Stone Echoes (standard:drama, 3739 words)
Author: BENTLINK	Added: Aug 29 2008	Views/Reads: 3214/2016	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
You can’t escape the sins of your past even in a grave yard.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

The responding shelter crew must have looked an unlikely answerer to the
prayers of the old churches pastor and parishioners.  All the men were 
poorly dressed, unshaven and either looked only at their feet or cast 
rapid anxious glances all about as if expecting to be set upon by evil 
doers at any moment.  With the exception of Roy, every member of the 
crew had the characteristic red veined nose and sore eyed fallow 
complexions common to chronic alcohol and drug abusers.  While several 
members of the life-worn crew appeared to be nearing, the limit of what 
flesh and blood could be expected to endure Roy was certain they were 
up to the task because he had worked with each of them before. 

The middle-aged fit looking pastor introduced himself as Harry; he
explained this latest bout of vandalism was only part of his ongoing 
battle to preserve the aging church and cemetery.  He went on to tell 
them, a coal fired electric generating plant hundreds of miles and 
several states away was causing a slow but steady acid rain decay of 
the lime stone of the old church and its grave markers. 

As the pastor spoke, he did a poor job of concealing his doubts about
the raggedy crew's ability to be of any real help.  Finally after 
falling silent for a few moments, the pastor made an odd unexplained 
jester with his hands by forming a bowl with his palms and fingers and 
then making a pouring motion at the feet of the crew.  Roy later 
learned this  hand motion was something the Pastors' had learned in his 
childhood, it had been his family's way of saying thank you in a 
measure beyond what could be put into words. 

Roy was not shy about sharing his ideas on how the crew could work
together by first raising all the stones and then divide into teams of 
two.  Each team of two could take a newly righted stone and put on 
finishing touches of stabilizing and leveling.  He tried to sell the 
idea to the crew by telling everyone to keep a list of the names from 
the stones they had put back on the straight and level; this of course 
got a big laugh from all the members of the crew that attended AA or NA 
meetings. 

The very first marker the crew tried to lift taught them a lot about
headstones, the things were heavy as hell and very fragile.  They broke 
a small corner off Ester May Boyd beloved wife of Thomas R. Boyd 
without even coming close to putting her back upright. 

The dear one's stone might have already been cracked by being knocked
over but the final insult came when they tried to crowbar her back onto 
the vertical.  After discovering how fragile these things were Roy 
called on the crew for ideas and someone came up with using wide flat 
boards salvaged from a shipping pallet to spread the weight. 

They were using the carefully inserter boards and getting Ester May
almost vertical when several older ladies came out of the church 
carrying metal trays pilled high with cupcakes and banana nut bread.  
Close behind came two more gals with pots of hot coffee and plastic 
cups.  As they served refreshments, the ladies repeatedly thanked the 
crew for coming to heal the insult to their beloved cemetery then 
apologized almost as frequently because cake and coffee were all they 
could contribute to the tipped stones rescue effort. 

After refueling with sweets, hot coffee and basking in the warm thanks,
the crew resumed their work.  By days end only five of the stones sat 
upright and of these five, only one, Ester May with the wounded corner 
was leveled to everyone's satisfaction. 

Roy was pretty sure Ester May's husband Thomas would be pleased with the
quality of their work but to voice his approval or else lodge a 
complaint about the broken corner the old boy would need to be 
approaching two hundred years of age. 

After working all day lifting tombstones Roy and the crew climbed back
aboard the dilapidated shelter bus ready for some droned over beans and 
army cots.  Roy's hope was that the little “heathens” that knocked the 
damn stones over enjoyed themselves because the crew was going to be 
many days undoing their nights work.  While the beans and cornbread 
were getting prayed about this evening  Roy's plan was to break from 
his usual routine of numbing out and instead have his own private talk 
with the man upstairs about sending every one of the no good little 
stone flippers straight to the gates of hell to pay for their hateful 
acts. 

Early on day two of the stone righting job Roy left the crew happily
working away on a large stone from the 1930s while he walked about the 
graveyard grounds counting tipped over markers.  The little vandals had 
knocked over twenty six stones counting the five put back upright 
yesterday; some nights work! 

Roy gradually worked his way down hill and as he neared the high loose
stacked stone wall that defined the rear of the church grounds, he 
smelled a hint of “Blue Nuns” tobacco smoke.  He was immediately 
overcome by a blinding upwelling of emotions so intense he went first 
to his knees and then fell face forward to the ground. 

Then still blinded by waves of guilt, shame, and grief he lay facedown
unable to rise or even roll over.  After what seemed forever, he was 
able to force the feelings down and turn over onto his back.  As his 
vision cleared, he saw Harry the church pastor, briar pipe in hand 
standing over him. 

