Well, that’s not entirely true. Can something be kind of true? I mean, at the moment I wished I hadn’t looked, but after I examined it more closely, I was of two minds. My mother used to use that phrase a lot. My father would always reply that he only needed one. Getting back to the thing Tor dragged out from under the deck – I guess I’d have to say that I was glad for part of what it was and horrified at the other part. That’s not kind of true. It’s absolutely a true statement. Score one for clarity.
I knelt down and looked at it. Okay, I admit I jumped back a little after my first glimpse. I grabbed a big stick and, scrunching my face, poked at it. Best guess, originally 145 lbs and maybe 5 feet 9 inches, or 8 or 6. It was hard to be sure. It looked like the body had been buried long enough for the clothes to decay which, in the climate I lived in would take longer than, say, the tropics. Then again, I’m no mortician.
What looked like it had been some sort of bag was stuffed in the mouth of – oh – for the sake of my sanity I’d begun calling him Simon. Giving him a name preserved my humanity (and his) to my way of thinking. The bag was nearly decayed, so its contents were visible. I looked around at my neighbor’s yards to see if anyone was watching me. Fortunately, no one was out. Who knew what was behind the curtains, but as far as I could see, there didn’t seem to be any activity. And really. If I hadn’t been up close, I would’ve thought it was a big pile of dirt. I hurried into the house for a baggie, then out again, and stuffed it full of the decayed bag’s contents. Laying the baggie carefully on the deck’s railing, I grabbed my gardening gloves and shoved the body back under the deck as well as I could.
I know. I should have called the police. But here was the problem. The bag had a decent amount of money in it; money I wasn’t altogether sure I was ready to part with without some consideration. I coaxed Tor into the house and hosed him off in the tub, but not before pouring the gold coins into a mixing bowl and covering them with the white vinegar I’d gotten a week before to clean my washing machine. It’s a good thing I procrastinated.
Once Tor was cleaned up and I was, too, I gave him a second breakfast and sat down to think this through. Whoever had buried the body there must have buried it before the deck was built because it would’ve been nigh unto impossible to do it flattened out underneath a structure. I started thinking about who had owned the house before me. It was known as the K house, I think because whoever built it had a name starting with K. Once upon a time people probably called it by name, but by the time I came along, it had become just K. I tried to recall what I could of the person who owned it before me.
She was actually, a sweet woman, big-boned some would say, and a little bookish. It was by now close to noon. I got up to make myself a sandwich. Don’t judge. I’d washed and I was hungry. And as I was spreading mayonnaise, my thoughts drifted back to the 
first time I had met the previous owner. I’d seen an ad on Craigslist for an end table and had come to take a look at it. She’d invited me in, and we actually had begun something of a friendship of convenience. Every once in a while she’d call me to do something for her – burn a leaf pile or change her furnace filter – and then we’d sit down to tea and cookies and she’d send some home with me. I’m not much of a baker, so it was a nice little perk.
But as I was thinking about it, I remembered that she hadn’t always had a deck on the back of the house. I remembered it because the first time she’d had me over to manage the burning leaf pile for her, I’d thought to myself that it was too close to the house. I’d even told her so. It was after that she’d burned them farther back. Huh.
to be continued . . .
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plant delightful little plants in even rows. And as the spring turns to summer, I watch them die a slow death. It’s tradition. But I digress.
It shouldn’t be this hard! He had the key. He was in front of the door. Sure, the lock might be a bit old. Used many times? No doubt.
Forgiveness from within his church
“Sons of Day need not the Sun
life being the way they thought it should be. Should be! Really? Life was breath amidst delight and chaos. What did prescriptive insistence have to do with it? He deliberated over those who required people to fit into certain ideas of dignity or say things the way they imagined things should be said; over life’s roads taking particular turns at preordained times. Whose ideas of dignity? Whose way of speaking? Preordained by who? People had plenty of thoughts about him, he knew. They didn’t want to accept that God’s prophets were rough around the edges. But what was more important – their preconceived notions or the truth? A wry smile crossed his face. They had no idea of how improper and uncivilized God could be when He chose. He picked up the last piece of meat and turned it over in his hands, examining it. Holding it up, he toasted the onlooking birds, and finished his meal. Those people who said what others approved were too prideful to yield. He hoped they’d change, but even with a sign from heaven, he knew they wouldn’t. Their ideas about what was most worthy of worship were immovable and their hate for him was too strong. The sun blazed down as he slurped from the nearby brook. It was going to be a long, dry, hot, and dusty few years.
on necessities including rock salt, sand, and kitty litter. Shovels were sold out. Streets had emptied. Here and there a window blinked a hint of brave light otherwise muted by the blizzard.
tree she knew stood in front of the window and the cookies her mom always made, the ginger ones with sugared orange rinds on top. Every time she heard a Christmas song on the radio or in a store, she thought of the little church down the block from their house that held Christmas Eve services no matter the weather.
she didn’t know the name of, Christmas, of course, and the smell of dirt just before anything sprouted in the spring. And she loved math. It was logical and dependable. It was actually beautiful in the way the same conclusion could be reached in a variety of ways. And the answers were never fuzzy, never tentative. They were solid.
liked him instantly. He told her the number seven
was one of his favorite numbers and asked her how old she would be on her next birthday. She laughed when he threw up his hands in surprise. He told her his birthday would be celebrated soon, and they talked about the sound of stars and the warm breath
of sheep. He told her that miracles are as dependable as math if you know who to ask. The man seemed so real and his words so solid. She felt happy and, for the first time in a year, a weight lifted. But when she woke up, she was in her same bed with accustomed pain and saw the familiar troubled look in her mother’s eyes.