River Teeth

Gravemaker

Saturday, July 29, 2017

2:37 am

South Park Cemetery

PENALTY FOR DESTRUCTION OF CEMETERY PROPERTY PUNISHABLE BY $500 FINE OR ONE YEAR IN JAIL

VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED

CITY OF SOUTH PARK

Kenny read the sign over and over again, its white reflective stance juxtaposed against the dark fence.

In his right hand, he held one of Kyle's old cigarettes, the small sunrise of it glowing, tainting the air around him with smoke. In his left hand, he held a shovel.

The cemetery gate took a downward tilt before him. There was still a choice to be made here. He could still go home. Try to sleep. Kill the curiosity.

He would watch other people die from afar, wondering if it had all started with Stan.

No.

Eric.

Taking a long drag off the cigarette, he read the sign again.

"Sorry, Stan," he said into the humid night, "But I have to know."

...

He never imagined himself exhuming the body of a friend from their grave, but then again, a lot of things he was doing lately were things he never imagined.

Karen and Ike were brought home and tucked into bed. Kyle laid out a sleeping bag on the floor of Ike's bedroom so he wouldn't be alone. It took Karen several hours, and finally a small dosage of Vicodin, to fall asleep. All the way home, all she could do was mutter: "Get up, get up, get up..." quietly from the passenger's seat.

They passed by the pencil marks on her door frame, little graphite dashes that he drew to track her growth over the years. Today was a new mark, a sordid one, that could never be erased or painted over.

STARE WITH ME INTO THE ABYSS

It was as if Stan were yelling at him from below six feet of dirt.

Stare with me into the abyss, you should be down here with me, asshole!

He didn't want to do this. Sew onto this quilt of a fucked-up narrative, the square that would show him digging. He dropped the cigarette and stomped it out.

"Please, please forgive me."

...

Stan told Kenny once that he wanted to be cremated, burned on a slab like a pizza in a brick oven.

"It's a bit early to be thinking about that, isn't it?" Kenny asked, sitting at the Marsh's kitchen table, shuffling a deck of cards.

Stan shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't think so. I was just thinking about it, and when I die, I don't want to take up space, you know?" He pulled a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge, snapped open the top, and sucked the bubbles from the aluminum lip.

"Where would you want us to scatter you?"

Without hesitation, Stan pointed out the kitchen window.

"In the mountains. I would want to be in the mountains."

...

As he dug, he thought about how if anyone else knew that Stan would want to be cremated, he wouldn't need to be doing this right now. He wondered what Heidi and Butters would have wanted; if they ever told anyone. Maybe they only told each other.

The threads of dawn were snaking their way into the sky. With a brisk thud, the tip of his shovel hit the casket. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and scooped the dirt, the wrangling worms- left, right, left, right- until the lid could be easily opened. He threw the shovel aside, and pulled his shirt over his nose, preparing for the smell.

"Okay, okay..." he inserted his fingers under the door, "1...2...3..."

With his one last burst of remaining strength, he swung open the lid.

Stan was very much still there, but-

(he should be flatter)

-there was no smell.

No bugs.

Most, importantly, no signs of decay.

He knew after so many days, he should look redder, skinnier.

(no)

(this)

(this is not real)

Kenny leaned down and cradled Stan's perfectly flawless face. The skin was definitely cold, which he expected, but unnaturally smooth, like the glass dolls Karen used to have. He ran a finger over his left eyebrow, gasping when what felt like black pain smeared.

"No, no... Fuck. I'm so sorry, Stan."

Part of him still believed it was Stan, hence the apology, but still, he raised his foot, and kicked the face in.

(?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!)

The sound was that of his mother throwing dishes at his father when she was upset with him. The sound was a million fragments that couldn't be glued together.

(porcelain)

White pieces of Stan's face embedded in the satin, fractions of lips, nose, and eyes- a constellation of a face scattered about. A morbid mosaic, yet to come together.