The pastor gave him a concerned quizzical look before putting out a hand
to help Roy sit up.  “Are you OK?  That was some tumble you took, must 
have got you feet tangled.” 

“Yeah I got my toe under a root or something,” Roy answered. 

Pointing to the large briar pipe in his right hand the Pastor said “This
is the only vice I still cling to.  An old friend of mine in Spain 
sends me tobacco once or twice a year.  I slip down here like a thief 
and smoke once a day.  I've tried quite a few times to give it up but 
as you see without success.  I guess God will step in when he is ready 
for me to put the pipe down.  Its Roy isn't it, yes that's right I 
remember now.  You know Roy you seem a little different from your 
brothers on the shelter crew, younger and different.  Roy I want you to 
know I have a well earned reputation about being nosey I am also very 
good at keeping secrets.  If you don't mind my asking how long have you 
been at the shelter?” 

Roy welcomed the change of subject as he was ashamed at having been
felled by emotions he was unable to control and he could also see the 
pastor was embarrassed as well having been caught committing even so 
minor a sin as pipe smoking.  Roy was unsure just how to answer the 
Pastors question; it had been so long since anyone had shown a genuine 
interest in him but still he had his secrets to protect.  He did not 
really mind answering and in fact; it was very nice having a 
conversation that you knew would not end with the other party asking 
you to split the cost of a bottle of cheap wine.  “No I don't mind, I 
think about a year or so.  Yes, that's right a year.  I ended calling 
here after being on the road a while.” 

Roy had said a lot more than he had intended.  Funny this Harry guy was
so easy to talk with, just like an old and trusted friend 

“Is it good being at the shelter, does it fill your current needs?  Are
you Happy being there?”  Sorry I know I sometimes move to fast.  I 
guess I am trying to rush Gods Work.” 

“Oh that's OK Roy said I know you must be pretty busy and I don't want
to take up your time.  I'm just fine staying at the shelter the people 
who run the place are real nice and don't ask a lot of questions.” 

Roy wished he could call back his last words.  He did not want to hurt
this good man's feelings and immediately started apologizing for his 
thoughtless remark about being ask questions. 

Seemingly unfazed the Pastor ask “Why did you say I ended up calling
here instead of I ended up coming here when I ask about how long you 
had been at the shelter?” 

“I didn't say calling?  Did I say calling?  Why would I say calling? 
Are you sure I said calling?” 

Without answering, Harry began poking at the remaining tobacco in his
pipe bowl with a large kitchen match and then turned the match end for 
end and struck it on the nearest grave marker.  This entire tamping and 
relighting ritual had been preformed without his ever taking his eyes 
off Roy.  After taking a couple short drags on the pipes mouthpiece, 
Harry sent a small fragrant puff of blue smoke in Roy's direction then 
asks, “What do you think it means when someone misspeaks like that”? 

“Oh I think it's just that misspeak that's all nothing to it.  I know
that famous doctor guy said doing that means something is inside trying 
to get out, trying to be heard.  I don't want to talk about this any 
more, anyway why would I say calling when I mean coming here, here to 
Little Rock”. 

“I think that was the question I ask of you,” Harry said while looking
into Roys eyes with a soft sympathetic smile on his face. 

“I've got to get back up the hill Lord only knows what the crew will be
doing” the now sweating and agitated Roy said. 

Along came another puff of fragrant Blue Nuns smoke that Roy walked
through as he made his way back up the slope to where the whole crew 
had succeed in putting two more markers upright. 

Roy carefully avoided any further contact with the Pastor for the
remainder of day two. 

That evening Roy had more than his usual trouble sleeping because he
kept repeatedly running the days events around in his mind.  It had 
been two years since he had allowed himself to feel the burden of his 
past and now the memories were back and based on the way he had passed 
out and fallen to the ground they were stronger than ever. 

Well now it had come to this Roy thought.  I can travel again make a new
start or talk to this stranger about it, my drinking, and a little 
about my guilt.  I'm so tired of moving around Roy thought maybe I 
should just talk; maybe it would help if I just told him about a little 
about all of it. 

Roy awoke to face day three of stone setting with a splitting headache
after having the worst night he could ever remember. 

He washed down the offered breakfast of gravy and biscuits with two cups
of black coffee and made his reluctant way to the shelter bus. 

Roy had the bus driver detour along a couple of back alley ways in a
warehouse area to pick up some discarded shipping pallets.  The boards 
were a good idea but a fist fight almost developed when a sleeping wino 
awoke to the crew taking apart what had been his shelter for the night. 
 The bus driver quieted things down by giving the alley dweller a flyer 
that described the shelter along with the promise of a hot meal and 
safe place to bed down in exchange for his pallets and cardboard 
sleeping quarters.  The driver's quick thinking not only calmed the 
wino down but also got the crew several pallet boards so they could now 
work on more than one stone at a time. 

