The October Light of August (6 page)

“God
damn
it, Jesse - come on!” I smacked him in the shoulder with his gun.

He tried to stand, and ended up stumbling through the gate to fall down again behind the safety of the fence. I slammed the gate and shoved the bolt home.

Jesse rolled over onto his back, his arm weeping blood through his shirt. He didn’t grab his arm, grimacing stoically through the pain. He just lay there, staring up into the overcast summer sky.

“Fucker bit me,” he mumbled.

The gate rattled and shook.

“Yeah, Jesse...she sure did,” I said quietly. His eyes rolled towards me.

I waved the gun absently at him. “I…I don’t know how to use this, man. Can you…?” I didn’t know what to say. He knew he was dead as much as I did. Honestly though, I
meant
it for him to defend himself from the dead, who were now shaking the gate and fence violently.

His hand reached out and motioned impatiently, and I handed over the pistol.

“Check on my wife?” he asked, and as my eyes darted over to his house, he tucked the gun under his jaw and pulled the trigger.

I jumped at the shot, and the rattling at the gate ceased for a moment, and then began again. I decided I had had enough of this nonsense, tossed the spear up onto the porch roof, and swung back up into the maple tree with substantially less grace than Lord Greystoke. In through the window, spear in hand – it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship - to discover my mother’s lifeless body crumpled on the floor of my bedroom. I thought I heard a window slam shut next door, but maybe it was just the sod cutter dropping to the floor. That too sounded like it was far away.

I didn’t know what to do. I don’t think I’d ever felt more paralyzed by indecision. What the hell do I do? Of course I tried to revive her – I wish I could say I was crying and screaming  for her to live, but I only felt a quiet desperation as I compressed her chest with the knowledge that I was very unlikely to re-start her heart. With no paramedics to come to her rescue, she was gone. Yet I kept pumping away until my arms gave out. When my arms gave out, so did any resolve and hope. And with no hope I had no idea of what to do with her.

I moved her to her bed and covered her with the comforter, then sat on the floor and stared at the shape under the fabric that refused to move. I must have sat there for half an hour, wondering what in the world to do with her. Bury her, for sure. But would I be able to do that – be
allowed
to do that? I stood and peered out of her window into the side yard, and there were still four of the dead I could see wandering about down there.

I moved back down the hall to my bedroom and looked into the backyard, but saw no movement. From the angle I could not tell if the gate had been forced or not. And it dawned on me I had
two
bodies to deal with – assuming Jesse’s wife was not going to want to help out. I had no plans on trying to contact her right then other than hoping to see her through her window and waving a howdy-do.

I couldn’t see Jesse’s body down there either – the back porch blocked where he lay. For all I knew dead were back there feasting on him at that moment. Or, since he was dead, did they ignore him? Was he not fresh enough for them? Did that matter? They seemed to have some sort of standard to what they ate, and professional courtesy was an unlikely answer. Did rigor mortis factor into – and then it dawned on me that my mother would start to stiffen soon. That was a thought I could not begin to bear, and it became increasingly important to me to take care of her right then and there.

I moved back to her bedroom and pulled back the comforter, hoping she would be staring at me, confused and maybe a little annoyed. But the slight frown and compressed lips had softened, slackened, gone with the life that had left her and refused to come back. You have hope that you can die with a satisfied smile on your face, but I suppose most of us don’t. In these times, not being eaten alive was enough of a small miracle.

I wondered if she would have wanted to be buried in something other than the mom-jeans and blouse she wore. Of course she would, but I had never seen my mother in any state of undress and that wasn’t going to happen now. I pulled the comforter all the way off her body, pulled loose the blanket and top sheet and folded them over her. I then maneuvered her to the side where I manipulated the comforter around her, retrieved some bungee cords from the hall closet downstairs and secured the bedding around her body. As I noted, she was a heavy woman, but thankfully not a tall one. Her feet thumped hard on the floor as I pulled her off the bed, and then dragged her down the hall to the stairs. I hesitated, wondering how safe it was for me to walk backwards down the stairs with her over my shoulder.

