see.” A man said, stepping out of the shadows. “It’s hard to look at the deceased in this vein.” He said, with each word drawn out, holding a level of authority and manipulation in his words.
Akron turned back to see who it was. Horemheb, the late Pharaoh's advisor, standing tall, and draped in ceremonial robes behind him. He then creepily placed his hand on the shoulder of Akron. As if trying to sympathize with him, and not knowing how.
“I knew he had been sick; I just didn’t know it was going to be so soon,” Akron said, saddened.
“It’s been a few moons. So it isn’t that fresh of a death.” He paused to think. “Pharaohs come and they go, nothing can be done. All that we can do is secure their place in the afterlife.” Horemheb said in a monotone voice as if it were some prepared speech. Akron didn’t doubt that it was.
Two men came into the room where Akron and Horemheb stood. Horemheb took a step back, placing his hand back down. Then giving them a small nod, notifying them to continue the mummification process. The two men began to remove the salt that laid over the Pharaoh's body. Scooping piles of the salt into their hands and pushing the salt onto the floor. With the salt gone, the men continued. Beginning to douse his body in the oils of pine and cedar, which quickly filled the room. Lathering him up, as if he was some large beast, being prepared for a feast. Akron watched and couldn’t help but shed yet another tear. He thought of all the things he never got to say to his friend and would never be able to say to him. He thought that watching this process would put his grief to rest, but it only made it stronger, and harder to bear.
Once the two men had completely coated the Pharaoh in oils, they began covering his body in resin to allow the cloth to secure tightly to his withered flesh. Horemheb stood tall behind Akron, observing to ensure the job was executed correctly. The resin they poured over the Pharaoh’s body looked hot and sticky. The only thought Akron had while watching it, was how exceptionally painful it would have been had he been alive. How, if he was alive, this undoubtedly would be an act of punishment. A cruel, and unusual sort of torture. It made it harder for Akron to watch. In so many ways, Akron still hadn’t been able to fathom Tut was dead. In so many ways, he was alive still. Watching his body get doused in something that would have melted his skin off, sickened him.
With the Pharaoh’s body covered in sticky goo, he looked like he shined. He was a glossy mess. You could see as the resin slowly dried, it stopped to drip. It had clung onto the Pharaoh more tightly than his skin did over his bones. The two men then gathered the yards of linen they would securely wrap his body in. Akron watched as his friend was wrapped layer by layer. Inch by inch his body would disappear behind the linen cloth until only his head was left to cover. This would be the last time that he would ever see his friend's face again. When they had covered him up, all there was left was an outline of his body. An outline that didn’t even resemble the true shape of his friend. It was the withered, sad, and long-deceased version of the Pharaoh. And not the lively man Akron knew. It was the first time Akron felt his friend was gone. No way of seeing, touching, or hearing him. It was like the loss had become more real. There were a few final steps left in the process, but his body was ready to be taken to his resting place.
***
“And that’s how they make mummies.” The tour guide said
Throughout the tour guide's entire talk, Millie hadn’t taken her eyes off the Pharaoh. She envisioned this young man being coated in the things, placed in a sarcophagus, and the hopes of his body never seeing the light of day. She couldn’t explain why, but her heart yearned for more answers to her never-ending questions. She felt like she needed to know Tut’s life story. There was so much mystery to him. She knew she was a little mysterious with how vague and shy she was. Millie raised her hand with a new question.
“Yes.” The tour guide said.
“If he died at just twenty, is that all that made him famous? Just because he was young and sick?”
“Very good question. There is a lot more to the story. His fame came from his discovery in 1922, which is quite late compared to many other Pharaohs we know of. Within the Valley of the Kings, before even Cleopatra took the throne, many of the tombs had been raided by robbers. Tomb raiding was a serious problem while many Pharaohs were on the throne. King Tutankhamun’s tomb though, laid full until 1922. The reason for this was Ramesses the Sixth. He was king many years after Tut, so the rubble from his tomb when it was being built had fallen on top of Tutankhamun’s. He lay untouched and unseen. And due to his little time on the throne, he was lost to history. There was hardly any evidence of his existence. Even when they began to dig up his tomb, they thought it to be the tomb of a noble. To their surprise, it was a Pharaoh. Our record states that King Tutankhamun’s tomb is the smallest of any Pharaoh.”
