Twenty-four hours later I still had a terrible hangover, and a terrible idea growing in my brain. I'm not sure when it had taken hold, but I knew it would continue to grow and was not likely to abate regardless of how lunatic a proposition it seemed to be. Some ideas, being wildly impractical or just plain outlandish, roots over-fertilized by time, die a quiet death through practical accretion: the weight of each additional bit of reality detracts from the idea's original buoyancy, allowing it to sink into the depths of the best-forgotten. This idea, I knew, would grow in both intensity and mania, and the more reality-based objections I could come up with would only season it and make it that much more urgent and necessary. At the very beginning, I asked myself only two questions: was I considering it (and even allowing myself the lie that I was still only "considering" it) for the right reasons, and was I willing to pay a very severe price if I failed to carry it off and was caught (or even if I successfully carried it off, and was still caught)?
I resolved to allow it a few days in the background of my mind. I knew it would need some serious planning, and I was still reeling from the enormity of fate's cruel blow. The shock and pain were still so fresh and so raw that I felt as if I were going insane anyway; I didn't need any additional madness. The worst part of the pain I was experiencing was feeling so all alone. My family and friends were proving to be great sources of strength, but there was very little they could offer me to assuage the searing, tearing pain that seemed to be centered just at the back of my throat, or the falling-into-oblivion feeling that was my constant companion when I put my head on a pillow to try to get some much-needed sleep.
The worst aspect of personal tragedy is that everyone else's life goes back to normal after a few days. That's not a critical observation, just a matter-of-fact one. Cal, bless his beautiful soul, never left my side for the week following Rich's death. My brother, too, was a constant source of reassurance, strength and kindness (and so, too, was his beautiful girlfriend). After a week, though, everyone had to get back to school, and on with their lives. I, of course, was nowhere near ready for that, especially not the thought of going back to where Rich and I had lived, and had shared so much. I couldn't stand the thought of seeing his room empty, and got physically ill thinking of the even worse possibility of someone else being there, though given that the school year was only a few weeks from ending it wasn't likely that anyone would be moving in. Even the thought of going back just to get my things made me sick.
Once again, though, my amazing support group took over. Once back at their respective schools, Cal and my brother spoke by phone, and confirmed to one another that there was no way I would be able to finish the school year. Cal enlisted the help of our R.A., Allen, and went personally to each of my professors, explaining my situation. The local coverage of the tragedy ensured that the event was known to all, so all that remained, I guess, was a tactful explanation of how close Rich and I were. Two of my professors gave me the grade I had been carrying to that point (both A's) as my final grade, one agreed that I could just take the final exam whenever I felt up to it, and the fourth gave me an incomplete, meaning I had until the end of the next term I enrolled in to turn in my final paper and get my credits. The paper was already close to final form, so it wouldn't have been much of a burden to turn it in, anyway, but the extra breathing-room was nice.
It was only the second Sunday since the funeral when the U-haul truck pulled up in the driveway. It was early in the evening, and I was in the early stages of my planning, doing some research, when I heard voices outside my window. I looked out to see Tort and Cal getting out of the truck. I went out to greet them.
"Hey, guys," I said. "What's going on?"
Cal hugged me as Tort opened the back of the truck. "We brought your stuff," he said. "We figured you wouldn't want to have to come back for it."
I willed myself not to break down, but it was hard. "Thanks, guys," I choked. "I, um, I...thanks. Thanks very much."
Unbelievable. They had packed my entire room and brought it to me. On a Sunday. Only a couple of weeks from their own final exams. I didn't know what I had done to deserve such friendship, and I couldn't put into words how much it meant to me. If I wasn't really surprised that Cal would do something like that for me, Tort's presence threw me a bit. I shook his hand.
"You really didn't have to do this," I said.
"You know me," he shrugged, "any excuse not to study."
I simply nodded and smiled, and we spent the next hour or so unloading everything. As hard as it was for me to see what seemed like my entire life crammed into that small space, it was infinitely easier than having had to do it twice. The thought of going back to the dorms and loading everything up was almost more than I could bear. I had thought about making special arrangements to go back after the dorms were closed for the summer, knowing that the Resident Director would be completely sympathetic. That way I could have some privacy and breakdown as often as I felt the need. This way, though, what Cal and Tort (and probably a few others back at school) had done for me...well, like I said, words couldn't express.
