And, the long awaited chapter 8!!!!
(Enjoy, and as always, tell me if something didn't work- I want the criticism!)
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Chapter 8: Can You Dig It?
"What you got there, Harold?"
Harold had heard the swing of the door, and the thud of his father's footsteps, but they hadn't registered or broken his concentration.
"An art assignment I did in class. Teacher wanted us to sketch something from memory, look familiar?" He held up the paper, and his dad took it.
"Looks like that wolf skull. Dog skull. Looks like that skull." He passed the paper back, "Good work if that's from memory. Did you pin down an ID?"
"Maybe, I brought it in to Mrs. Isaac. she thinks it's a wolf with some kind of deformity. She says I ought to take it to a zoologist or vet, and see what they think."
His dad nodded. "I wonder about that spike though... Well, lets get out there and finish the pit." He chuckled, "Maybe we'll find the rest of the skeleton."
And though they were technically done with the digging part of the pit, they did root a round a bit, in the hope of turning up more bones. But they found none, and soon gave up.
The next step was laying the gravel, which Harold helped his dad unload out of the trunk of his jeep.
"The bags are very heavy, Harold. Let's just pull them to the edge of the jeep, cut 'em and let the gravel drop into the wheelbarrel."
They cut the ends of the bags, and let the gravel pour. Stone dust rolled out, thick and chalky in the air.
When Harold lifted the handles of the wheelbarrel, he felt could feel the strain at the axel, he could feel the strain in his own joints too.
It felt good to exert, his muscles tightened up at the challenge.
"Damnit, Harold."
"What is Dad?"
"Nothing bad. Sometimes I'm just amazed at how much you've grown. It's not hard for me to remember you as a little pup crying for your mom's tit-"
"Dad, eww-"
His dad held up his hand for silence, "Hey, every parent is entitled to these moments, so shut up and let me finish."
They both laughed. His dad slapped his shoulder while he wheeled the gravel. "And now you're as tall as I am, and lifting the gravel like it's nothing. All I'm saying is that you aren't such a kid anymore, and I'm proud."
Harold didn't no what to say to that. He smiled down at the gravel, and brought the wheelbarrel to a stop by the pit. "Now what dad?"
His dad took the wheelbarrel- he seemed to bend under the weight of the handles, as he tipped out gravel into the trench. "Hmmph. We're not- going to dump- into the pit yet." He let the barrel back down. "Shit that was heavier than you made it look... Get the metal rake."
Harold went to the garage. There was a musty smell he hadn't noticed last time, and he knew it meant there was some little critter hiding in there somewhere. He took the rake and went back out.
"Go ahead, and rake a smooth layer of gravel into the drainage ditch. make sure not to rake any back up into the pit. First we need to shape it and brick it."
While Harold raked, his dad dumped the rest of the gravel onto the ground beside the pit. Then he wheeled the barrel back to the driveway, and out of sight.
It was a peaceful, almost therapeutic kind of work, smoothing the gravel. He thought of Emily.
He wondered what she'd think if she could see him working- would she like the sight of him pushing and smoothing? He wondered if she'd have any thoughts, and imagined her biting her lower lip while she watched him work.
"Harold!" His dad's voice from around the house, back by the driveway. "When you're done come on back to the front."
He banished the thoughts he had been entertaining of Emily and him, smiling at eachother around a roaring bonfire- built in the finished pit- and ran to the front.
It even felt good to run! It was like his blood was high grade fuel. He had never enjoyed physical exertion before, but in that perfect blend of labor and fantasy, he began to understand how some people could get addicted to running and exercise- it all complimented the natural excitement he already felt.
His dad smiled when he saw him, "Harold, why do you look so happy? Something good happen at school?"
Harold grinned. "Emily..."
"Is that the name of the girl you like? The one from English?"
"Yeah. She's in my art class too. She thought my drawing was cool. And, she said she wanted to hang out once the fire pit was finished."
