When you hear young girls refer to each other as BFFs, a certain image comes to mind.
But down in the Gutter, best friends forever means something entirely different.
But down in the Gutter, best friends forever means something entirely different.
Dig by Dyer Wilk
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Henry
thought a shovel with a plastic handle would have been easier on his hands, but
it wasn’t. A foot down into the earth and the blisters were starting to rise up
from his palms like toadstools after a heavy rain. They were hurting him now,
turning an angry shade of red and threatening to burst. But he kept digging.
Quitting wasn’t an option.
He
looked up and saw George sitting on the trunk of a fallen oak, his head
hanging, eyes on his feet. The gun was clutched in both hands with the barrel
tipped toward the ground. Sometimes he tilted it to one side or the other, as
if he was trying to get used to the feel, or maybe just trying to accept the
incredible power that such a small thing held.
Henry
tried hard not to dwell on it.
He
hunched over and drove the blade of the shovel into the hard clay, scooped out
another chunk and cast it aside. Three feet would be enough, he figured. They
could both agree on that. Good and deep enough to keep the animals from digging
up the body. Still, part of him wanted
to dig deeper. He needed time to think, time to sort it all out in his head.
They both did, he thought.
This
wasn’t going to be easy. With every shovelful he tried to make himself accept
it. He had been told that it made things easier, that all the fear and sadness
would fade away, replaced by a functional numbness.
God,
he hoped he would feel that by the time he finished digging the hole. If he
didn’t, he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage. Even now, as he cleared a
second foot of dirt, he could feel it growing inside him, a terror so powerful
his hands were beginning to shake.
He
looked up and saw that George wasn’t doing much better. His arms were pressed
tight against his ribs and the gun was resting between his knees. Henry could
see the tremors and the tears.
“Are
you okay?” he asked.
George
looked up, his eyes suddenly sharp and defensive.
“Just
leave me alone for a minute. Okay?”
Henry
looked down at the shovel, thinking he was going to keep digging. He pushed
into the soil and then stopped. He looked up at George again.
“We
don’t have to do this, you know. There are other options.”
George
looked at him, those teary eyes steadying. “No, there aren’t. Don’t you fucking
tell me there are, Henry. You know what has to happen here.”
“I’m
sorry. I just thought…”
“Yeah,
you just thought. Christ.” He pulled
the gun up over his knees and turned it over in his hands. “You wanna be
helpful? Dig the hole. Give me a few minutes.”
Henry
lifted the shovel and started in again. The pain wasn’t so bad now. He realized
he was being a little selfish about the whole thing. He had barely considered
how hard it was for George, the shame and guilt and fear that it taken to even
come out here, to make that kind of decision. In the same position, Henry would
probably have felt the exact same way. So he dug. He worked slowly and resisted
the urge to look up at George and try to reason with him.
As
the sun began to dip below the treetops, the hole reached three feet. He
considered giving it one more, but there really wasn’t much point. It had to
happen eventually.
He
tossed the shovel into the grass and looked up at George.
“I
guess that’s it.”
George
looked up from his lap. For a moment, his eyes wandered in a daze and then
found Henry.
“Looks
pretty deep.”
“I
did the best I could.”
“Climb
on out of there.”
Henry
pulled himself up and stood. He looked at George, a weak smile on his face. For
a moment, time seemed to jump back 20 years ago. They were just a couple of
high school friends, meeting out behind the gym for batting practice.
He
saw George’s hands tremble.
“You
know you don’t have to do this,” Henry said.
George’s
eyes sharpened, full of pain and anger. “I
don’t?”
“No.
We can talk about this. Work things out.”
“We
did talk. We…” He shook his head.
“No.”
He
tightened his grip on the gun.
Henry
took a deep breath and closed his eyes, knowing he had only one chance to make
this right.
“Sara
still loves you, George.”
George
clenched his jaw, the cords in his neck swelling.
“It
was a mistake,” Henry said. “A horrible, stupid mistake. I know you’re mad, but
if you do this, you can’t take it back. You can’t just go home and look at Sara
and not think about it.”
George shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t.”
“This
isn’t you, man. Holding a gun, talking about…”
Henry
glanced at the hole. The setting sun had thrown a deep shadow into it, making
it appear bottomless.
He
turned back to George and saw that the gun was lower now. He took half a step
forward and held out his hand.
“I
want you to give me the gun.”
George
kept shaking his head, squinting hard, biting his lip.
Henry
moved his hand closer. His fingers brushed metal. George didn’t pull away.
Slowly, Henry wrapped his hand around the barrel and pulled it free of George’s
grasp.
For
a moment they both stood there, and then George began to sob.
“I
didn’t mean it,” he said. “I love her.”
“I
know, George. I know.” Henry wrapped his fingers around the grip of the pistol
and leveled the barrel at George’s chest. “Now get in the goddamn hole.”
George’s
face froze, eyes bulging.
“But…but
I…”
Henry
smiled. “You’re doing the right thing, George. Don’t you worry. I’ll take good
care of Sara.”
