Mis Padres

                                    

                                          
        
                          
Odd Jobs
                          
            "I think you should meet my parents."
                          
Ivan chose that exact moment to jam his crowbar between the sealed lips of the casket, metal prongs easily forcing their way between the lid and base. The gold trim chipped away in flakes as he worked the bar up and down, wiggling it further in until it was in the proper position. He heard Vicente clear his throat and Ivan did the only logical thing he could think of in the situation- he pretended not to hear. He let out a frustrated snarl as he pressed his palm against his forearm, pushing down on the crowbar.
                          
"Are you listening to me?"
                          
"Come on," Ivan said, sucking in a breath between clenched teeth. He let out the air the instant his body jerked forward, and the lid finally popped up, casket releasing a rush of air and flooding the air with a disgusting stench. The putrid corpse inside was already in the process of decomposing, giving off the stench of something sour. Ivan wrinkled his nose as he reached for his collar. His index finger hooked between tether strands and he pulled up. Three colorful pine trees dangled from each string and Ivan was quick to pick one and press it against his nose. He immediately sniffed the strong scent of a fresh new car and released his held breath. Much better.
                          
            "Where did you get those?" Ivan turned to look over his shoulder, hand clutching the small, decorative trees. Vicente was sitting on top of the tool bag they had brought, chin propped in his hand, the other holding up the battery-powered lantern. The white light stretched across their small vicinity, showing Vicente in a dimmer light. Ivan took another deep sniff before he let them drop onto his chest.
                          
"I took them from the gas station," he replied, rolling his eyes. He blinked, hand faltering on the crowbar as he registered Vicente's aggressive hum.
                          
"Oh, so you can hear that, but you can't hear what I said the first time?"
                          
            Backpedal. Ivan backpedaled and laughed, shaking his head. "I'm not prying open the casket while you're talking now," he reasoned. Vicente's expression fell to a more deadpan view and Ivan shrugged, turning back to the dirt stained white casket. He rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. Without hesitating, he pried his fingers between the lid and threw it upward, watching it swing open on tired, old hinges. Ivan coughed and brought the yellow pine to his nose, inhaling the scent of lemon in deep intakes.
                          
"Like tearing off a band-aid," Vicente commented, leaning forward in slight interest, "So, are you gonna answer me or no?"
                          
"Can't it wait until I'm not inhaling the collective sum of six months' worth of old, dead, rich lady?"
                          
"Oh, fine. But, hurry up. If you stay there longer than you need to, you're sleeping on the couch."
                          
"Very funny," Ivan replied, crouching down to peer into the coffin.
                          
            The body, in question, was wrapped in a faded lace dress. Ivan looked over the wiry hair and the patches of bone that began to peek through the skin. "You were not buried the right way, lemme tell you," Ivan murmured, reaching down to grab a fistful of the time-stained dress, "But, I'm not here for you." He pulled the body up, the smell getting worse as more space was created between the once lush, pink lining and the occupant.
                          
"She smells like shit," Vicente complained, covering his face with his free hand, "Hurry up and get what we need."
                          
            Ivan shoved the green tree to his nose, taking a deep inhale before holding in the smell of pine. He bent down and ran his hand along the faded pink lining, feeling for anything that may possibly stand out. His fingers pressed against an uneven ridge and he grinned. His fingers pulled and tugged at the lining, the soft sound of satin tearing muffled inside of the rotting box. Peeking between the torn folds of pink was a rectangular tin case. Ivan grabbed onto it and pulled it out, dropping the body unceremoniously back into the casket, allowing the lid to wobble on its hinges before catching it.