Death can belt you pretty hard, but if you're done loving somebody, it's nothing but a trip to the morgue.
The day I went to the D.C. morgue to identify my husband's body, I couldn't even find the place. I was looking for a cool gray tomb like all the rest of those official buildings but none of them matched the number they told me over the phone. Finally, I flagged a cab and the driver nearly dropped his teeth. "Why lady," he said, " the morgue's just around the corner!" We were both laughing about mislocating the morgue just because it was a bright red brick like a Methodist church, and then the cabby says, "If you're on your way to he morgue, how come you're so happy?".
Well, I was laughing because I once did love my man, I knew when I had I and I knew when it was gone. Before we were married, he was gentle and respectful as any man I'd ever met. I wouldn't sleep with him until we were married but he didn't leave me. He just went on working hard and taking me to the movies until I got good and ready to hitch up. But after that, everything changed. He started putting down a lot of beer, and then other stuff, stepping out with women, and hollering at me when I asked him about it. One day while I was ironing, he stormed in, grabbed the iron, and laid it steaming hot on my upper arm. Well, I couldn't love that man anymore. I couldn't even recongnize him. I kicked him out of the house and that was that. .
I gave the driver a dollar, gathered up my nerve, and went into the morgue. A fat man with a beltful of keys led me to room 127. He stood there rolling out my husband's chilled corpse, looking bored as anything. I was standing maybe ten feet away and couldn't get a good look at the dead man's face but I said "Yeah that's him," turned on my heel and got the hell out of there. .
I'll tell you this: I sure hope that was John Carter Lockwood lying there dead. If not, some poor lady's gonna be worrying her head for nothing, and I'm likely to end up living that bad dream all over again!.