I woke up this morning, coming out of a 3 Benadryl haze.
My first thought was that I had a cat in my refrigerator. Which - and I won’t try to lay claims on your experiences but for me - was pretty fucking weird.
I loaded a shovel and my cell phone into the car then delayed the inevitable as long as I could.
I even started watching the last episode of “Texas Rising.” Then the relentless voice that has been my constant companion since around the age of four of five started in with the “You got shit to do, you got shit to do…“
I’m sure constant companion back in the day used more polite language, but the intent was the same.
I showered. Took my time shaving.
Took a plastic bin that contained the remains of a female with who I had my longest relationship with outside of my grandmother, mother and sisters.
Loaded the container into the car with the shovel.
Turned on Boston. Cranked the volume. And went to ‘Salem’s Lot.
Dulci is buried with Gizmo (whose truth be known given name was Ammiana, but she was such a Gizmo that that name kinda stuck.) At the opposite end of a flower garden from Benji. My folks last dog.
Apparently mom doesn’t know there are a bunch of pets buried in the area, so we were worried that…
You know. Accidently.
Dad did all the work. I think he keeps a record in his head and didn’t want me encroaching on the secret pet semetary.
When we finished we put two huge rocks over the grave. Mom says she will paint her name on one of them. I don’t see the point.
It is a weird feeling to be completely alone in the apartment. Even when I couldn’t see Dulci, I knew she was lurking around, or more likely sleeping somewhere.
It rained all afternoon.
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