“That doesn’t make him famous though. That just makes him unimportant to the ancient Egyptians. Having a small tomb seems sad, not glorious.” Millie blurted out.
She was saddened by that thought. The idea he was given such a sad place to rest. He was just like all the other Pharaohs yet why did he have to get such a small tomb? Was it because he was young? There seemed to be no good reason for his small resting place. It felt like when her brother got something bigger because it was bigger and older, it wasn’t far. Millie became worried for the Pharaoh. She felt no one was there to protect how he felt. No one is there to help honor his life.
“That is true. I was getting there.” The tour guide paused. “After they had opened his tomb, this little rumor of something called the Pharaoh’s curse started to spread. After the opening of King Tut’s tomb, six men died. And those who didn’t die had unfortunate luck for years.”
***
Akron walked with Horemheb to the site of the late Pharaoh's tomb. Walking a long distance as the slaves carry his incredibly heavy sarcophagus and artifacts. As he walked, he kept thinking of how his friend’s body only lay a few feet away from him, yet he was untouchable. Sealed behind layer and layer of stone, metal, gold, and even cloth and resin. His body was never to see the light of day again. He thought it odd, how much he had been thinking of his death. He should be somewhat excited for his friend. He was to have a life in the afterlife. He was to be greeted with open arms and celebrated every day with those who have passed. But it didn’t sit right with Akron. Maybe because Tut had only lived for twenty full season cycles. Hardly able to live the proper life of a Pharaoh. Spending much of that time ill, and bedridden. Maybe that’s what bothered him the most. Knowing how many days and nights he spent lying in bed with a fever, or some sort of pain. Lying in that sarcophagus was no different. His physical body would lie there until the end of time, and that’s what Akron convinced himself was the reason he was so sad. But a little voice inside of him told him it was because of the things he never got to say or do with Tut. The things he couldn’t say because he had no place for those feelings. He knew Tut only saw him as a friend. There were many more people Tut had to think about before Akron became a concern. That included his wife. Yet, there were times when he wondered if Tut thought of him the way he thought of Tut. Sometimes at night, Akron found himself unable to sleep, only thinking of Tut. Sitting there, wondering if Tut couldn’t sleep either, or was thinking of him.
He shook his head, making the little voice leave his thoughts. Akron told himself he should be grateful to be here, and not sad. He was here when even Tut’s wife wasn’t. And he felt fortunate that Horemheb even allowed him to be here. This wasn’t the average burial, so it made sense that the average precautions would be taken. Outsiders usually are not included in this ordeal. But Akron could not help but shake the feeling of something off. Like he never got to give a proper goodbye. He pleaded to Horemheb to allow him to be here, and it worked. But he had thought for some time that it only worked because Horemheb didn’t care. He never seemed affectionate towards Tut, and never really cared to be around him. Akron thought it upon himself to be the one here to protect Tut’s rights. To have his best interests at heart. If Horemheb wouldn’t, then he would.
When they had reached his tomb, Akron watched as the slaves walked in item after item. The tomb had been slapped together at the last minute. With the death only two short moon cycles ago, it had to be completed quickly. Horemheb saw it as extremely fortunate the Pharaoh had a place to rest at all. While Akron just saw it as a sad gesture. Workers had yet to begin the grand tomb a regular Pharaoh would receive. There was no way of knowing just how soon the Pharaoh would pass, so there was no time to prepare for his death. They had fortunately started a tomb for a priest, and so this would have to do for the Pharaoh. Akron didn’t see it as fair. A small tomb, with less space to fill with his riches. Less importance, and less adornment. But no one else seemed to see it from Akron’s perspective. Horemheb stood by Akron’s side, watching as items were moved into the tomb.
“Are you sure we should seal it up?” Akron said, somewhat panicked
“What good is it to have gotten his body ready, and have moved in all of his treasures, if we proceed to not seal it?” Horemheb spoke in a rushed and hushed tone. Making sure the workers around couldn’t hear.
“I know, it’s just…far from ideal for a Pharaoh.” He muttered quietly. Akron felt as though they were sealing him up, to just rid of him.
“What do you propose we do then?” Horemheb let out quietly, but angrily. “It takes years to build something for a Pharaoh. We cannot just carve something into the side of this mountain in a matter of moons. No one expected him to die this young. We’re lucky we had been building something for a lesser noble. He’s lucky he has a place at all.”
