What? Doesn’t Everyone Have to Deal With a Body Buried in Their Front Yard From Time to Time?
You know, as I was driving home that day I was thinking to myself…
Self, it’s been ages since you’ve had raw sewage back up into your house and overflow all over your floors. I think you’ve missed that.
Fortunately, the gods of all that is sewer-ish smiled upon me and suddenly shit (literally) got real.
The fastest plumber in the west (Swifty) came to the house, placed a camera in something he called the “main line”, and my brain heard as “stupidly expensive to fix”, and proceeded to show us some rather impressive images of a tree that had taken up residence in the aforementioned piping.
He said it would have to be dug up, and a large section of the main line would have to be replaced.
“How much will that be?” I asked.
He quoted an amount that I’m pretty sure was more than the GDP of Honduras last year..”..and, I can come do it tomorrow…” he finished, smiling.
Of course you can, I thought, and then you can take a cruise to Belize after you cash my check.
“Okay.” I sighed, knowing there was no alternative.
The next day, hubby was home while the plumber and his helper worked.
When I got home, I was rather alarmed to see a mound of dirt in the yard that looked exactly like the shallow graves we all see in movies and television shows.
Exactly. Like. That.
“What is that?” I asked hubby.
“A grave.” He said, offering no other explanation.
“Well, that’s what Swifty said it was and since he came with a helper and left alone…I didn’t ask questions.”
“Perfect,” I said, too tired from working all day to really care. “I guess the least we can do is get some kind of headstone.”
“And attract the attention of the police? Are you crazy?”
I just looked at him, and realized we were arguing about whether or not to mark the grave in my front yard with a headstone.
We weren’t discussing who was in it, why it was there, and how the hell this all happened.
No, we were contemplating the propriety of memorials in front yards.
It was as if we were discussing whether to have pancakes or waffles for breakfast. (There are definitely two camps on this issue, just like headstone or no headstone. I don’t like either, and hubby prefers pancakes…so maybe there are actually three camps)
Hubby smiled at me, “Don’t you want to know what happened?”
“Do I?” I asked, figuring that if it came up later I could always claim ignorance and not be lying.
“I came outside and saw Swifty mounding this dirt. I didn’t see Swifty’s helper so I jokingly said to him that if that’s a body there, I’m giving the police your name and number.”
“Swifty said, ‘Oh yeah, there’s a body buried in there. Also, I had to mound the dirt over the pipe to prevent crushing it. Over time, it will settle around the pipe and the ground will be more or less level.’ And he walked away…but just before he got in his truck he said, ‘Bird’ Now, I don’t know if he meant it was a bird or someone named Bird is buried there.”
“And you didn’t ask.” I said.
Hubby shook his head.
“Well, at least now we know what name to put on the headstone.” I said, and walked into the house.