His dad smiled too. "'Atta boy! Well then lets this pit finished, so you can ring her up!"
Harold's grin broke into pieces. "I forgot to get her number."
"Don't sweat it. You'll get it from her tomorrow, champ."
His dad hadn't called him champ since he was a little kid. He thought he'd have hated it to hear it again... But Harold found he didn't mind.
"And give me a hand with this wheelbarrel. I loaded the bricks in, but I can't... Well I'm not saying it's too heavy for me, but I think you're the one who needs the work out Harold. To impress that girl Emily."
They used the bricks to build a retaining wall around the pit, with a hole on the drainage side, and smaller draw holes in each direction, starting above the ground line.
Once the bricks were arranged, they poured in gravel, enough to create a 4 inch layer, covering the entire bottom of the bit. Over the top, of the gravel, they laid a layer of bricks, to create a smooth surface, "So we won't have a hard time scraping out the ash." His dad told him, as they worked.
When it was done, they stood up brushed off their hands.
"Looks good Dad."
"You're damn right it looks good. Thanks Harold for getting your hands dirty on this one. Do you think we ought to put sod back over the drainage ditch, or should we leave it open?"
"Harry."
They both turned around and saw Joe, standing pitiful but not alone, with Kait by his side.
"Joe, what's going on, are you ok?" Harold looked down, and saw Joe held a blue color in his hand, with a dangling metal tag.
"Rufus." Joe frowned. It looked like he was furiously stubborn, clamping his jaw so he would not cry. "Rufus was killed by a coyote."
Harold noticed that Kait was holding a small shoebox. The quiet, morbid part of him wanted to peek inside.
"We're gonna bury him. Will you join us?"
Harold pushed away his nagging curiosity and nodded. "Of course Joe."
"Will you come too Mr. Maria?" Joe's lip quivered like a baby's.
"If you want me to, definitely."
The air seemed thick, and for Harold every movement felt awkward. Nobody spoke while they walked from one back yard to the next, and rang the Jones' back doorbell.
When Joe's mom answered the door, she started sobbing at the sight of them. Another layer in the blanket of solemnity.
Joe's father heard the sobbing and came to the door behind her. He saw the collar in Joe's hand, "Oh, Rufus." He hugged his wife. Then he looked at Joe's face, and his eyes turned sad. "Oh, Joe."
They all huddled around eachother, and struggled towards a spot in the backyard, near Rufus' dog house.
"Rufus was a good pup." Joe said.
They all nodded.
"And he didn't deserve this."
Nobody looked up, they kept nodding. The sun was going down, and the make-shift funeral party was framed in fiery orange light. But it was dimming, and that was a relief for Harold.
Because, that way it was harder see everybody else's tears- and he felt less awkward for not having them...
It's not that he didn't care about the dog- and it's not that he didn't care about his friend. He was sad too. But simply wasn't a crier- and that only made him feel weird in times where everyone else seemed to water up freely.
"Poor Rufus." Mrs. Jones said. Her husband squeezed her shoulders.
"Rufus made us all laugh." Said Mr. Jones.
Mrs. Jones nodded and chuckled. "Do you remember that time he was sitting at the front door barking at a squirrel, and when he tried to chase it, he ran right into the window?"
They all remembered. Even Harold and his Dad, even Kait. It was a story Mrs. Jones re-told at every neighborhood gathering.
She was wiping tears off her face,"How?" Mrs. Jones asked.
Joe couldn't get it out, so Kait helped. "He was... Attacked. We think it was a coyote."
Mrs. Jones let out a wail, and her voice trembled, "Oh, that's horrible. Poor rufus- he must have been so scared."
Harold noticed that Kait was staring awfully hard at her feet. She shuffled a bit.
"Thank you Kait for finding him." Joe said. He put his hand on her shoulder. And she finally looked up. She nodded, but she was still frowning.
But it was finally time.
Joe handed Harold a shovel. "Harold, can you dig it?"
