Ashes & Topsoil
Summer gave up without a fight and fall followed darkly into a stubborn winter that dragged it’s long slow feet into a wet, cool spring. As the inevitable warmth came my wife was kneeling in the garden, her small hand spade making new trenches for the huge number of seedlings she would plant and fawn over for yet another season. The one spot in the large rear yard I had asked her not to disturb. “ But it’s the best spot, sun wise, for the flowers.” She had just smiled and did as she pleased. Just weeks before I died she had me build a small potting shed that she painted like something from a fairy tale. Gaudy as all hell.
My life insurance was more than enough for a decent burial and then some. My wife, Jan, went cheap with the undertaker insisting on a no frills cremation. Just a heavy cardboard coffin. [state law called for a casket even in situations of cremation.]
After I was burned down to a small pile of ashes and bits of bone I was scraped into a small cardboard box. Despite the undertakers smooth salesmanship Jan insisted there was no need for a vase. Just the box thank you.
The ride home was strange being inside the dark box and all. Country western music blared from the cars radio and Jan’s off key screeching. Her attempts at singing always annoyed me in life and just seemed comical as my ashes slid around in my small box. I was expecting Jan to toss me out the window at any time. Surprisingly she took me to the house and straight to the potting shed where she mixed my ashes into the wooden box I had constructed to mix potting material.
I was in the box for three days or so when I heard Jan whistling as she approached the shed. The door opened and I heard the familiar sounds of heavy bags hitting the floor. Most likely topsoil , manure, sand and compost. I heard the soil box open, the box I was scattered in, open and the above mentioned items began to pour in.
“Like that Charlie?” Jan laughed unaware I could hear her shrill voice. “ Get you mixed in with all this dirt and haul you to the garden. You’ll be pushing up daisies in no time.” Jan apparently thought this great humor and laughed until the last bag of dirt filled the box. After ten minutes of mixing the new ingredients Jan stopped and wheeled the garden cart to the box and began to shovel her new mixture. Soon I was on my way to the garden in the squeaky wheeled cart. I would soon be mixed into existing garden soil. The last place I wanted to spend eternity. Something Jan no doubt knew.
Hours later I felt the seedlings from the plastic six packs being planted in and around me. Jan spoke aloud to each plant as if they were her babies. SICK. I endured several hours of this before Jan’s mysterious, and often convenient, back pain caused her to stop for the day. A break for her and me. I only dreaded the first night in The Spot. I mean if I was still able to think and hear were there others. Like me. That would come out at sundown? Of course I was thinking about a particular ghost. Someone/something quite a bit like Jan. I could only hope it was a fear and worry. Hope the night would speed by uneventful.
It was midnight when a light rain started. I could feel the cold of the water and found myself wiping rain drops from my forehead. What the hell? I was sitting in the center of the garden patch cross legged. I held up my hands and saw straight through them. That’s when I heard the laughter. I looked to my right and there she was: Laura. “ Hello Charlie. I would say I’m glad to see you but considering how I came to be here that would be a lie.”
“ Laura? How.?”
“ Really Charlie? How? When you buried me here ten years ago I could feel your discomfort every time you walked by. And that ‘new’ wife of yours? You thought I was bad? Hmmm. Still feel that way?”
“ Laura I have no intention of arguing with you for an eternity. I’m leaving.”
“ I wish you could Charlie. Seems we’re stuck right here. I’ve tried to leave many times. Nothing.”
“ Any chance we can make peace.?”
“ None.”
Charlie looked skyward and thought, Let it rain.
