Free Ajar by Marianna Boncek Page B

rest.”
    “No, not really,” I shrugged. “I don’t
really remember him. I was two when he died.”
    We were quiet.
    “I wish my father were dead,” Lindy
whispered. “Why?” I asked.
    “I hate my dad. I wish he were dead and your
dad were alive.” Her voice started out as a whisper but got louder
as she spoke.
    “Why? Why do your hate your dad?”
    “Because he’s a bastard and he deserves to
be dead,” she said through clenched teeth.
    I didn’t ask her anything more. I could tell
she didn’t want to talk about it.
    After that, we walked slowly through the
rest of the graveyard. Lindy stopped every once in a while and
traced the names and dates of the dead. Sometimes, I would lose
track of her amongst the stones and find her sleeping on the moss.
I would sit quietly next to her, waiting for her to wake up.
    “What do you think they died of?” she asked
me, lying on the grass, her hands under her head looking
skyward.
    “Who?” I asked.
    “Everyone. Everyone here.”
    “I don’t know,” I replied. “I guess all
sorts of things, like people do now: old age, heart attacks,
cancer, that sort of stuff. My dad died of pneumonia.”
    “What about the children?”
    “They had a lot of diseases that we don’t.
We get shots now.”
    “Hmmm,” she pondered dreamily, then, “where
do you think we go when we die?”
    I had never really thought about this
question too deeply. Other than my father, I had never been close,
really close to anyone who had died. And really, my father didn’t
count because I couldn’t remember him or his death. I knew about
the people Dan killed but I had never been close to them,
either.
    “I don’t know,” I shrugged.
    “Do you believe it’s a better place, like
they teach in church?”
    I shrugged again. She rolled over on the
moss to her stomach, her hands crossed under her chin. I sat
cross-legged, just in front of her.
    “I like the idea of just going to sleep and
never waking up, you know: eternal sleep. I don’t like the idea of
a place where everything is perfect. How could everything be
perfect? How could we all think the same things? It sounds boring.
I don’t want to float around worshipping God all day. I mean, I
know He is our creator and all, but He is sort of to blame for all
of this, if He’s real. He could create heaven all beautiful, why
couldn’t He do it here? It seems stupid when you think of it.”
    I sat there pulling at the grass, “I’d like
to think we go somewhere. I’d like to believe there is more to life
than this. I mean, I’d like to see my dad again, if I could.”
    She looked up at me. We were quiet for a
long while.
    “I’d just like to go to sleep someday.” She
paused and then added, “Forever.”
    “Well, don’t do it anytime soon,” I said to
lighten the mood and threw some grass in her face. We laughed
wildly.
     

 
    Chapter
Fifteen
     
    About the same time as my life was beginning
again, restarting after a long period of suspended animation, my
uncle Elliot had a renewed interest in teaching me to drive. Each
night, after dinner, we climbed into the car and drove around
Sawyer. At first, we just went on back roads and country roads. We
practiced in the church parking lot. Soon, he trusted me on
streets. I learned to K-turn and parallel-park. He even had me
drive into Hutton.
    “I’ve been thinking, Bud,” he said one night
as I smoothly glided into the driveway, “I’ve been wanting a new
car. If you pass your driver test, I’ll give you this one.”
    “Really?” I looked over at my uncle. He
nodded his head firmly. I was curious about this new development.
My uncle had never been particularly generous and a car was very
generous. But I was not going to question him. I really wanted the
car.
    He had also taken over the rebuilding of our
burned-out house. My mother had been unable to do anything for
months. My uncle got her to sign some papers, power of attorney,
and he was able to handle all her business.