My Best Friend

My best friend, Hilma Walker died in October last year. I hate burials for since I was a child, the idea of being put down into a deep, dark hole has always terrified me. But she did not want to be cremated.

Each time I think of her, I tend to think of her being all alone in this deep, dark cavern. And that was just not her for she was such a gregarious person.

I guess this is what was in my subconscious mind as I dreamt that she visited me on Saturday night. It was not at all scary but quite pleasant. She looked exactly as she always did-beautiful with the exception that she had short cropped hair, not her usual long, flowing hair.

I was surprised to see her and asked her how come as she was dead. She told me she was buried alive and had to claw her way out. I touched her to see if she was a ghost or real and she was real. I then told her that I had been against burial for the very reason that one could be buried alive.

She laughed and told me that had she been cremated, she would have been dead! That has cured me though I would never want to be buried myself.

I woke up feeling quite happy as I remembered that according to Jamaican folk lore, dreaming about the dead means someone is pregnant. Hmm, I wonder for who for it surely isn't me!

Actually her daughter Marsha had her second anniversary recently. Hmm. I wonder!