Author: Khushi Ramlogun
Image: Sophia Simmons

The new widow had less than two hours. Hurrying into the taxi, she urged the sluggish driver to step on the gas. She had to pick up her newly deceased husband’s dentures before the rigor mortis set in. It was his dying wish to be buried with teeth.

She loathed the man. All their married life, he had abused, scolded and ridiculed her. She had not really laughed or earnestly smiled in decades. Still, she felt the need to fulfill his wish not only for his sake, but for hers as well. Who would want to see his decrepit, sunken mouth before the funeral? Better to keep it full.

She swore to herself as traffic inched along. The streets were littered with honking scooters and bustling markets. At last, she arrived at their home. It was nestled in abundant lychee trees. She bounded up the stairs and grabbed the crusted denture case lying next to his razor.

Back in the taxi, catching her breath, she was struck by flashes of their marriage: the time he was grotesquely drunk and humiliated her with his obnoxious behavior at her mother’s birthday; the time he made their first-born daughter laugh and laugh, but only when she was a toddler; the day he got his dentures.

The taxi screeched to a halt and she swung the car door open. She sprinted inside the clinic and made her way to his corpse. Already, the body and its features were stiffening. His fingers had contorted into gnarled shapes. She set down the denture case and found her hands working their way to his mouth. She began gently prying apart his jaws—but realized it required a considerable amount of effort she had not exerted in this context before. It felt like she was forcing open a box that must remain shut at all costs.

Once she had managed to part his mouth wide enough to place the dentures inside, she reached over and briskly popped open the case.

The case was empty. The dentures were nowhere to be seen.

The new widow doubled over and broke into fits of laughter.