The upside to death?

“You know the best part of dying?”

“There is a best part?” asked John looking at his friend as he shook his head. “I didn’t know there was a best part.”

“You never have to clip your fingernails ever again!”

“And that’s the best part? You’re sick. I’d rather cut my toe and fingernails than die.”

“I know. I’m just kidding but how about no more haircuts?”

“You know, you’re right. That would be a good reason to look forward to my demise.” John laughed. “Have you ever thought of what you want on your epitaph?”

“Yes of course. Please don’t wake me until the coffee is ready. How about you?”

“Coming to think of it, that’s kind of cute. Well, I read an epitaph once I thought was really funny.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me see if I remember,” John cleared his throat which was also him playing to time. “How’s this? Here lies the body of Gillian, born a virgin, lived a virgin, died a virgin, laid in a grave.”

“And you think my reason about not having to cut your toenails ever again is sick? I think that’s sick!”

“Oh. come on. I think it’s funny. I’m sure there are plenty of epitaphs around the world written by either family or friends, or even by the person themselves which are meant to remember them by.”

Both John and Brian took a moment to ponder what they had been talking about. Their minds drifted back to all the people they knew who were no longer with them. John was about to be the first to mention a school friend’s name but thought the better of it. Brian did the same.

When Brians wife, Jane, came home a few minutes later, she found both men sitting at the kitchen table in silence each with an uneaten bagel and fried egg in front of them. “What’s going on here?” she asked dropping her handbag between the bagels and stepping back. “Aren’t you guys hungry?”

“Nah not really. Brian got me depressed.”

“Really, how did he do that? I’ve been trying to do that for years and never succeed. Maybe I can take some tips from him.”

“He says there’s a good side to dying.”

“Really? Interesting. And what is it.”

“You no longer have to cut your fingers nails.”

“Well,” replied Jane, “you don’t now. So does that mean you’re dead and if it does then where’s my inheritance?”

“You don’t cut your fingers nails?” asked John, “they don’t look long.”

“He bites them!” offered Jane and then grabbed her husband’s right hand and presented it to John.

“Oh yuck! That looks pretty gross. Why do you bite them? Are you constantly hungry?”

Brian was embarrassed.

“Nerves,” replied Jane.

“Nerves? You’ve never seemed to be a nervous person.”

“Ha!” Jane dropped his hand which landed right in the centre of his egg sending a little splash of yolk towards John who expertly managed manoeuvre himself so it didn’t land on his expensive shirt. “Nice move,” added Jane, “now at least it looks as if you’ve licked the egg. I’ll settle for that,” and she put both plates in the sink. She lifted the bagels and eggs off the plates and whistled.

A few seconds later a cat the size of a baby lion sauntered into the kitchen. John jumped. “Is that thing real?” he asked.

Jane snickered, “you’ve never met Macho before? How long has it been since you were last here?”

“About year or so,” he replied. Jane looked at her husband still holding the two bagels and eggs in her hands with Macho sitting in front of her on the kitchen floor wagging its tail. “Is that a cat or a lion?”

“A lion,” replied Jane calmly.

“What are doing with a lion?”

“Why not?” replied Jane shrugging her shoulders.

“But, but, I didn’t think you could get those pets!”

“Oh it isn’t a pet. We got it on the black market and thought it would be different.”

“To say the least.” John picked up his wallet and car keys from the table and inched away from beast which was about to devour the bagels and eggs.

“It’s a Jewish lion,” said Jane as she threw down the bagels and eggs which the lion devoured before they hit the floor.

“I thought you used to have a dog?” asked John.

“Not anymore!” replied Brian.

John gulped. “Look here, I think it’s time for me to go.”

“Are you sure?” asked Brian, “we really haven’t had a chance to talk about what’s being going in our lives over the past year or so.”

“No need,” replied John, “I’m fully caught up with you, and that’s the reason I came in the first place. Bye guys,” John was about to turn and walk out of the door when it suddenly occurred to him that it was possible that as soon as he did so the lion might pounce on him, because it was that fight or flight thing. He didn’t know what to do. He stood there rooted. “It’s ok,” Brian sensed his friend’s hesitation. “Macho won’t attack you. He just had the bagels and eggs that will hold it over for a few minutes. Here, I’ll walk you outside.”

Both men walked outside into the bright sunshine of a beautiful warm summer’s afternoon. Brian put his arm on John’s shoulder. “Now do you see why I chew my fingernails.”

“Stress?” asked John looking at him concerned.

“Exactly my friend! I never know when I might get up one morning and find myself being eaten by a lion. You can imagine that’s stressful.”

John paused for a second. “Was it Jane’s idea to get a lion?”

“Yup, all hers.”

“Why would she want a lion?”

“No idea. Ask her.”

That would mean going back into the house which John decided would be a bad idea. “I think what you ought to do is write your epitaph and give it to me. I’ll make sure it goes on your gravestone.”

“I liked that epitaph about being laid in a grave.”

“I thought I would adapt it to say lion in a grave!” Both men suddenly began to laugh and slapped each other on the back.

“Just like old times,” said John feeling a bit better. “We should do this again sometime soon, except you should come to my place. I only have a dachshund.”

“Tiddles, if I remember.”

“Correct, but please don’t bring Macho with you, we like our little wiener dog. We’ve had him for many years.”

“No don’t worry. Jane is the only one who walks the lion.”

“Around the neighbourhood?”

“Yes, but neighbours run indoors when they see her walking along the pavement.”

“I’m surprised the police haven’t been called.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’re allowed to have a lion as a pet.”

“You tell Jane,” replied Brian pointing back to the house.

“That’s ok. Why don’t we meet next week and we can continue our conversation.”

Brian paused, “I think that’s a great idea. Do you remember David?”

“David Shusterman?”

“Yes, the same.”

“What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

“Really of what? He was our age.”

“No idea except that he’s the one who told me about not cutting your fingernails anymore.”

It was time for John to leave.