“Ah, screw it,” I said, and proceeded to do it anyways. If I lost my balance and went tumbling ass over teakettle with mom landing on me, so be it. I had thought about just dropping her out of my bedroom window, but knew I could never do it. I can be practical and unsentimental to a fault, but there was no way my mother was going to be tossed out like a duffel bag from a rail car. As far as I’m concerned she was past the point of caring, and I don’t believe she’s looking down on me now from on high with the ability to judge or guide me. Life may have treated her indifferently at best, so I’d be damned if I would treat her that way in death.

And so we went creeping down the stairs, my mother slung over my shoulder. I held her legs tight with my right arm as I backed down the stairs, my left hand clutching the banister. One step at a time. I stumbled a bit at the bottom, but we were down, and I hustled into the kitchen to ease her down by the back door. My back was grateful for the release, but now I had some decisions to make. I had boarded up the windows so I had no clue what lay beyond the door. I could gaze out from the upstairs all I wanted, but that didn’t help me see the immediate area beyond that door.

“Screw it,” I said again, and pried a two-by-four from the doorway as quietly as I could. I waited, but no moans greeted me, or a mad scrabbling on the doorknob. So I flipped the deadbolts and opened the door a crack.

Nothing…

I couldn’t hear the back gate rattling so I opened the door wider, and waited.

Nothing.

I pushed open the screen door, and peeked around to the north side of the house and towards the gate then scanned the backyard. It appeared to be empty, so I stepped onto the porch and peeked around the side of the house. The gate was closed, and Jesse still lay on his back with a pool of congealed blood under his neck.

I walked over to the tool shed and unlocked it, then spent an agonizing amount of time sliding open the door – it would screech like a banshee as rusty metal ground against rusty metal. That’s all I would need to attract attention back to me. At least it didn’t stick, and I was able to open it far enough to slip inside and get a pickaxe and shovel. Exiting the shed without banging the metal sides or knocking anything over, I walked across the yard to where my mother had a garden. Not a very productive garden – producing anemic tomatoes for the most part. I had built her the raised garden bed back when I was in high school, and while she was delighted with it and tried her best, she was about as good at cultivating vegetables as she was friends. Still, she had enjoyed it and was proud of her meager harvest each summer. I won’t pretend that I thought this was a fitting burial spot for her more than that it was the easiest spot in the yard to dig a grave. I was confident I would hit no rocks, and while I would only be able to dig down about three feet with ease, I could pile leftover concrete blocks and bricks from a barbecue I had built not long after the garden bed.

And so I set to work. I had hours of daylight left in the midsummer, and it wasn’t too hot. It was still overcast, but we had seen no rain yet. I had no clue if we would get any either. I would have given my left foot just to hear an annoying little shit of a weather man blasting from a TV. Hell, I would buy the guy a beer and toast to his health and long life if we had power and our toys once again.

Digging the grave didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I wasn’t sure if the noise would carry far, or the thumps in the soil would attract the dead like sandworms on Arrakis. I would stop, look, and listen often, but I was unmolested. The digging was easy, and within an hour I thought I had a hole large enough for my mother to fit in comfortably. Until I dragged her out to it, and decided I would try it a little deeper. By then I had hit the original compacted earth and it was harder to dig. I excavated another foot or so over all, judged it deep enough, and lowered mom into it. Back went the dirt, with blocks and bricks piled neatly on the hump of soil.

I stepped off the garden into the brittle, dying grass and sat, drained of energy. It was safe to say I had never had an afternoon as eventful as that one before. I stared at the mound of earth with a weird feeling of satisfaction – like a project that was finished and you were a little bit proud of. Not like it was a work of art, but kind of like when you finished washing your car and had to admire it for a bit.

If this seems callous and uncaring weighed against the situation of burying my mother, I really have no defense of my detachment. Roughly sixteen months later, and it is still something I can’t wrap my head around. It feels as surreal and abstract now as it did then. I think I should have a sense of remorse at least, and when I think of that day the most I experience is a sense of dread that clenches in my stomach and all I want to do is push the thoughts away. How do I grieve for my mother when my heart broke for her almost every day of my life, with the overwhelming feeling of relief that she didn’t have to endure the world any longer?