Harold gave Joe a strong embrace, and nodded.
He dug, while Joe tugged at the frayed collar in his hands.
Harold tried hard not to enjoy any part of the exertion, but it did feel good to try his muscles. When the whole was dug, wide and deep, Kait placed the box inside.
Joe took the collar and placed it over the cardboard- but then he thought better of it and removed the metal tag. He held the tag tight in one palm, and laid the blue fabric back across the box.
Harold passed Joe the shovel. He laid some dirt. And passed the shovel to the next person.
When it came to Mrs. Jones she was a blubbering mess, but they all managed to lay some soil upon whatever remained of poor little Rufus.
Harold gave Joe another hug.
Mr. Jones spoke up, "It's getting dark guys. Be careful getting home. In fact Kait, Joe and I will walk you back. If there's a goddamned coyote prowling around here, we should take every caution." He turned to his wife, "Honey, we can't let what happened to Rufus happen to anyone else in the neighborhood. Can you send out a group text to warn people keep their pets indoors overnight? If there's anyone who's number you don't have Joe and I will knock on their door after we get Kait home."
Then they all parted ways, their faces downcast and their spirits sodden.
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After Harold and his dad got home, he finally felt like the burden of silence was lifted. "Dad, can we break in the fire pit tomorrow evening? I'd like to have a little thing for Joe, to lift his spirits or something."
His dad nodded. "Yeah, of course."
They heard footsteps rushing down the stairs, "Where were you guys? It's late."
"It's ok mom. You know Joe's dog Rufus? Well they thought he had ran away. Turns out he got mauled by a coyote. We just buried him with the Jones."
"Oh my god, Harry are you ok?"
"Yeah mom, I'm fine. A little sad, but I'm ok." He gave her a hug.
"Well there's pizza in the oven. I didn't want to eat without you guys, so I left it in there to keep it warm. It might be a little dry by now."
It was a little dry but it was still delicious, and though Harold had already raided the fridge for all the cold cuts, the curious blend of exercise and communal grieving seemed to have rekindled his appetite.
"I saw the fire pit," His mom said around a bite. "It looks great. My two boys did good work."
"Yeah," His dad reached for another slice, and winked at his mom, "And Harold was running circles around me out there. Where'd your son get all that energy?"
She chuckled. "Hey, what's up with that iron bar sitting on the back porch?"
Harold shoved the food down his throat, "We found it while digging. Mom you would never guess- it was actually stuck through a wolf skull!"
"What?!"
His dad nodded. "Yeah, Harold brought the the thing in to his teacher for identification."
"Well then what are you gonna do with the spike?"
"Dunno."
"Well I hope you come up with something, because it's kind of an eye sore sitting there on the porch. Why don't you bring it to a museum and see if they can figure anything out."
His dad looked to Harold, "Maybe this weekend?"
They wrapped up dinner, cleaned their plates. His parents went to bed, and though it was getting late, Harold felt like it was still early.
He cleaned up, and laid down, but it took a long time and many tosses and turns before he finally drifted off to sleep.
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In the morning, Harold saw that Joe had made it to the bus stop before him.
And he could tell from a distance... Joe was no better than the night before.
He looked worse- now the grief and sadness seemed to be mashed together with anger.
"Joe," he called, as he crossed the street, "what's the matter?"
Harold saw Kait walking towards them, but she was still just out of ear shot.
"That fucker. That fucking cunt coyote! I'll kill it. I will."
"What? Joe, I know that coyote deserves it. But lets not be rash. Look, I'll help you kill it if we have a chance, but it's probably not a fight we ought to pick, if you know what I mean."
"Shut up Harry, you don't fucking understand."
Harold didn't want to poke Joe's anger. He kept his mouth shut, grudgingly.
"You don't. Last night, that fucker must have come back around. It dug up Rufus' box. All I found was shredded cardboard."
"Holy fuck..." Harold didn't know what else to say.
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Continue reading: Chapter 9: Fight or Flight
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