The Pole Shift

Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches are Nice on a Sunday Morning

Sean and Tess sat and looked at the wall of rubbish. Inside many of the cars were rotting bodies. He had got use to the stench, at least as far as gagging went,  but he was haunted with guilt.  Every time he looked at Tom’s car he wondered if he could have saved the kids, rushed out in the cold, found a way to free them, gather them up and get them in front of the fire. Changed their clothes, smoothed their hair. Comforted them in some way -  get them drunk,  all of them drunk in front of the fire and sharing stories of near misses and what ifs? His hero fantasy always warped at the end, getting children drunk? Sometimes he thought that if he had saved them they would tie him up and take over. Or cast a spell to call on zombie parents to clamber from cars for revenge. He realized he was very confused, turning mad perhaps. Psychosis. He could not stop drinking and eating, in fact he had put weight on in a survival situation. He stretched his arms to to the skies and pleaded:

“Oh Great Prophet in the sky what should I do?” He wasn’t trying to be funny, but there was the usual pause.

“Stop drinking, bury the bodies, it will clear your head and the ceremony will give peace.”

Sean looked at the wall, he could count a dozen corpses outside of cars, there might be another fifty hidden away in grotesque hard to get to positions. The thought of hard vile work cleared his mind in a selfish way and he said:

“Will burial at sea do?” There was no answer, Prophet rarely did answer him twice and he felt like he wasn’t liked very much once more. Sean tried to put the grim task out of his mind and went and scooped up an armful of assorted cans. He took another bottle of vodka, and went and sat on the lawn, now recovering and needing a mow. Tess curled up beside him with a sigh, her eyes briefly flicking to him. He said:

“You probably don’t like me much either.” Tess beat her tail and only roused once he had opened a can of spaghetti. The wall pushed at his thoughts. He reasoned: “If I just bury the kids that might be enough?” He put down the bottle and moved to the car, he could see what he had to do to get to them and shortly with the aid of a crow bar he had their bodies lined up where once his bottom fence ran. He stood facing them, their pallor grey, their small bodies bloated, rotting well under way.

“I’m here to tell you that I am sorry. I have asked you to join me on the lawn because I want you to know I mean it. Even though you tied me up and made me eat dog food for which I forgive you.” Sean was pacing, searching for something else to say. “It is very hard being a drunk you know.” He thought harder. 

“I’m going to bury you at sea. At the top of the island is a steep cliff, at the bottom is your grave. The ceremony will give us all peace I think and I hope your spirits join me in this marking of your short lives.” That felt better to Sean and he nodded at the bodies wondering how he was going to get them up there.

He made three trips with the wheelbarrow, Tom’s twin girls he felt should not be parted and they share the journey in their terrible embrace. At the top of the hill he looked down at the heaving waters, he felt comfort that a body would be whipped away quickly so angry was the water. Even as he watched a wave smashed the base loosening ancient basalt. The elder boy sat in the wheelbarrow like a cruel mannequin. Sean balanced him at the lip and thought hard for words:

“You died. I am sorry I hope you are in a better place.” His words sounded cruel as the body toppled then fell with wet thuds before being consumed by the water. To the sibling he tried to be poetic:

“Fall like a petal to a new light.” Again the sound of the little body striking rock was dismal and he felt like a ghoul.  He looked at the twins, their matted blonde hair twined together and their little faces blotched but still recognizable stilled him and he hung his head. He felt the wind, and listened to the water below. The trees swayed, trees they had played under and he looked up at them and asked: “What should I say?” Moments passed as he remembered the girls, they use to smile at him, he remembered that. They were told not to but they still did. He said:

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are nice on a Sunday morning.” Then emptied them into the sea. The inappropriate weirdness of his comment rang. What should he say? Peanut butter and Jelly sandwiches would be nice on a Sunday morning. He thought the girls might have liked what he said and he took some heart.