Cemetery Street - John Zunski (good novels to read in english .txt) 📗

enough to think of me,” she said.
I shrugged. “Lets go to Wally’s.”

The next morning I waited for Shannie’s call. The night before she had said: “don’t call me, I’ll call you.” As time passed curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to watch Shannie leave her grave-warming gift. I climbed one of the elm trees edging Fernwood cemetery.
The last of the mourners were leaving as I settled high in the tree. Moments later three men emerged from a building on the far side of Fernwood. One of them hopped into a backhoe while the other two walked to the open grave. Dressed in green work clothes, they reminded me of soldiers. The leader was a great bear of a man with a wide, kind face and short cropped black hair. His helper was fifteen or sixteen with features like the bear.
When they reached the grave they lowered the coffin before strapping a slab of concrete to the front-end loader and lowering it into the grave. When the bear was satisfied they undid the straps and the backhoe filled the grave. Over the years I became an expert at burial - I buried one of those I watched.
When they retired to the building, Shannie emerged from the trees. She carried the mud pie with an upturned hand. She sat the pie on the grave, said a few words and returned home. I was disappointed, I imagined her in a black dress, complete with a widow’s veil, walking at some mourning pace. At the grave I imagined her leading an elaborate one woman ceremony to coax the deceased to leave us mortal kids alone.
Watching Shannie taught me despite how often I think it should, the world doesn’t conform to my expectations. It’s an idea I still struggle with.
An hour later, Shannie and I walked across Fernwood. “Really? You’ve never stepped foot in a bone yard?” We climbed the side steps of a converted chapel.
“Nope.” Inside the TV babbled. Shannie banged on the screen door. The bear sat at the kitchen table eating a hoagie.
“Hi Doll. Who’s your friend?” His voice was deep and scratchy.
“This is James, he’s our new neighbor,” Shannie led me into the kitchen. The linoleum floor sported stains, rips and tears. The cabinets were peeling and in desperate need of a paint job. Dirty dishes littered the sink. “He lives in the old Manson house.”
I jumped as the door slammed shut. “Jesus boy, don’t piss on the floor,” Bear said. The metal frame chair strained under his weight.
“James’s creeped out. He’s never been in a graveyard before.”
“No need to be boy, I never had me better neighbors than them dead ones, excluding present company of course.”
“James meet Mr. Lightman. He’s the caretaker.”
My head tilted upwards. He wiped his hand on his work clothes before extending his paw. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” His hand swallowed mine.
“Where you from boy?”
“California, sir”
“Don’t call me sir, I work for a living. Mr. Lightman will do. What part of California?”
“Pleasanton, near San Francisco.”
“I know where it is, son. I spent time at Oakland army base - a long time ago.” He sat back down and gnawed at the hoagie. “What brings you to dodge?”
“My father was transferred.”
“Who’s he work for?”
“Bechtel.”
“We got ourselves a nuke.” He threw his hands in the air. “Next thing you know the tombstones will glow.”
“They’ll hum too!” Shannie added.
“I’ll never get a good night’s sleep. I don’t know what would be worse, the humming or my son’s goddamned stereo” He took another bite. “I shouldn’t complain, your old man could keep me in business for a long time.”
The bear pounded the table with his right paw, rolled his immense butt off the seat and let go of the loudest, longest fart ever. “Sheesh, I told them not to use so much oregano,” he said.
“Jesus Leroy,” a lady’s voice cried from another room. “That’s out of bounds.”
Laughing, I pulled my shirt over my nose.
“Check your pants - better have not ruined another pair.”
“Hush now Flossy, that’s no way to speak when we have company.”
The bear turned his attention to the hoagie.
“When you going to learn yourself some manners?” the voice echoed.
“I ain’t doing what no one else doesn’t.”
“Hi there doll,” the voice said as its owner walked into the room. “Oh Jesus That’s foul.” She fanned her nose.
Shannie had her shirt over her nose, partially hiding her red face and tearing eyes. She was trying not to laugh. “In front of company. You should be ashamed of yourself,” Flossy said. My eyes teared; my face burned. The little lady playfully slapped the bear across the back of his head. Standing, she was as tall as the seated giant.
“Like you never farted Flossy.”
“I don’t do those sorts of things.”
“She can play the wind chimes, if you know what I mean.”
Shannie’s face turned purple.
“Pish-Posh you old fool.” She waved her hand.
The bear wiped his face. “I got holes to dig and stiffs to plant. Nice meeting you James.” He winked at Shannie: “See ya around Doll.” Shannie’s eyes followed the bear out the door. He climbed into a ratty faded blue pickup truck - Shannie called it powder fairy blue. With a cough the truck started and backed out of view.
The Lightmans lived in a converted church. After Bear left the army – he spent two tours in Vietnam – he bought the cemetery, converted the church and settled into civilian life. As Flossy rattled on, one of Bear’s helpers clomped into the kitchen. “Hey Shannie,” he said.
“Hi Count,” she replied.
The helper opened the fridge and waited for food to jump out at him.
