--TELL ME A SECRET, HONEY, MAKE IT COUNT

 

Cemetery Kids

 

When there was nothing left to do, we kicked dirt, boot-hard, watched the clods burst like obscene rainclouds.

Gordy was wasted that day at the cemetery, said he’d jump in the grave if we got him another jug of Mogen David. He could be quirky that way, or needy like me, though I was always too afraid to show it.

Unannounced, Manny shot me in the chest with his squirrel hunting bb gun. I didn’t swear or cry out. Didn’t wince or grimace. My mind wandered like property that no longer belonged to me, and I let myself fall into the hole. Just closed my eyes the way you might during prayer. 

It pierced the skin below my left nipple, the one Monica Westfall used to tweak back when Gramp’s car still ran, in the fold-out seats, the both of us circling around the “L” word as if we knew what we were talking about.