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Stone Echoes (standard:drama, 3739 words) | |||
Author: BENTLINK | Added: Aug 29 2008 | Views/Reads: 3428/2161 | Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes) |
You can’t escape the sins of your past even in a grave yard. | |||
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story The responding shelter crew must have looked an unlikely answerer to the prayers of the old churches pastor and parishioners. All the men were poorly dressed, unshaven and either looked only at their feet or cast rapid anxious glances all about as if expecting to be set upon by evil doers at any moment. With the exception of Roy, every member of the crew had the characteristic red veined nose and sore eyed fallow complexions common to chronic alcohol and drug abusers. While several members of the life-worn crew appeared to be nearing, the limit of what flesh and blood could be expected to endure Roy was certain they were up to the task because he had worked with each of them before. The middle-aged fit looking pastor introduced himself as Harry; he explained this latest bout of vandalism was only part of his ongoing battle to preserve the aging church and cemetery. He went on to tell them, a coal fired electric generating plant hundreds of miles and several states away was causing a slow but steady acid rain decay of the lime stone of the old church and its grave markers. As the pastor spoke, he did a poor job of concealing his doubts about the raggedy crew's ability to be of any real help. Finally after falling silent for a few moments, the pastor made an odd unexplained jester with his hands by forming a bowl with his palms and fingers and then making a pouring motion at the feet of the crew. Roy later learned this hand motion was something the Pastors' had learned in his childhood, it had been his family's way of saying thank you in a measure beyond what could be put into words. Roy was not shy about sharing his ideas on how the crew could work together by first raising all the stones and then divide into teams of two. Each team of two could take a newly righted stone and put on finishing touches of stabilizing and leveling. He tried to sell the idea to the crew by telling everyone to keep a list of the names from the stones they had put back on the straight and level; this of course got a big laugh from all the members of the crew that attended AA or NA meetings. The very first marker the crew tried to lift taught them a lot about headstones, the things were heavy as hell and very fragile. They broke a small corner off Ester May Boyd beloved wife of Thomas R. Boyd without even coming close to putting her back upright. The dear one's stone might have already been cracked by being knocked over but the final insult came when they tried to crowbar her back onto the vertical. After discovering how fragile these things were Roy called on the crew for ideas and someone came up with using wide flat boards salvaged from a shipping pallet to spread the weight. They were using the carefully inserter boards and getting Ester May almost vertical when several older ladies came out of the church carrying metal trays pilled high with cupcakes and banana nut bread. Close behind came two more gals with pots of hot coffee and plastic cups. As they served refreshments, the ladies repeatedly thanked the crew for coming to heal the insult to their beloved cemetery then apologized almost as frequently because cake and coffee were all they could contribute to the tipped stones rescue effort. After refueling with sweets, hot coffee and basking in the warm thanks, the crew resumed their work. By days end only five of the stones sat upright and of these five, only one, Ester May with the wounded corner was leveled to everyone's satisfaction. Roy was pretty sure Ester May's husband Thomas would be pleased with the quality of their work but to voice his approval or else lodge a complaint about the broken corner the old boy would need to be approaching two hundred years of age. After working all day lifting tombstones Roy and the crew climbed back aboard the dilapidated shelter bus ready for some droned over beans and army cots. Roy's hope was that the little “heathens” that knocked the damn stones over enjoyed themselves because the crew was going to be many days undoing their nights work. While the beans and cornbread were getting prayed about this evening Roy's plan was to break from his usual routine of numbing out and instead have his own private talk with the man upstairs about sending every one of the no good little stone flippers straight to the gates of hell to pay for their hateful acts. Early on day two of the stone righting job Roy left the crew happily working away on a large stone from the 1930s while he walked about the graveyard grounds counting tipped over markers. The little vandals had knocked over twenty six stones counting the five put back upright yesterday; some nights work! Roy gradually worked his way down hill and as he neared the high loose stacked stone wall that defined the rear of the church grounds, he smelled a hint of “Blue Nuns” tobacco smoke. He was immediately overcome by a blinding upwelling of emotions so intense he went first to his knees and then fell face forward to the ground. Then still blinded by waves of guilt, shame, and grief he