Liars Garden

Chapter 10

The point on the staircase wasn't the end of the story for our dad.

Stories are particular about that. They have to have an ending.

Leslie had watched dad fall from the bottom of the stairs, watching him crack his head all the way down, while I saw it from the top. We both were tied into that moment. Mom made us promise not to tell anyone about it. Not even Christ. Especially not Chris. He was onlyjust a little boy.

But when she made us promise not to tell anyone, she meant not anyone.

No one was called.

She had grabbed trash bags from under the sink, she had Leslie grab the old quilts from our grandma from out of the basement. Mom told us we couldn't tell anyone because we'd all get in trouble and she couldn't let them take us away. We had been terrified children,barely understanding, so we did what we were told.

First a layer of trash bags wrapped around with duct tape. It was tape we used to mark out where parts of the fence should have been so it was neon orange. Me and Leslie wrapped plastic bags around dad's legs, arms, torso, and, lastly, I had covered his face myself. His blue eyes had been wide, staring, and terribly cloudy. His head had rolled unnaturally as I had stretched duct tape over the bag. I had heard the horrible crunching of broken bones.

I had thrown up. Mom had slapped me, but afterward, she had held myhead in her hands, whispering she was sorry.

Next had come the blankets. I had told myself dad was cold, that's why were were rolling him to dusty old comforters and quilted blankets. He was just cold...

Blood had soaked into my jeans, into my shirt, and had covered my hands. I always remember looking down at all the blood and wishing I hadn't painted my nails red. They had matched. Mom handed us bath towels to clean up with. Those too were taped into the growing mound that had been dad.

The last layer had been more plastic bags. Every bag we could find inthe house. We ran out of duct tape and that was when we had stopped. Me and Leslie stood, holding onto each other, staring at the thing onthe floor. It had been almost okay. 

Almost a dream.

"It was an accident," mom told us again and again. "It was an accident, Annie didn't mean to."

An accident...

Mom had us each grab a handful of plastic and blanket. She directed us to push, pull, tug the....pile towards the back door. We both had cried then, not wanting to touch it anymore. But we did in the end. Both of us spending what had seemed like hours dragging dad across the hardwood floor. If blood streaked the floor mom would follow behind us, moping it up with a purple towel, snapping at us to not make a mess. 

"It was an accident. Don't tell anyone."

The deck had been the worst. A bunch of the plastic had torn when wehad been dragged dad and I had been able to see a patch of pale flesh. At seeing that I had jumped back and had fallen hard off the side of the deck, bruising my butt. I had gasped loudly and tears had started to fall again.

"Annie, be careful! And shut up, someone might hear you."

Be careful. Be careful.

We had to be careful as we pulled dirt up at the side of the house.The fence had been put in hapazardly here and the side of the bed had beenpulled up terribly by it. There had been a shovel left there by the fence contractor my dad had fired awhile ago. Leslie had to use a tiny shovel that came with her beach set. She had gotten that for her birthday recently. The shovel had broken on a rock and she had cried so hardand so loud mom took her back inside. They had not come back for along time. It had just been me outside.

And dad.

The sun had started setting. Cars had passed outside the fence.There had been a world out there. I could have said something.

But it was an accident.

Mom had came out after the sun had set. My fingers had blistered horribly and my shoveling had slowed to a crawl. The shovel handle had been so slick with my blood that I had to wad my shirt around my hands to keep a grip on it. The porch light had clicked on when mom had come out and it illuminated dads body.

"Leslie,mommy needs your help." Her and Leslie had taken all the yard stuff out of the large plastic trunk we had on the porch. Both pushed it down into the hole I had made. It had barely fit. Mom had jumped down and dug a little so that it would fit better. That was the first and the last time I had ever seen my mom dirty. She had wiped her hands on her shirt. Blood, dirt, and sweat had peppered the front ofher.

"One more thing."

We pushed dad into the trunk. He hadn't fit. He had been a tall man. Me and Leslie had stood there, with our tears stained faces, and realized together we had to reach in and push him down. There had been a sickening wet noise when Leslie had forced him to fit on herside. I had thrown up again. Into the trunk.

It had been an accident.

Once we had been able to slam the trunk closed mom allowed us to goinside. "Go shower. Put your clothes in a garbage bag. Mom will buy you new ones."

She never did.

That had been the worst shower of my life.

Of Leslie's.

We had held each other in silence, the water taking away all the evidence. Dirt and blood washing down the drain. Washing it all awayfrom us.

 Because it was an accident.