On rotations—at the medical examiner.
That pretty little neck. It was all covered up. The yellow scarf was silk, but if it was polyester, it should have been silk. The scarf stretched out to her legs. That long slender white neck. The scarf tied so nicely around her neck. She had blonde, sandy—the color of autumn leaves just turning golden—hair. It was thick and curly. Dyed hair with natural curls. It took a while to untie her scarf. She had many loops and tricks with that scarf around her neck. And once the scarf slithered out, there it left the footprints. Pink-red circles wrapped around like a rollercoaster. It was not purple yet. It made her neck look odd. It made her neck stretch, like she had one too many vertebra. She had on a nice clean shirt, maybe blue plaid with snap buttons made out of shell. Or maybe it was a blouse with small blue and red flowers. It matched her delicate earrings and her longer than long scarf. Her shirt was tucked inside of her jeans. Her jeans were crisp. Her boots were not scraped or scuffed. Did she match her scarf to her outfit earlier that day or later that day? She looked peaceful, so pretty. She only had mascara on. Her perfume had already dissipated. She almost said something. She said something so softly—it was audible only if the power was turned off and all the electrical hums were silenced—“Finally.”
Earlier that day she probably fake laughed with Mom. She may have even genuinely let out a really good belly roar with her palms sweating of the plan she had made. She and her Mom were going to the fair that evening. They ate lunch at lunchtime. They had a nice time. She said she would go home, change, and meet her at the fair. It was Mom’s birthday. Which rides did she think of, if she did? Or was she perspiring and formulating her list of things to-do? Or was she relieved of it all?
It was about a love. She left a note with handwriting full of frills and loops and puffs. They were big fun letters that joined together in haste. She could not be with him. Was that really the reason for her pretty little neck to be wrapped by that long yellow scarf?
The scarf was yellow, sure, but with burgundy flowers, light blue paisleys, and a succinct brown trim containing it all. Was the scarf in her possession for a while? Or did she go and purposely buy it? Or did her sister give it to her, with all her love? Who did she know that had done this before? Did she too, want to try it? Did she change into her shirt and jeans or blouse and jeans with those nice and clean boots? Had Mom already seen her outfit at lunch?
She stood on her coffee table. It was a coffee table that she drank tea and put her feet on. It was a coffee table that she threw her mail or her keys on. The coffee table could bear her weight. No glass on it. Where did she know about the knot? A classic slipknot. How did she know how to tie those? Maybe she looked it up online a week and a half ago and practiced it on her favorite baseball bat or beer bottle. She was of age to drink, just barely.
She thought to herself, “Finally.” She hung there, perfectly alive looking but perfectly lifeless when her Mom opened the door to the living room. She never went to the fair, neither her nor her Mom.