After we finished we sat on the back porch and enjoyed a few beers in the fading light. We chatted about school and about nothing. I ended up drinking a lot, and begged off to go to bed fairly early, mainly because I felt a pathetic, maudlin drunk coming on and didn't want to subject them to that. I was afraid, too, that I might inadvertently let something of my intentions slip. Tort seemed weirdly interested in the "garden plot" I had staked out, and despite my offhand responses to his questions I was getting nervous. Also, I knew that they had to get the truck back, and to get back to classes, but would have stayed to be kind, and I didn't want their kindness to cost them any more than it already had. I wrote Cal a check to cover the cost of the rental and stumbled off to bed.
In the morning, towering hangover and all, I knew it was time to start my project. I went out to the backyard, passing the table where the three of us had sat the night before. Something in the candle in the center of the table caught my eye. Mostly ashes, but I could just make out bits of the check I had given to Cal. Naturally, I thought, shaking my head. Sometimes you can't figure out why you have the friends you do, and it's best just to count your blessings and move on. As I grabbed my "garden tools" out of the garage I tried to remember all the questions Tort had been asking me. He had asked me about the dimensions and didn't seem to believe me when I told him I didn't know and didn't care. I just wanted to plant some tomato plants, and maybe some cukes. "Just to dig and plant some stuff and watch it grow," I had lied. He looked at me strangely but thankfully let the matter drop.
I set my watch down in the grass and regarded the carefully-measured dimensions my research told me I would encounter: ten feet by about four feet and a couple of inches. I checked the time: 9:05. Dave was at school; my parents were both at work. I had the day to myself. I started to dig.
I didn't think about much as I dug, I just enjoyed the physical exertion and the mindlessness of the task. At exactly 11:30 I had dug two feet down the length and width I had staked out. I was more than a little discouraged. Even allowing for looser earth it would still take close to that much time for me to do it again. Then I factored in fatigue and started some serious calculations. Six hours digging, probably closer to seven. Maybe close to two hours re-filling. I would be looking at nine hours, maybe eight if everything came together. Fuck. Not enough time.
"You can't bury someone in your backyard," came a voice from behind.
Jesus Jumping Christ! I just about fell into the hole I had dug.
"What are you still doing here?" I asked. "Didn't you go back last night?"
"Yeah, I did, but something was bothering me and I wanted to talk to you about it, so I came back."
My heart was still pounding from the physical labor, but I knew the sudden clamminess in my palms found its source in nerves.
He hadn't moved from where he had first addressed me, so we regarded each other from across the lawn. I tried to out-wait him, but he was staring at me so intently that I finally got unnerved. I decided to go for bravado. "So what's on your mind, Tort? You just want to make sure you're in line for some home-grown veggies?"
"Did I ever tell you what I do during summer breaks?"
Hmm. Conversational non-sequiturs. Not what I would expect from the ordinarily straight-forward dullard. If I wasn't so paranoid I might have been amused.
"No, I guess you never mentioned it," I said.
"I dig graves," he said, almost before I finished speaking.
"Well," I said, leaning on my shovel now, "that's very interesting. I guess that would qualify you to help with my garden, if you're up for it."
"Cut the bullshit." Again, he spoke almost without letting me finish. "I paced it off last night. You're digging a grave."
"Tort, two things: first, you're out of your mind. Come back tomorrow, or next week, or next year, and this hole will not be any deeper. There will be a garden here, and I promise you, there will not be any body or bodies in the ground. Second, what business is it of yours what I'm doing?"
"You need help," he said, shaking his head.
"I won't argue that with you. I know I need help, and I'm getting it. I've already been to a shrink once, and she told me I'm no more crazy than anyone in my position would be. I'm not completely losing it, Tort."
"Tell me what you're doing and why."
I studied him for a few minutes before speaking. "I'm digging a garden. It gives me something to do and it makes me tired."
"Cut the bullshit."
At least we were on familiar ground now, although the thought of ceaseless colloquial ping-pong threatened a different kind of exhaustion.
"Tort, just tell me what's on your mind. Why are you so curious about what I'm doing?"
"Tell me what you're doing or I will go to Cal and tell him to call your parents and your brother. I can make a big enough stink to stop you from doing something crazy."