lay facedown unable to rise or even roll over. After what seemed forever, he was able to force the feelings down and turn over onto his back. As his vision cleared, he saw Harry the church pastor, briar pipe in hand standing over him. The pastor gave him a concerned quizzical look before putting out a hand to help Roy sit up. “Are you OK? That was some tumble you took, must have got you feet tangled.” “Yeah I got my toe under a root or something,” Roy answered. Pointing to the large briar pipe in his right hand the Pastor said “This is the only vice I still cling to. An old friend of mine in Spain sends me tobacco once or twice a year. I slip down here like a thief and smoke once a day. I've tried quite a few times to give it up but as you see without success. I guess God will step in when he is ready for me to put the pipe down. Its Roy isn't it, yes that's right I remember now. You know Roy you seem a little different from your brothers on the shelter crew, younger and different. Roy I want you to know I have a well earned reputation about being nosey I am also very good at keeping secrets. If you don't mind my asking how long have you been at the shelter?” Roy welcomed the change of subject as he was ashamed at having been felled by emotions he was unable to control and he could also see the pastor was embarrassed as well having been caught committing even so minor a sin as pipe smoking. Roy was unsure just how to answer the Pastors question; it had been so long since anyone had shown a genuine interest in him but still he had his secrets to protect. He did not really mind answering and in fact; it was very nice having a conversation that you knew would not end with the other party asking you to split the cost of a bottle of cheap wine. “No I don't mind, I think about a year or so. Yes, that's right a year. I ended calling here after being on the road a while.” Roy had said a lot more than he had intended. Funny this Harry guy was so easy to talk with, just like an old and trusted friend “Is it good being at the shelter, does it fill your current needs? Are you Happy being there?” Sorry I know I sometimes move to fast. I guess I am trying to rush Gods Work.” “Oh that's OK Roy said I know you must be pretty busy and I don't want to take up your time. I'm just fine staying at the shelter the people who run the place are real nice and don't ask a lot of questions.” Roy wished he could call back his last words. He did not want to hurt this good man's feelings and immediately started apologizing for his thoughtless remark about being ask questions. Seemingly unfazed the Pastor ask “Why did you say I ended up calling here instead of I ended up coming here when I ask about how long you had been at the shelter?” “I didn't say calling? Did I say calling? Why would I say calling? Are you sure I said calling?” Without answering, Harry began poking at the remaining tobacco in his pipe bowl with a large kitchen match and then turned the match end for end and struck it on the nearest grave marker. This entire tamping and relighting ritual had been preformed without his ever taking his eyes off Roy. After taking a couple short drags on the pipes mouthpiece, Harry sent a small fragrant puff of blue smoke in Roy's direction then asks, “What do you think it means when someone misspeaks like that”? “Oh I think it's just that misspeak that's all nothing to it. I know that famous doctor guy said doing that means something is inside trying to get out, trying to be heard. I don't want to talk about this any more, anyway why would I say calling when I mean coming here, here to Little Rock”. “I think that was the question I ask of you,” Harry said while looking into Roys eyes with a soft sympathetic smile on his face. “I've got to get back up the hill Lord only knows what the crew will be doing” the now sweating and agitated Roy said. Along came another puff of fragrant Blue Nuns smoke that Roy walked through as he made his way back up the slope to where the whole crew had succeed in putting two more markers upright. Roy carefully avoided any further contact with the Pastor for the remainder of day two. That evening Roy had more than his usual trouble sleeping because he kept repeatedly running the days events around in his mind. It had been two years since he had allowed himself to feel the burden of his past and now the memories were back and based on the way he had passed out and fallen to the ground they were stronger than ever. Well now it had come to this Roy thought. I can travel again make a new start or talk to this stranger about it, my drinking, and a little about my guilt. I'm so tired of moving around Roy thought maybe I should just talk; maybe it would help if I just told him about a little about all of it. Roy awoke to face day three of stone setting with a splitting headache after having the worst night he could ever remember. He washed down the offered breakfast of gravy and biscuits with two cups of black coffee and made his reluctant way to the shelter bus. Roy had the bus driver detour along a couple of back alley ways in a warehouse area to pick up some discarded shipping pallets. The boards were a good idea but a fist fight almost developed when a sleeping wino awoke to the crew taking apart what had been his shelter for the night. The bus driver quieted things down by giving the alley dweller