x
A silent shadow snuck noisily out through a cemetery ignoring all writing conventions and using as many lovely adverbs as he wanted. The leaves crackled underfoot and the twigs snapped as he tried not to make a sound.
“Why are there leaves and sticks in a cemetery with no trees?” the not-so-silent, not-so-young man whispered just below a grunt. He hefted his load up a little higher on his shoulder. The bag looked almost empty.
Forty-something dad hurried through the graveside with all the tiny little graves and itty-bitty marking stones. This was his least favorite part. If only someone had come up with a better way of disposing of, well, you know.
“Late-night burial?” A creepy-looking man, who hadn’t been there before, asked.
“You don’t have a lot of teeth,” Forty-something dad commented before he thought about what he was saying.
“You don’t have a lot of manners,” the creepy-looking man with not a lot of teeth said.
“Oh, I was just mentioning it because you have a toothpick in your mouth but you don’t have teeth to pick.”
“Can’t be picky these days.”
“Was that meant to be a really bad pun? Never mind. I’ve got to be going.”
“Not until you finish what you came here for,” Creepy said.
“I can do that some other time,” Forty-something dad said.
“No no, that’s what I’m here for.”
“You are OK with what I am going to do?”
“No, I’m here to creep you out.”
“Oh, good job.”
“Hah hah, I’m here to help you out. You see what I did with that? One word will set your mind at ease and one will make you wet your pants.”
“Yeah, I didn’t like what you did with that.”
“Still here to help you out. Do you want to use my shovel?”
Forty-something dad looked at The creepy man’s large shovel. He took the bag off his shoulder and held it up looking at a tiny little lump in the bottom.
“Um, that’s a little big.”
“What this?” Creepy man held up the shovel and started laughing again. “Oh no, that’s my weapon,” he chuckled and made a motion with the shovel as if he were smacking someone on the head. He pulled a small metal spoon out of his pocket and handed it over.
“Oh, thanks.”
The middle-aged man accepted the non-mechanical, non-electronic antiquated utensil from the creepy man. He stared at it for a moment, disappointed thinking about how far technology has advanced in recent years but everyone was still eating and digging graves with a small piece of metal.
Forty-something Dad set his bag and got to work. Fortunately, after a couple of scoops, he had a hole big enough for his cargo. He dropped a bag in and started to bury it.
“You might want to make it a little bit deeper,” Creepy said a little creepier than usual.
“Why?” Forty-something dad swallowed hard.
“You never know when you might have regrets.”
Forty-something dad was already having regrets about having come to this creepy cemetery. Couldn’t he have just buried it in the backyard? No, what if he had, regrets? Oh no, the creepy guy was right. He pulled everything back out and dug the hole quite a bit deeper with a spoon.
By the time he had finished burying it much deeper, the creepy guy was gone. That was a good thing, or was it? Now in his place were a couple of other middle-aged men carrying almost empty bags and trying to sneak through the cemetery. Forty-something dad didn’t try to hide it anymore. He’d done what he came here to do. He walked proudly out of the cemetery.
Forty-something mom was waiting for him when he got back. Sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea to calm her nerves.
“Did you do it?”
“Yeah,” he walked over to the sink and started washing his hands. As he patted them dry on the towel he instinctively reached into his pocket and let out a little girly scream.
“My phone. I can’t find my phone. I think I might’ve dropped it in the cemetery. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
He ran screaming back out the door. Forty-something mom calmly looked at the clock and waited. Thirty minutes later the door opened and Forty-something dad stumbled back in. He didn’t bother to wash his hands this time.
“It’s OK, I found it. I accidentally buried it in the cemetery.”
“Accidentally? I thought that’s what you went there to bury,” Forty-something mom reminded him.
“Oh yeah, I guess I just can’t give it up.”
“You’re calling me.”
“Am I?” he pressed the end call button and quickly raised the phone to his ear.
“I am right next to you. You don’t have to talk to me on the phone.”
“Oh, that’s OK.”
“Now you’re texting me.”
“I guess I just can’t give it up. I mean, I need it for work.”
“That is a true excuse. Maybe you need to reevaluate your reasons for trying to give it up.”
“Yeah, Why was I trying to give up the cell phone? Social reasons? Empathy? It’s hard to be empathetic on the phone. Maybe it was for mental peace of mind? Meditation? I can’t do meditation without my phone or was it the other way around? Spiritual? Supernatural? Are those the same thing?”
“I thought you said it was getting in the way. You had something you wanted to get done but you were spending too much time on your phone.”
“Oh yeah, I want to write a book.”
“What’s the book about?”
“Oh, how you can get your goals accomplished if you give something up. Either that or a middle-grade fantasy adventure. You know, they are both so similar.”
“OK, so, maybe you don’t have to give something up completely? Maybe you just need to give up something at a certain time or a certain activity on a certain thing?”
“You’re going somewhere with this. I like where you’re going. Where are you going with this?”
“I think I’m already there.”
“So, you’re saying that I don’t need to give up my phone completely. I just need to give up shopping for worthless stuff that I don’t need for thirty minutes before bed?” Forty-something dad asked.
“Well, that’s not exactly what I’m saying but if you read between the lines, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“But, what if I miss a good deal on an old retro video game system that I probably won’t have time to use?” Forty-something dad intentionally dropped his jaw and forced air to rush into his mouth sounding much like Nintendo’s Kirby or a Kirby vacuum cleaner.
“Does anybody really need that?”
“It’s all about priorities.”
“That word is not supposed to be pluralized.”
“I get it. If I want to write a book more than I want to browse for shopping for something that I don’t want to buy, I need to give up browsing for something I don’t want to buy. I don’t have to give up my phone.”
“That is exactly what I said.”
“I can’t believe no one’s ever thought of this before.”
“I think a lot of people have thought of this before.”
“Wait, how did people give up browsing on their smartphones to write a book before they ever were smartphones?”