“This just isn’t right!” Akron argued back. “He was a leader of this empire; he deserves to be buried somewhere that wasn’t slapped together. The paint still drips. His treasures are far from lavish. This is the resting place of a priest, not a Pharaoh. He may have only led us for a few years, but he has just as much of a right to an extravagant afterlife as any other Pharaoh before him.” Akron finished huffing from anger.
“Akron, you have no place to be outspoken on the matter. You’re lucky I let you be a part of this. He was only a child, and that’s why I even am allowing you to have some input. I knew the two of you were close, but I have to take the lead. As his advisor, I must do what’s right for him and our empire. And what’s right, is to proceed with this, to seal him up, and move on to our next burial. I must make sure nothing like this happens again…we’ll be more prepared for a situation like this. We’ll start on the next five tombs if needed. We’re done here.” Horemheb turned his back to Akron and began to walk away.
“You can’t just do this,” Akron said as if it would persuade Horemheb in some way.
“Oh, but I can. What makes you think I can't?” He said, not even bothering to turn back to Akron
“You know it’s not right. This tomb was meant for someone of less importance.”
“He was of less importance. He didn’t do anything for our empire. He was too young and far too sick to properly lead us.” Horemheb said, still not bothered to turn around.
“How can you say that? He was still a Pharaoh. If our people hundreds or thousands of years from now, come across his tomb, they will not know he was a Pharaoh. This tomb suggests little. We walk along this Valley, and we can see just exactly who was important. Seeing this is nothing but an insult to the late Majesty.”
“Oh, my dear boy. You don’t get it.” Horemheb paused. “I’ll erase him from history if I must. It would be easy. He only had a handful of years to be spoken of. Burn a few letters here, crumble some stone there. No one will even remember his name. Let our predecessors think nothing more of him than as if he were a commoner if they are to find his tomb. All I care about is to bury his body and move on with our next Pharaoh.” Horemheb continued his walk.
“I did not say to leave him out of history. I said to make his mark grander, more impressive. Why are you twisting my words?”
“He did nothing for our empire.” Horemheb turned around and let out angrily. “For all I care, he deserves no greater than this tomb of a noble. I’m more deserving of his large tomb. I did his work; he was nine when he took the throne. He was not fit to lead. He didn’t do anything for us, I did. I advised him on the right calls and the right ideas. Everything he did was at the command. It is I who should be honored. Not this sickly little nothing. I’m done with you.” Horemheb continued to walk away.
Akron looked defeated; he fell to his knees in the sand. As he looked down at the sand, he thought of one last thing. And one thing only. Never had he tried to do something like this before, but he thought there were no other options.
***
“Did they die of a curse? I thought those weren’t real.” One of Millie’s classmates said. Millie wanted to believe in it. She felt with her whole heart there was someone out there who wanted to protect the Pharaoh. She thought of how beautiful the message was, that if someone cared about you enough, they would want to protect you for eternity. She needed to believe that was the case.
“Well, there is no evidence of curses, so in many ways, it’s up for debate. Egyptians believed in them strongly, and there are other cultures that did as well. So, I cannot say for absolute certainty it’s a yes or a no. But it would be quite the gesture if it is to be true.”
Millie placed her hand on the glass yet again, as if trying to get into the mind of the Pharaoh. Who was trying to protect you? She muttered to herself. She felt she needed to know more about why there would have been a curse, and who would have wanted to protect Tut so badly.
“However, there is a new artifact to the collection…well, new to us, it’s thousands of years old.” The tour guide said with a chuckle. No one else laughed. “Right. We aren’t quite sure where in the Egyptian timeline this falls, but we think it might belong to Tut’s things. Would you all like to see it?”
Millie whipped her head around, more eager than ever to see the artifact. It seemed a few of the kids in the crowd perked up as well, but none were as excited as Millie. The tour guide opened a display case a few paces away from the Pharaoh’s case and placed it on white gloves. From out of the case, she grabbed the limestone slab. Painted on, were symbols that looked outlandish to Millie. Animals, squiggles, eyeballs, and pillars filled the stone, and Millie was mesmerized.
***
Akron grabbed the sand in his fist and muttered something that Horemheb couldn’t hear. He continued to mutter it until Horemheb turned to face Akron.
“Do speak up if you are going to speak to your elders. Not that you have anything to contribute to this conversation that I can easily dispute,” he said to Akron.