Roy spent most of the morning trying to decide if he wanted to run again
or talk to Harry until a cursing scream erupted from one of the crew.  
The man's hand had been cut to the bone when one of the boards 
supporting a stone had broken.  Roy was sure stitches would be needed 
to close the wound and suggested that the Pastor drive him and the 
injured workman to a nearby minor medical clinic. 

The Pastor and Roy waited outside while the injured crewman chatted up
the young mothers to be in the waiting room of the clinic all the while 
keeping pressure on his cut hand. 

Roy and Harry talked about the weather and the job of repairing the
cemetery.  After a while  Roy's speech became softly hesitant and words 
from deep within began to spill out “Several years ago I worked in 
Pittsburg, I was single I think people would call me a “player” I had a 
good paying job and spent everything I made partying.  Like a lot of 
young guy's I lived for the weekends.  I didn't have a care in the 
world until the day I called in sick with a hangover.  It was a Monday 
and I was supposed to go Washington for a meeting”.  Roy stopped 
speaking, his eyes filled with tears that soon overflowing ran down his 
cheeks. 

“Sounds like you were doing what young people do Roy, having a good
life, having fun, and working hard,” Harry said in an effort to comfort 
the now openly weeping younger man. 

Roy began anew, his voice trembling, “No, no you don't understand I
should have been ready to go to Washington, I should have stopped 
drinking, gone home, got some rest, and taken care of business.  It was 
my responsibility to be on the plane.” 

Roy hesitated as if waiting for Harry to coax more from him.  Harry did
not speak but instead pulled out the old briar pipe, he played with the 
pipe for a time, allowing Roy an interval of peace to gather himself 
and find the strength needed to finish reopening the painful wounds 
that had driven him here to this old cemetery filled with decaying 
stones. 

“I called in sick and Randy had to fill in for me at the Washington
meeting.  Randy was my friend, we got aquatinted in college and had 
some fun times together.  After Randy and Mo, uh Monica married Randy 
and I still got together for drinks after work a few times but it was 
not like old days.  Randy was the happiest married man I ever knew he 
would almost chug down his drink because he was in such a hurry to get 
home to his wife Monaca and the new baby.” 

“Tell me about Washington Roy.  What happened in Washington?” 

Roy turned his face skyward as if searching for a giant hand to come
down and crush him for his sins “The meeting went just as planned.  
Randy could sell ice cubes to Eskimos.  He got away from the meeting 
and to the airport in plenty of time, probably even had time to stand 
outside and fire up his pipe's “Blue Nun” tobacco before boarding the 
flight back to Pittsburg”. 

Roy took a deep breath held it for a moment then exhaled took another
deep breath and then in a voice filed with more anguish than anyone 
should have to endure said “Randy's plane crashed and he was killed 
before he made it half way home to Mo and the baby.  It's my fault.  I 
killed my friend because I was selfish and weak because I was too good 
at getting drunk and not good enough at being a friend I killed the 
baby's father and Monaca's husband.  I killed my friend.  I killed my 
friend and I am so sorry.” 

Harry's briar pipe relighting ritual again gave Roy another chance to
gather himself then Harry asks, “How come you did not stay in Pittsburg 
and help out your friend's wife Roy?  What was so wrong that you had to 
run half way across the country?” 

“She would not let me help Roy answered.  After the plane went down, she
would have nothing to do with me.  She even stood and left the room 
when I showed up at the closed casket services they held for Randy.” 

They both sat for a time without speaking then at last Harry broke the
silence. 

“You know Roy you are very close to telling me the whole story and I
know it is almost more than you can stand to think about but trust me 
when I tell you things will be better if you let me hear it all.  Tell 
the last of it Roy let go of it.” 

Then Harry stood and walked near to Roy placing his hands softly onto
the man's shoulders.  He shook the weeping man gently trying to help 
him dislodge this last critical bone of toxic truth that was slowly 
killing him.  Harry knew Roy had to release his poison truth to have 
any hope for a normal life. 

“You know the rest don't you Harry/” 

“Yes Roy I'm sure I do know but you have to say it.  You know you must
say it out loud don't you”. 

Harry felt the tension slowly drain from Roy's shoulders before he
spoke. 

“Monaca was alone when they came to her door with news of the crash and
she will never forgive me.  We were in their bed when Randy called 
saying he would be home on time.  I was making love with Monaca when 
the plane went down just outside Washington and I will never forgive 
myself for forcing her husband to go in my place so I could be alone to 
seduce her.” 


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