I panicked for a moment, but just. Maybe this wasn't meant to be, despite all my research, despite the fact of the moon and stars lining up (almost literally), despite the fact that I was willing to risk everything for the man I loved. But I didn't have time to wait Tort out and I was pretty sure the pigheaded fool would call my bluff before I could call his. I realized almost immediately the error of my thinking: his was no bluff. Shit. I was the one with everything to lose. I needed time to think. I turned my back on him and started to dig again.
"Do whatever you want, Tort. Even if I was doing something crazy you'd have no way to prove it. And when I start planting stuff back here, maybe people will watch me a little closer, but they'll know I'm not up to anything too strange."
"Maybe. But how much time do you have to do whatever you're really planning?"
Goddamn. How could this...what had Rich called him?...this fucking troglodyte...know that I was up to something? I was nervous and frustrated at the same time. If he did open his yap it could ruin everything. He was right: time was against me, and the clock I punched had started ticking days ago.
I went back to digging. "Do whatever you need to do, Tort. I'll be all right."
He watched me silently for a long few minutes. I was almost completely unnerved, and I wasn't sure if I had enough strength to keep from breaking down while he was still there. I used every mental power I could to will him away. Maybe if he did raise the alarm, I would have just enough time to get everything done. Then I started to get pissed. Fucking asshole. Where the fuck did he get off sticking his nose in my business? What I should do is get out of this hole and calmly walk up to him and swing this motherfucking shovel in a great arc and bury the fucking thing in his rocky skull and then bury his ass in this shallow grave and grow motherfucking tomatoes on top of him.
I was on the verge of laughing like a lunatic when he spoke again. From right behind me. How had I not heard him approach?
"You need help," he said, again.
Now I WAS pissed. "Hey, fuckhead, my best friend in the world, the person I shared everything with, the person I was planning on sharing the rest of my life with, the person that I loved like I have never loved before and am not likely to ever again just fell out of a fucking window and died. So, yeah, I do need help. I need a lot of it. So go run along now and blow your horn. I'm sure it will be a big fucking newsflash to all concerned." Then I sat down and cried like I had thought I had finished crying.
Tort never moved. He stood above me watching. Watching and waiting. Eventually my sobs quieted.
"You need help," he repeated.
I started to get up so I could hit him with my shovel.
"You can't do this by yourself," he added.
"Wh...what? Do what?"
"Whatever it is that you're doing. I know you're not crazy enough to try to dig up Rich's body and bury him in your backyard, but you're obviously crazy enough to want to dig him up and do something. Why else would you be digging a practice grave, unless it was to figure out how long it would actually take you? When I asked you about this little 'garden' last night I could tell by your reaction that something was going on. When I came back this morning and saw you digging and checking your watch, I knew you were timing yourself. So just spare me the fucking bullshit and tell me what you're doing. Then I'll either agree to help, or I'll walk away and pretend last night and this morning never happened."
I stared at him, open-mouthed, of course, and tried to find the ability to talk.
"Why?" I finally managed. "Why would..."
"Because I loved him too. Not like you or anything," he rushed to add, "but he was the coolest person I have ever known. And you're cool, too. And I might be pretty stupid, and maybe even jealous of the fact that two people could love each other as much as you two did, and maybe because I'm just smart enough to know that I won't ever have anything like that in my life, maybe that's why I want to help. Or maybe it makes me feel pretty fucking smart to have you figured out, at least a little. Or maybe I don't even know why. Do you know why you do everything you do?"
I leaned on my shovel and stared at the ground for a few moments. Good point, I thought. Why do we do the things we do? This, though...this was different. I knew why I was doing this.
"Rich and I promised one another that whoever died first, the other one wouldn't let him end up in a hole in the ground. Rich was totally claustrophobic, and couldn't stand the thought of being in a grave. I'm going to dig him up and give him a Viking burial-at-sea."
Tort started laughing. And couldn't stop. "You're out of your fucking mind, you know that?"
"Probably."
"No, not `probably,' definitely. You can't get away with something like that. Are you insane?"
"Never ask a crazy person if he's insane. He'll either lie or get annoyed."
We stared at each other for a long time. His humor had evaporated, and my determination had not wavered.
Finally, I said, "I don't have a lot of time. I have to get back to work."
"All right, wait a second. Just answer me a couple of questions."
I waited without saying anything.
"You actually think you can dig up a grave, steal a body, burn it at sea, and not get caught?"