Akron stood up with the sand falling from his fists. Uttering an old tongue. Horemheb recognized it as an outdated version of their Language. But, he had no idea what he spoke of. Horemheb began to look puzzled. Akron repeated it at least five times before stopping. He stood proud and, in a huff, looking at the old advisor, waiting for his next move. Clouds slowly began to fill the sky, but nothing startled Horemheb. When Horemheb noticed Akron was done, he let out a laugh. A large laugh shook his whole body.
“Oh, child, you do amuse me. If you think some ancient little curse of the old gods is going to do something, please, be my guest. Lay next to our late Majesty and utter it as long as you want. I’ll even seal you up next to him and let you keep uttering this nonsense. We’ve already carved words similar into the tomb as a precaution.” He paused and let out a little chuckle. “But that hasn’t stopped tomb robbers before, now, has it. Do stay as long as you like, I’m sure your words of…encouragement, will help our late king rest easy.” He turned his back to Akron and walked away, amused by his own wit.
“Workers, please seal up this tomb. I’m done with it.” He yelled out. And at the command of Horemheb, they began to get the large rocks in place.
As Horemheb walked away, Akron continued to speak the old dialect. A tongue passed down in his family, that no one else knew of, and if they did, they would never dare speak it. He continued to speak it, but Horemheb continued to walk. The clouds began to roll in faster and seemed to have gotten darker. The bright sun, of the hot summer day, began to dissipate until it was overcast, and a slight wind chill picked up. At this point, Horemheb turned around, yet again to see Akron continuing to chant. Slightly spooked as of now and stood there watching. The wind picked up, blowing Horemhebs ceremonial robes about. Lightning struck the side of the mountain, and rocks began to fall. Quickly gaining speed, they smashed into the ground. Several men were crushed under the enormous weight, dying instantly. Akron finished his chant, and he stood looking at Horemheb.
“Akron, what are you doing?” Horemheb was not entirely convinced this was real yet, still under the impression that this was a mere coincidence.
“I’m doing this for him. If you’re not going to protect him, I will.”
“But why? Why him? He was just a boy; he wasn’t anything special.” Horemheb said yelling over the wind.
“Because I loved him. Everyone wrote him off as sick, and weak. But he wasn’t. He was smart and kind. You, nor his wife could even see that.”
“But he didn’t see you like that. He didn’t look at you the way you looked at him.” Horemheb said, trying to insult Akron.
“Maybe so. But, if no one else is going to protect him, then I will. Let it be known that my love will last eternity and carry on through generations. Know that I am the sole protector of the late Majesty.”
Akron took a knife out of his pocket and plunged it deep into his heart. With all his might, he forced the knife down his chest until he was left with a good gash. He fell onto his knees in the sand and looked up to the sky. A final tear fell down his cheek, and he whispered to the wind, I’ll see you soon, friend. He then fell face-first into the sand. The clouds began to back off, and the wind died down. Horemheb waited a few minutes before approaching Akron’s body. He lifted his arm with the wrist and then dropped it. He knew he was dead. Horemheb shook the look of horror off his face and turned back around.
“Nothing happened here, finish the tomb, and find a place for Akron’s body.” He said, in a shaky voice, then walked his way back to the palace with lots to contemplate.
***
“If the curse is to be true, and this stone slab is accurate, and not a fable, it is believed that the late Pharaoh had a close friend who put a curse on his tomb. The slab reads about his friend, who was beside himself with grief after the Pharaoh's unexpected death. More so than he should have been for someone who was only a friend. Often it is interpreted that he was in love with the Pharaoh, but had no way to express it, and with the Pharaoh married, no way to tell him. Angered by his small resting place, and his early death, his gesture of love, the only thing he thought he could give, was the curse he attempted to put on the tomb. A curse to protect his late friend. Hoping that maybe the curse would work, and prevent anyone from finding him, and if they did, years of bad luck were to come. After laying his curse on the tomb, he would then kill himself in the hope he could be with his friend in the afterlife. But this might have only been a fable. Our only record of this being true is a partial slab of limestone, that I am holding here. Much of this information is filled in with what historians think it might have said as a good portion is missing. So, we have no way of knowing if it's true, or if it is indeed King Tut, whom this man seemed to be in love with. It could have been many Pharaohs, as there were almost two hundred of them. But, historians, including myself, feel it goes best with the items and the information we do know about Tut.”