If I have any excuse for my empty feelings, it may be that on that afternoon my world view was shattered and my mother died at the same time. Writing this down has been the longest space of time I’ve been allowed to reflect on those days. Also, I’m not the naïve idiot I was back then. Kind of tough to muster up the tears now, if you ask me.

I had no intention of fashioning a cross or headstone at that point. I felt the grave should have some sort of marker, but I could think of nothing I could distinguish it with. Besides, my brain was fried and I just wanted to crash in bed and hopefully not dream. I was filthy, covered in sweaty grime, and as I climbed to my feet the thought of crawling into bed like that made me pause. I didn’t want to use any precious water rinsing off, so I stood on the porch and wondered what to do about it. The indecisive feelings began to overwhelm me again, and I dropped into a molded plastic lawn chair, weariness crushing me into the seat. It wasn’t long before I dozed off.

I’m not sure what woke me, but it was twilight and rain was pattering down lightly on the leaves of the maple tree. It took me awhile to figure out what that sound was, but when I did I rose and shuffled out into the rain, my head turned up to catch the drops in my mouth. I imagined my taste buds swelling and absorbing the moisture like the cracked earth of a dried and dead seabed.

The drops crawled through my hair and rolled down my neck, making me feel dirtier than I had, but I striped off my t-shirt and blue jeans and let the rain speckle my body. It wasn’t long before the drops began to increase and I was standing in a steady downpour. There were no whoops of joy or dancing around with abandon. I just stood and let the rain fall on me as the sky grew darker. But not dark enough for me to miss Jesse lurching towards me.

Aw, Shit!

The big guy still had the gun in his hand, but it hung down useless. Seems that he had only succeeded in blowing a hole in his neck, and was unlucky enough not to damage his spinal column. I suppose in his haste to shoot himself, to
do
it before any second thoughts had a chance to argue with him, he could have been sloppy and just blown open his carotid artery. Thanks for trying dude...

 At that moment I’m not certain he saw me, but I backed away towards the shed. He stopped and angled his head towards me, staring dumbly. There seemed to be no question that he was dead, and I was not going to waste time trying to make sure of that. I gathered my wits, and began to circle around him to get to the shovel I had jammed upright into the garden bed.

Jesse turned to follow me, swaying drunkenly. He seemed bewildered more than anything, but I didn’t see any point in giving him the chance to learn his new-found lot in life – or death, for that matter. I grabbed the shovel, and swung it mightily against his head. He fell, and I whacked him again. His feet and hands twisted and dug in the grass as I searched for the pickaxe. I found it on the far side of the garden, and I darted back to drive it into his head to end his struggling.

Fuck. This. Shit
, I thought.
I am so done with the great outdoors for today.

I let loose of the handle of the tool, and I heard the gate begin to rattle and shake once more. I stalked into the house, my wet feet skidding on the linoleum. I slammed the kitchen door, and hammered the two-by-four into place. Thumps along the side of the house followed me upstairs where I quickly toweled off, and crashed into bed.

*  *  *

Sleep had been anxious and did not feel very deep. Not quite dreaming, I felt like I was missing something crucial while digging the grave of my mother, and in an endless loop I continued to do it – never seeming to dig much deeper than a foot or so. I sat up and took long gulps from a bottle of water. I had a headache and was sore all over, and decided I should probably take some aspirin or something. It was full dark, and hard to see anything. I couldn't hear rain anymore, and checked my watch. The illuminated face lit up, giving me a blue-green tinged cocoon of light. It was a little after 11:00. So I
had
slept some.

Still, I was groggy and my head felt heavy. The light of my watch winked out and I was enveloped in darkness again, so I punched the button and relished the tiny bit of technology on my wrist, five seconds at a time. I decided that could lead me to the medicine cabinet in my mother's bathroom without any stubbed toes. I could have made it there in the pitch dark, but wasn't really in the mood for the amount of time it would take me.