// indicates flashback
Chapter 3: Shedding tears in a shallow grave
Old man used to tell me that he wouldn't be around forever. I always figured it was just more of his bottled wisdom. He never woke up that night. I don't remember when I realized that he was gone. It could have been the same night or the next day; my memory begins to blur every time I think of it. I know I went to the neighbor's house. I was calm when I told them, as if we were making light conversation. While they made all of the important calls, I sat in the living room with Joseph, while he told me about the wonders of heaven…
//I rested my chin in my hands as he babbled about how my old man had gone to a better place. "A place with lovely streams and magnificent gardens," he said for the fifth time. "With houses as big as stars. I read it in a book. Heaven is a greater place than you could ever imagine."
I laughed inwardly. If heaven didn't have a liquor store, I'm sure Old man wouldn't consider it a better place. I tuned him out as I stared at the swinging door to the kitchen. It was serving its purpose well; I could hear muffled voices coming from the other side, but I wasn't sure what was being said. Joseph wasn't very observant; otherwise he would have noticed that I was no longer listening.
"Do you guys have any food?" I finally asked, interrupting him. I still hadn't eaten anything. Besides, I was curious about the topic of conversation in the kitchen. Were they talking about Old man? How he was a no good deadbeat. That was their name for him. They never called him my father. It was always 'that no good deadbeat.' I would always stand up for him. I would say he was looking for work or that he had gotten fired recently. They would pretend to believe me, but I could tell they knew the truth.
I stood up and headed toward the kitchen, leaving Joseph to muse over heaven by himself. His mother had fixed me leftovers from their dinner. We made idle conversation. They tactfully avoided the subject of my father, considering their disgust with him. However, they didn't hesitate to tell me how much better off I'd be when another family took me in. I feigned interest, but I wasn't that confident.
The next few days were a blur, as if my vision refused to take in any surroundings. Shopping for suits, the wake, the funeral; It was like walking in a dream, wondering if anything was real.
I stayed with the neighbors until after the funeral. Their house was like an amusement park for me. I wasn't used to having three square meals, toys, and television. The television at our house had broken several years before. It was only an ornament now, giving off the idea that somehow we were normal like everyone else.
The neighbors kept telling me that soon I would be going to a better place. A place with other children. People would come by to look at me and maybe one would take me home. Funny that after they told me that, I had nightmares. The night after the funeral, I dreamed that I was surrounded by other children my age. We were all in cages. There were adults coming in and out, pointing and poking at us, deciding whether they wanted to take us home.
I woke up in a cold sweat. Kicking off the thick blankets, I spread myself out on the bed. A cool breeze blew through the open window. The window faced my house. As I stared at it, I could feel loneliness finally seeping into my skin. This wasn't like any other time, when Old Man disappeared for a day or two and returned with money or food. Once in a while he even brought me a present. So I didn't mind his absences all that much. This time, however, he wouldn't be returning with a present and that sly grin on his face. I sighed and turned in the other direction.
Joseph was snoring peacefully. I would never admit it to anyone, but I envied him. He had no worries, no problems. I had never seen him frown; up until now, I hadn't realized that he had no reason to. I knew I was supposed to feel better, knowing that I would go to stay with someone else, someone like Josephs family. But I only felt trapped and suffocated.
I climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the window. The chilly night air greeted me as I slipped outside. The grass was cool on my bare feet. I took my house key from around my neck and hurried up to the door. I unlocked the front door and stepped into my house. The familiar musty smell invaded my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, contentedly. Everything was as it had always been. The couch, the table, the old broken television. As I lay down on the couch, I felt the springs sticking into my back. I smiled, this was home.
The bottle of vodka was still on the coffee table. I stared at it; I could almost hear my Old man's voice telling me that he drank wisdom from that bottle. His voice echoed in my head, soothing me to sleep.
I had another dream, this time about Old Man. He was in his coffin scratching and clawing, trying to get out. He yelled at the top of his lungs as he scratched. The constricting walls muffled his screams. His fingernails broke and his fingertips were bloody, but he kept scraping and yelling. The coffin walls began to give way and splinters of wood peeled off everywhere, covering his body. When he broke through the coffin, he clawed his way through the dirt, climbing out of the grave.
He was a dark shadow against the night, trudging through the streets. He came to the neighbor's house and climbed through Joseph's window. He stopped over my bead. He shook me roughly with his bloody, mangled hands until I woke up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Boy, why did you let them do that to me?" he asked wearily.
I awoke with a start; my heart was thumping in my chest. I was still lying on the couch. My father was nowhere to be seen, but the dream was vivid in my mind. I jumped to the floor and ran outside. The cemetery was a few blocks away. I ran barefoot down the street, my feet pounding hard on the ground. I threw open the gate and made my way through the rows of graves.
I found Old Man's grave and began tossing all of the flowers to the side. I pressed my ear to the ground, listening. I heard nothing. Maybe I was too late. I began clawing at the dirt, driven by the dream and perhaps my blind hope that we had somehow made a mistake. The dirt was still soft, so it was easy to dig through. I could feel tears streaming down my face for the first time in six years. The salty drops rolled down my cheeks, splashing into the dirt.
I dug for almost an hour before I collapsed. My fingers were aching and bloody. My eyes hurt and I was covered in dirt. I felt pathetic. He was gone; there was nothing I could do. I wished I could bury myself and hide away from the world. I didn't want to go live with anyone else; I didn't want to live with the neighbors. I curled up in the small hole. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes; I didn't want to hold them back anymore. I let them come. My body shook as I sobbed. It was the only thing I could do now.
The darkness was starting to fade as the first signs of dawn appeared on the horizon. The ground near my face was wet and muddy. I must've been quite a sight out there in my dirt-stained pajamas, shedding tears in a shallow grave…. //