Millie’s eyes had a glow about them. It was one of the most beautiful tales she had ever heard. She knew in her heart it was real and knew she would never experience that level of devotion. She looked at the Pharaoh behind the class, and a small tear fell from her eyes. You had a great friend; I hope you know. She whispered to herself. She had a million and one questions to ask, but there wasn’t the time.
“Children, we don’t have too much time here. We have to leave for lunch.” Their teacher said.
“Well then, shall we move on,” The tour guide asked.
“We shall.” Their teacher said, and Millie sighed, knowing all her questions would go unanswered until she was old enough to work in the field.
Grace Fletcher is the face of powerful women in America. I’ve been supporting her left leaning political movement since I could vote and when I received the opportunity to work for her after her retirement, I couldn’t help but take up the offer. She is quite a bit older now yet still up to date with every fashion trend. Her long silky white hair and blue eyes makes for the perfect face of every Newspaper article. When I started working for her a few years back, I soon became her favorite employee and after leaving my family on the east coast, Grace quickly filled my short-lived family void by treating me as her own.
Although her pace and schedule has slowed down quite a bit, she keeps me on my toes. Earlier today she had a photoshoot with Time Magazine at 6am. I can barely make it in at 8am most days with my nights consisting of Amelia and I staying up late chain-smoking cigarettes and playing records. Although it took me a minute to wake up, I arrived at 6am sharp and noticed Grace without her lipstick. I’ve never seen her without it. After all her years in the spotlight, me and the rest of the world have been convinced the dark maroon color permanently stained her lips. The funny thing about Grace is she won’t tell anyone the brand she uses, as if this lipstick contains gold flakes and diamonds. Without acknowledging the lack of color usually broadcasted across her face, I continued with my usual duties.
“Good morning! You look tired, Stella. Were you up late again?” Grace said.
“Well, you did have me come in earlier than usual.” I laughed.
One main reason I took this job was due to location. Sure, working for a celebrity is great, but my career isn’t gonna start by sitting around in Vermont waiting to be discovered. Strategically this was the best plan for me. I also grew tired from the same look my father gave me every time I told him that I wanted to pursue music. I even graduated college with a degree in business, worked random jobs from here to there but none of it made him or me happy. Singing does. That’s what I set out to LA to do. I even started busking on the streets from time to time and although it always seems promising, I normally make about 60 bucks and end up dealing with some creepy men, that want to take me home.
After leaving Grace’s photoshoot, I noticed she seemed a bit off. More than off. She’s always been known for her kindness, which I’ve admired, yet today she seemed a little short fused and impatient. I like to think it’s old age but all these years in the spotlight are finally taking a toll on her. Grace is flying out to New York tomorrow for an award ceremony and I sure hope she doesn’t get bad press for being rude. Before I let myself worry about Grace too much, I remembered Amelia was at home waiting for me. Amelia fell in love with me because of my singing. Week after week of busking on the street, she would always step out of her bar and listen to a few songs before I packed up. I’ve always admired her ability to see me for more than Grace’s assistant, as well as Grace’s ability for seeing me as more than just a lesbian. In an imperfect world it’s perfect.
“Hi Hun, you excited for tomorrow” Amelia said as she opened the door to let me into the apartment.
“Hi, love. More nervous than excited”
“You’ve got this, you always do.” Amelia always made time for me and my wants, something I have always felt I lacked when returning the favor back to her. Amelia and I continued our night which then ended with the usual of falling asleep on the couch with far too much booze in my system. I woke up before my alarm went off. Eager to start the day, I jumped out of bed and saw Amelia in the kitchen.
“Todays the day!” Amelia smiled.
“I love you, but your excitement is making me even more nervous” I responded.
“I’m sure you’ll do great, you always do,” she said. Tonight, I have the biggest gig of my career. Saturday night headliner for The Crow, a bar in the most central part of LA filled by tourists and locals to enjoy the new musical artists. I tried avoiding the calendar for the last few weeks so I don’t get nervous but with Amelia staring at me, I could feel every ounce of nerves I’ve ever had fill up my stomach. I ate breakfast and changed the topic and let her go on and on about the newest celebrity love drama. Distraction always works best for me on days like this. I decided to take a walk to the coffee shop and on the way back, I heard my phone ding, thinking it was from Amelia, I opened my phone and saw Grace’s name pop up. The text read… ‘I cancelled my flight, I think I have a stomach bug, would you mind running an errand for me?’ This was quite odd as her assistant; I’m normally updated before any plans change. I figured out of any day; this might have been the best for her to text me. Any distractions to keep my mind off tonight will help. I texted her back, dropped off a coffee for Amelia and left for Grace’s.