“Damn it boy. Pick you poison or shut the door. Don’t you roll your eyes at me!” Flossy barked. The helper was the Lightman’s son. Shannie called him Count – Count as in Count Dracula, it was the price he paid for living in a cemetery.
I watched in awe as he took a long swig from the carton of orange juice. I never would have done that in front of my folks. The kid had balls.
“I oughta beat you with a stick,” Flossy said.
Count turned to his mother and belched.
“Boy, stop acting like you were raised by a pack of wolves.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Count smirked.
“Wipe that smirk off your face. I don’t care how big you are. I’ll dig you a hole and shove you in.” Count winked at Shannie before retreating into his room. Too cool, I thought.
That evening, something else was on my mind. Something my mother said didn’t feel right, so I asked Shannie: “Where do babies come from?” We were in her back yard. “You don’t know?” she laughed.
“A woman’s body,” I said red-faced.
“No shit Sherlock.”
“Forget it.”
“No way, you brought it up.”
“Shut up, just drop it.”
“Why you blushing Just James?”
“Am not.”
“Are to”
“Am not”
“Jesus, are you always so uptight.”
“I’m not uptight.”
“Are to.”
“Just drop it! Okay.”
I thought she dropped it. Then she asked. “Who you planning on getting pregnant?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh brother, are you really that naïve?”
My heart snapped. I think she heard it because she grabbed my hand and turned me towards her. “Sorry Just James. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But you’re so Catholic. I thought everybody knew how to put a bun in the oven.”
“My mom says it from by taking a pill.”
“I knew I should have put Ex-lax in that pie. She is so full of shit,” Shannie howled.
“What do you mean?”
Shannie reached out and felt my forehead. “Wanted to check if you are feverish.” She stared at my crimson face. “Let me get this straight, you asked your mother where babies come from and she told you from taking a pill. You are twelve years old, right?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
“Does she have you believing in the Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny?”
“No.”
“The tooth fairy?”
“No.”
“That’s a start,” she sighed. “Geezus Pete, no wonder you’re a walking bowl of spaghetti.” At the tree line between her yard and the cemetery Shannie put an arm around me. My knees weakened. “Did you ask your dad?”
“No,” I lied.
“Why not?”
“I’m too embarrassed,” I blushed.
“You’re too embarrassed to ask your own father?”
“I don’t know,” I answered miserably.
"Why don’t you try asking him?”
“Why are you such a pest?”
“Hey, you brought it up,” she said.
“Just drop it,” I mumbled.
“What do you think he would say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do,” Shannie insisted.
“No I don’t.”
“YES YOU DO!”
“He’d told me to go ask your mother,” I blurted out.
“My mother? What does my mother have to do with it?”
“No. Not your mother, my mother. Like he told me to ask your mother, meaning my mother, you see what I mean.”
“Your folks are royally screwed.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Why don’t you bug him?” she asked.
“Like you bug me?”
“Yeah. Like I bug you,” Shannie said.
“Shannie Bug, Shannie Bug, drag your ass across a rug,” I chided.
“Anywho,” she said hopping onto a swing. “You did ask. And what Just James wants, Just James gets.” I hopped on the swing next to her and as I pumped my legs to catch up, Shannie told me about the birds and the bees.
There were times when Shannie spoke that I had no idea what she was talking about. I would tune out and listen to the rhythm of her voice. It was soothing, almost maternal, more so than my mother’s voice - which was petty, trite, and aggravating. This was one of those occasions I listened to the rhythm, until she mentioned an erection.
“… which leads to a reptile dysfunction.”
“What? What’s a reptile dysfunction have to do with anything?” I asked.
“Silly James,” she laughed. “Erectile dysfunction.”
“What’s an erectile dysfunction,” I asked.
“You never had one?”
I stopped pumping my legs and let the swing slow. “How would I know I never had one if I don’t know what it is?”
“As much as you walk around with a hard-on, I’m surprised that you don’t know.”
“Like when have you seen me walk around with a hard-on?”
“Last week when Diane and I took you camping.”
“I wasn’t walking around with one,” I blushed.
“Oh James - loosen up. Only you would be embarrassed by something so natural.”
“Well pervert, what if I looked at you while you slept.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Shannie said.
“I mean really looked at you.”
“What’s the big deal?
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. We’re so different, I thought as my swing ground to a halt.
From above me, her swing reached new heights. “Damn it, I wish Diane wasn’t home. I’d show you there is nothing to be ashamed about.”
The rest of that night I was on edge. My mother even noticed: “What’s wrong,” she asked.
“Nothing,” I lied. “I don’t feel good.”
Later, lying awake in bed after another Diane inspired dysfunction, Shannie’s words echoed. With horror and excitement I wondered what would happen the next time Shannie and I were alone.
She made a game of teasing me. She understood how uneasy it made me.
The next day I asked my mother, “Why did you tell me you got pregnant from a pill? A pill doesn’t make you pregnant, it prevents it.” Her face turned red. Fury burned in her eyes. The glass she was drying was suddenly airborne. “ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR? You unappreciative little bastard, I gave up my life for you and you