The Burial
I stood there watching the clay crumble with each drive of the pick-axe. Every heave over my shoulders, I was worried I couldn’t control it- not the tool. The rage that had been smothering me from the inside had finally combusted.
“White trash. Always have been.”
He thought I didn’t hear him. And that if I did, I would ignore it like I had always done.
I needed six feet and this looked to only be about four, but I’d already sent the others away. It had to be me who would carry this.
This had to be deep enough. My shoulders burned and my arms were numb. I dropped the axe into the mound of discarded soil and red clay gathered at my feet. The rain, which was a welcome reprieve from the heat of the day, always felt like a purification of sorts. I watched as it washed my blood…and his blood from my raw, blistered hands. The ring on my finger scratched and worn from heavy labor. Quite fitting if you asked me.
I turned to dispose of him only to see that I was not alone. She walked toward me, her makeup smudged in the way only tears can achieve.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said. The triumph I had been feeling just a few moments prior no longer existed within. I felt something else as she stared first at me then at his lifeless body. It wasn’t regret I was feeling and it wasn’t sadness. No, it felt more like being seen by someone- a feeling I had not had the pleasure of knowing in so very long.
Before I could brace myself, she ran to my arms like she used to do ages ago, causing us to collapse into the mud.
“Don’t cry,” she said. “Go inside and clean yourself up. I’ve got this.”
I never wanted to invite her into the darkness where I had lived for so long. But that ship had sailed as soon as she stepped out of her car that night. It was me and her against the world now- just like it used to be.