“Stella, you’ve made it. Thanks for stopping by short notice.” Grace said. Again, not wearing her usual shade of marron, she looked rather pale almost as if this was more than the flu.
“Of course. Are you doing, okay? You look a little ill.”
“I’m fine dear. I appreciate your concern, but I am getting older and being sick at 76 is much different than being sick in your twenties. Besides the point, would you mind running to my brother’s house and picking up something for me?” she said.
I nodded. “I’ll have Edward take you.” I looked over at Ed and gave a slight smile, he liked me. Ed’s been Graces driver since she her first campaign started. He always looked tired, and his stern demeanor didn’t help. I’m sure over 50 years of driving the same person around will do that to you. Grace has never offered her driver to me alone. I knew this errand had to be somewhat important. Before I knew it, I was following Ed to the car. As he opened the door for me, I noticed a crimson envelope on the seat addressed to Vincent. Before I knew it, we pulled up at a beautiful yet humble brick house on the east side of the city. Ed gave me a look to get out, and I took the note and walked up the mossy cobblestone steps to the door. I knocked twice and I noticed my Dutch braid that I usually keep in my hair was already starting to come apart. I start to pull my hands up to fix it when I hear the doorknob start to move.
“Hello! Grace sent me with this for you!” I noticed another man on the couch behind him, although I have never been to Vincent’s house, I’ve never seen him with anyone else. After walking inside briefly, I noticed so many signed records on the wall. Madonna, Michael Jackson, the list went on. Before I knew it. Vincent handed me a small box with a burgundy ribbon addressed to Grace.
“Thanks for stopping by, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” He laughed and walked me back out to Ed.
After returning to Graces, I looked at the clock and noticed I still had a few more hours before I had to get ready. I ended up staying and talking with her, we shared a bottle of red wine, and she went on to ask about the gig this evening and gave me as much encouragement as she could. I reassured her that, if I suck, she won’t fire me which made us both giggle, yet her laugh turned into a cough that sounded bad which was my queue to leave.
‘Thank you again Stella, for doing that for me such short notice.”
“Of course, can I do anything else for you? I know you’re not feeling great.”
“No, no, enjoy your night my dear, I will see you soon and I wish you the best of luck. I promise you are worth far more than you will give yourself credit for and I’m so deeply proud of you.” Tears welt up in her eyes, which caused mine to start to water. Grace is never gushy, so this was odd. She stopped herself from getting too emotional and walked me out the door and again said she will see me soon. After leaving I could feel the nerves starting to hit me. Although 200 people isn’t a lot for artists who sell out stadiums, to me, it feels like every person I’ve ever met is standing in front of me watching.
Amelia helped me get ready for the night, she always did my hair, clothes, and makeup for special occasions. This time she put me in a dark blue button up with eyeliner and straightened my hair. Before I knew it, we headed out the door and arrived at The Crow. After the few other artists went on, I could feel my heart racing, my turn is next. I could hear people laughing, drinking, and enjoying the performers before me. Amelia sat right in front. I heard my name being announced and walked out on stage. I exhaled deeply and began playing. Before I knew it, my first song was over, and people were cheering. I looked out in the cheering audience and in the back, I saw a TV with Grace Fletcher’s face on it. I ignored it, thinking it was some drama filled commercial or show where they expose celebrities. I had a sip of my beer and took a deep breath and started my next song. I notice everyone smiling and enjoying the show then I hear a gasp from the audience. I looked up at the TV and it read, GRACE FLETCHER DEAD AT 76, FOUND IN LIVING ROOM BY PERSONAL DRIVER.
I could not even process what I was reading. I read it over again.
Grace Fletcher Dead at 76, Found in Living Room by Personal Driver.
