Predictive Epitaph

Here lies Rebecca. She was really good with the dogs.

Here lies Jim. He did not want to speak to me about the memorial service.

It’s very much like using a Ouija Board. You have three choices for each word so you can steer the boat all the while waiting for some truth to materialize.

Here lies Rebecca. She has to be a better person.

I’m not that good with the dogs. The adolescent/young adult dog has started jumping the electric fence. I have booked an appointment with a trainer, and yes, I understand that they are really training the owners. He is coming tomorrow.

Here lies Jim. He did not have a copy of the email address. He loved the dogs. He was in the hospital. He was with his friends and family. He loved the idea of the memorial service. He is with his wife. She is thinking about the memorial service.

I am typing and searching. My phone knows everything. It sees all the photos. It knows all the searches. It knows where I’m going, who I’m with, what I say to everyone. What secrets will it give up?

And this is why the game has caught on. That mix of the robots taking over the world and the people still having the poetic edge, but the robots can surprise us with poetry about ourselves.

What if it could write the eulogy?

We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of James, whose name was in the magnolia tree and the family plot.

Eventually the sense peters out and we are all just buying and trading time, running late, negotiating pick-up, drop-off, grocery runs, text requests, lemons, eggs, small tortillas. Too late.

My last text to him was in Costco, when we had gotten separated close to the checkout. I am by the exit, I wrote. Just another Sunday, the grind of dog park, driving, shopping, laundry. Now all I want to say is come back.