"The first three, yes, the last one, maybe."
"How the fuck do you plan on getting to the ocean with a...him in the car?"
"I'm no that crazy," I said. "I'm just going to the lake."
"The lake? You can practically see both shores...even from the middle."
"Not the night after tomorrow, at about 3:30 in the morning. It's a new moon, which means no moon, and it's going to be cloudy and rainy."
"Okay, so even if you got him to the lake, how would you launch two boats without making any noise?" he asked.
"Rich knew an old woman who lives on the lake. Her daughter used to baby-sit Rich, and the old woman started thinking of Rich as the little boy she never had. Later on, after the daughter got married and moved away, the old woman let him keep a fishing boat in her boathouse, so he could go out on the lake anytime he wanted. I met her once. Rich said, 'You remember my brother, don't you, Ms. Inez?' And the crazy old bat said 'sure' and told us to have fun fishing."
"That's only one boat. How do you get back? And even if she's nuts, won't she notice the boat missing?"
"That boat's coming back. And even if it didn't, no, she wouldn't notice. She's gotta be around 90 now, and her back lot to the lake is about 100 yards long. The closest she ever gets to the boathouse is when she sits on her deck, if she even does that anymore."
"So what goes up in flames?"
"This does," I said, leading back behind the garage and pulling the tarp off an old wooden dinghy loaded with cord wood already soaked with kerosene. I had two more five gallon jugs of the stuff in the boat, too.
Tort shook his head. "All right, so you've given this a lot of thought, I'll give you that. But that doesn't make it any less crazy." He stared at me expectantly.
"I can't argue with that," I said. "I know it's crazy. But I have to at least try. I promised Rich I would.
"Rich wouldn't want you to go to jail, though. I think he'd be pretty okay with all the planning you've done, and say it's the thought that counts."
"Maybe," I said, "but you know if our situations were reversed, Rich wouldn't let anything stand in his way. I'm doing this for me, too. I can't live the rest of my life knowing that I didn't go everything I could for the most important person in my life."
Tort stood staring at the boat, obviously thinking. 'We could be here a while,' I thought, uncharitably. "All right," he finally said, quietly.
"All right, what?"
"I said I'd either help, or walk away. Do you see me walking away?"
"Shit, Tort, I don't know how..."
"But I'm only gonna help dig," he interrupted. "After that, you're on your own."
I started to feel a little giddy, but I didn't want to scare him away. Digging was the part that had me ready to give up; I couldn't see how I could do it on my own, unless I used a backhoe. Now, though...
"Okay," I said, before either one of us could come to our senses, "how long do you figure it will take us to dig?"
"Fresh grave, fairly loose dirt, no clay...we hit the coffin in no more than three hours. Then to refill, easier still, what with all the adrenalin from having a corpse next to us, less than two. If we don't run into any hitches, we should have you on your way in about four hours."
I knew what he was trying to do, casually tossing out words like "coffin" and "corpse" but I was beyond being rattled by anything as mundane as real words instead of euphemisms. I did some quick calculations.
"We need to start digging around 11:30, which is a little earlier than I had hoped, but there are only three houses with any proximity to the cemetery, and you can only see into it from one them. Since it's so small, private and secluded, there isn't even a security guard. The police do make rounds from time to time, but there's a service road in the back of the cemetery that you can't see from outside. As long as we get in unnoticed we should be good to go until we're ready to leave."
"Goddamn, you really have thought of everything, haven't you? So we're really gonna do this?"
"I'm going to. I think you're crazy to try to help me. I can at least plead insanity; you'd have a harder argument to make."
"I'm just the peon, you're the ringleader; if we get caught I'm selling you out completely."
I had to laugh. "Fair enough," I said. "So do you want to hang out here for the next couple of days? Not tomorrow night, but the next, is supposed to be cloudy and rainy. It'll also be a new moon, which means it should be pretty damn dark. That's when I was planning to make my move."
"Okay," he said. "But I've already missed a couple of classes. I'm gonna head back now, and just come back Wednesday night."
A panic wave swept over me. "You haven't just been humoring me, have you? Are you going to rat me out, and just let me think you're coming back?"
He shrugged. "We both know that's what I should do." He turned and walked away. "I'll see you Wednesday night," he said over his shoulder.
And with that, I had his commitment. Now, if I could just avoid my own for a few days...