I stopped breathing. I looked up at everyone in the audience and noticed they were all staring at me. Before I could even start to cry, I remembered I was on stage. With everyone looking at me, I had to make a choice to stop or keep playing. I stopped. I ran off stage, I couldn’t keep the tears in. Amelia took me out the back door into the car. I grabbed my phone and started calling Grace repeatedly. Voicemail after voicemail. It started to hit me, my chest felt heavy, my eyes started to well up. I couldn’t breathe. My skin felt dirty and everything that was being said around me was muffled. Amelia kept trying to reassure me, that stopping the show was the right thing to do and that I’ll be okay but all I didn’t want to hear any of it.
The morning after, I felt like a brick wall hit me. Grace was dead and on top of that, I walked out of the biggest gig of my life. I found the courage to call Vincent. I didn’t want to be a bother, no matter how much she called me her daughter to everyone else I was just her assistant. I didn’t just like Grace, I loved her. She made me feel seen. I knew at some point she would die, and I would experience all these emotions but not this week, not this year and not this decade. I hadn’t even thought about the gig I just played; everything became a blur. I could feel my chest beating as the phone rang calling Vincent. No answer. Nothing. After another day of waiting anxiously, I finally got a call back.
“Stella.”
“Vincent, are you okay? What happened? What’s next?” I could feel the word vomit exploding from my mouth.
“Calm down. It will be okay; I would like you to come over today if you can and I will fill you in on everything. I’m sorry, it’s been quite somber over here.”
After returning from Vincent’s, I filled Amelia in explaining that apparently Grace had stage 4 breast cancer and didn't want to tell anyone. The only people she told were Vincent and Ed. Amelia looked as shocked as I did.
“What’s next?” she said.
“No funeral, no celebration of life, nothing. I guess I take a few weeks and look for a new job.” Deep down I knew Amelia hated this answer just as much as I did. Days passed on, my depression only got worse, Amelia got me into a therapist to help the process. At this point, I knew no one would hire me for a gig or for any regular job. On day 21 after Graces passing, I was sitting on my couch looking for new jobs when I heard the doorbell ring. I opened the door, and no one was there but below me on the floor lay a box with the name Stella on it. My birthday is a few days away, I figured it was from my sister. I looked around one more time and then grabbed the box and locked the door. I sat down and noticed the envelope looked the exact same as the one I delivered to Vincent.
‘My Stella,
I’m sorry to inform you so late notice that I was dying. I didn’t want to worry you. You have always been good to me, and I appreciate you after all these years. You were the daughter I never had.’ I started to feel my eyes well up but continued reading the rest of the letter, “After all these years of hard work, I wanted to get you something. I know how fond you are of music, and you are quite good. I let my brother have a listen to a CD you gave me a few months back. He liked it. Vincent and his husband Charles own a record label. Vincent prefers to be anonymous in his work along with his husband, carrying no relation to me or my career or mine to theirs. They’ve started many careers in the music industry which I’m sure he will tell you all about. That envelope has your new contract that Vincent signed. All it’s waiting for is a signature from you. Stella, you are a talented young woman, use that to your advantage.
I will see you on the other side,
With love
Grace Fletcher’
I couldn’t believe it; I did not believe it. I spent a few weeks deciding if I still wanted to pursue music. It felt wrong to have this set up for me, almost as wrong as Grace not telling me she was dying but with Amelia pushing me, I signed the contract.
One year later I started my first tour through America. Amelia went with me to all the shows I had on the west coast. My first album hit the top 10 charts within 2 weeks. I had gone from just being Grace’s assistant to the newest hit artist Stella. I let Vincent guide me through every step and tried to remain calm through the sudden pressure. Ed was now my driver. He became my best friend on the road when Amelia couldn’t be there. My last show on the tour was tonight and I was starting to get emotional on the way there. I could feel eyes on me.
“I don’t want to hear any crying back there,” Ed said.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be sad I just wish Grace could see this.”
“She would tell you that you deserve it. You know, I’ve been meaning to give this to you, I thought tonight would be a good night because it’s your last show. It’s from Grace.” Ed handed me a box with a burgundy ribbon as he was driving.
Speechless, I grabbed the box. I looked back up and Ed then down again. I removed the ribbon and opened the box and below the tissue paper lay 3 gold tubes. I picked up one and opened the lid, and there was the dark maroon color I had come to know. My eyes started watering; I grabbed the mirror from my purse. I glided the dark maroon color over my lips and looked at myself with tears still streaming down my face. The car stopped.
“Miss Stella, you okay back there? We’ve arrived,” Ed said.
“I’m ready.”