a flyer that described the shelter along with the promise of a hot meal and safe place to bed down in exchange for his pallets and cardboard sleeping quarters. The driver's quick thinking not only calmed the wino down but also got the crew several pallet boards so they could now work on more than one stone at a time. Roy spent most of the morning trying to decide if he wanted to run again or talk to Harry until a cursing scream erupted from one of the crew. The man's hand had been cut to the bone when one of the boards supporting a stone had broken. Roy was sure stitches would be needed to close the wound and suggested that the Pastor drive him and the injured workman to a nearby minor medical clinic. The Pastor and Roy waited outside while the injured crewman chatted up the young mothers to be in the waiting room of the clinic all the while keeping pressure on his cut hand. Roy and Harry talked about the weather and the job of repairing the cemetery. After a while Roy's speech became softly hesitant and words from deep within began to spill out “Several years ago I worked in Pittsburg, I was single I think people would call me a “player” I had a good paying job and spent everything I made partying. Like a lot of young guy's I lived for the weekends. I didn't have a care in the world until the day I called in sick with a hangover. It was a Monday and I was supposed to go Washington for a meeting”. Roy stopped speaking, his eyes filled with tears that soon overflowing ran down his cheeks. “Sounds like you were doing what young people do Roy, having a good life, having fun, and working hard,” Harry said in an effort to comfort the now openly weeping younger man. Roy began anew, his voice trembling, “No, no you don't understand I should have been ready to go to Washington, I should have stopped drinking, gone home, got some rest, and taken care of business. It was my responsibility to be on the plane.” Roy hesitated as if waiting for Harry to coax more from him. Harry did not speak but instead pulled out the old briar pipe, he played with the pipe for a time, allowing Roy an interval of peace to gather himself and find the strength needed to finish reopening the painful wounds that had driven him here to this old cemetery filled with decaying stones. “I called in sick and Randy had to fill in for me at the Washington meeting. Randy was my friend, we got aquatinted in college and had some fun times together. After Randy and Mo, uh Monica married Randy and I still got together for drinks after work a few times but it was not like old days. Randy was the happiest married man I ever knew he would almost chug down his drink because he was in such a hurry to get home to his wife Monaca and the new baby.” “Tell me about Washington Roy. What happened in Washington?” Roy turned his face skyward as if searching for a giant hand to come down and crush him for his sins “The meeting went just as planned. Randy could sell ice cubes to Eskimos. He got away from the meeting and to the airport in plenty of time, probably even had time to stand outside and fire up his pipe's “Blue Nun” tobacco before boarding the flight back to Pittsburg”. Roy took a deep breath held it for a moment then exhaled took another deep breath and then in a voice filed with more anguish than anyone should have to endure said “Randy's plane crashed and he was killed before he made it half way home to Mo and the baby. It's my fault. I killed my friend because I was selfish and weak because I was too good at getting drunk and not good enough at being a friend I killed the baby's father and Monaca's husband. I killed my friend. I killed my friend and I am so sorry.” Harry's briar pipe relighting ritual again gave Roy another chance to gather himself then Harry asks, “How come you did not stay in Pittsburg and help out your friend's wife Roy? What was so wrong that you had to run half way across the country?” “She would not let me help Roy answered. After the plane went down, she would have nothing to do with me. She even stood and left the room when I showed up at the closed casket services they held for Randy.” They both sat for a time without speaking then at last Harry broke the silence. “You know Roy you are very close to telling me the whole story and I know it is almost more than you can stand to think about but trust me when I tell you things will be better if you let me hear it all. Tell the last of it Roy let go of it.” Then Harry stood and walked near to Roy placing his hands softly onto the man's shoulders. He shook the weeping man gently trying to help him dislodge this last critical bone of toxic truth that was slowly killing him. Harry knew Roy had to release his poison truth to have any hope for a normal life. “You know the rest don't you Harry/” “Yes Roy I'm sure I do know but you have to say it. You know you must say it out loud don't you”. Harry felt the tension slowly drain from Roy's shoulders before he spoke. “Monaca was alone when they came to her door with news of the crash and she will never forgive me. We were in their bed when Randy called saying he would be home on time. I was making love with Monaca when the plane went down just outside Washington and I will never forgive myself for forcing her husband to go in my place so I could be alone to seduce her.” Tweet
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