David Halliday - The Hole

“Do you want to lay charges?” Sam asked.

Margaret shook her head. “There was no damage. And the boss wasn’t here. And Terry is Mary’s kid. Mary’s a good friend of mine.”

“I’ll have a talk with those boys,” Sam said.

“What’s wrong with kids these days?” Margaret cried. “It’s like they’re angry at the world.”

Wiggy lay in the tall grass, raised the bottle of gin to the moon, and made a promise. “I shall buy the most expensive fuctioning automobill in the world once I get a whale paying job.” The moon isn’t yellow. Lifting himself from the grass, he bowed. He glanced out over the valley at the creek moving like a silver snake through the trees. God, it’s pretty. A laugh spurted out of his mouth as he collapsed once again onto the tall lush grass.

Cathy howled with laughter, smoke splattering out of her mouth.

“What’s a fuctioning automobill?”

“What’s a whale paying job?” Terry added, holding his stomach, his laughter tied in knots in his abdomen. Why do they say the moon is yellow?

Frank lifted himself off the grass into a seated position, his sobriety a wonder to his friends. “What is the proper use of shall?” Cathy looked at Frank with a puzzled expression. Are you real? Wiggy was about to untangle himself from the tall grass and address the group again when Adelle grabbed him by the sleeve and passed him a joint.

“Don’t say another word,” Adelle pleaded, looking at her other friends lying around on the long grass, laughing in gasps, holding their stomachs, tears running down their cheeks. “You’re going to hurt someone.” Wiggy shrugged his shoulders, a bottle of gin in one hand, a joint in the other. He looked up into the sky where clouds were huddling around the moon. Where’s my other hand?

“The moon looks like a scalper outside the Gardens.”

“What happened to the word shan’t?” Frank asked. “It’s completely disappeared from the language. Are there any other words that have disappeared?” Maybe whole languages have disappeared.

Adelle looked at Frank. Why do you always problem solve when you get stoned?

Frank looked back. Are you asking me a question?

Wiggy pointed into the sky. “The moon looks like a child in bed and someone is putting a pillow over its face.”

“That’s certainly a cheerful insight,” Terry said.

Adelle wiped the tears from her cheek. “Whose got the joint?” Wiggy passed the bottle of gin to Adelle who looked at it, shrugged, and took a swallow. Tastes like scotch tape.

“It sure is getting dark,” Cathy said as she moved closer to Terry.

Terry smiled and put his arm around her shoulder. She stared at the tall pines, their heads softly swaying in the night.

“The tree tops look like the Supremes.” She pointed at one particular tree and added, “That one is Diana Ross.”

Wiggy turned to Cathy. “Looks more like Van What’s-his-name.”

“Van Gogh,” Adelle offered. “The Dutch painter. His paintings are all curls and streaks like someone took an electric blender to nature.” Beauty is loneliness come to fruition.

“Didn’t he lose an ear?” Frank asked. Can you still hear if you don’t have ears?

“Cut it off himself,” Terry added.

“He did those weird sunflowers,” Adelle said. “My mom has a calendar with them on it. June, I think. My mom told me that he never sold a painting during his lifetime.”

“That’s right.” Cathy nodded then began to giggle. They should teach business management at art school.

“Never sold a painting?” Wiggy cried, sitting up. “Some artist, eh?

What did he do for dough? Sell dope? I heard about guys who got stoned on sunflower seeds. It must be a special recipe ’cause I could never get off on them.”

“Didn’t he kill himself?” Adelle asked. “Didn’t I read that on Mom’s calendar?”

“Don’t look at me when you ask questions,” Frank responded.

Cathy took the bottle of gin from Adelle and swallowed a mouthful, made a face of indescribable distaste, and handed the bottle to Terry.

“Shot himself,” Terry said, pointing his finger at his forehead like it was the barrel of a gun.

“I don’t doubt it,” Wiggy said, shaking his head. “Never sold a painting? Man, he must have been one pretty depressed dude. If I’m not a 41 millionaire by the time I’m twenty-five you can check your local river because I’ll be floating in it.”

Frank grinned. Looking forward to that.

“And now his paintings are worth millions,” Cathy said with a sigh, falling back on the tall grass and once again gazing into the sky. Why is emptiness always black?

Wiggy laughed. “Wouldn’t that burn ya, eh? Enough to make you do yourself again. Don’t you just love it when these famous types off themselves, eh? Did you hear how Catherine the Great of Russia died?”

“We heard,” Adelle responded, “and we don’t need to hear it again.”

“But, it’s such a weird death. Who would think that someone who was royalty could be so perverted? Being crushed by a horse while you’re getting porked.”

“We know the story,” Adelle repeated impatiently. “No matter what you discuss with guys, it always ends up in the gutter.” Why would she fuck a horse? They stink.

“Did you ever feel totally happy and depressed at the same time?” Cathy asked.

“I always wanted to play the banjo.” Frank sighed.

“On the one hand you feel completely free,” Cathy continued. “Being here, being stoned, with your friends. At the same time, you have a knot in your stomach. Too much fun. Fun don’t last. Friends don’t last. Weed goes up in smoke. One afternoon while you’re taking out the garbage or you’re opening a bill, you turn into your parents. Fat and responsible.

Hate what you’re doing. Hate who you are.”

“Live for the moment!” Wiggy laughed and passed the joint to Cathy.

“That’s what our parents did,” Cathy cried. My dad and his toys.

“There was a murder in this valley,” Terry blurted out.

There was silence.

Cathy sat up. Don’t!

Adelle’s mouth dropped. What?

Frank choked.

Wiggy fell to the ground. “Say it isn’t so, man!”

“Not that story,” Cathy pleaded, passing the joint back to Wiggy.

“Who was murdered?” Wiggy asked, took a puff off the joint and handed it to Frank who smiled, sucked on it, then passed it on to Adelle.

“My mother told me about it,” Terry said. “It was one of her friends.

They were down here partying one night.”

“Hey, I heard about that,” Frank said. “Didn’t they all get drunk, pass out, and when they woke up the next morning, one of them was missing?”

“That’s what they told the police,” Terry said, smiling smugly.

Wiggy leaned forward, almost whispering. “What’s the real story, man?”

“This isn’t going to scare me, is it?” Adelle asked, looking around at the darkness. “We should make a fire.”

“I’m so hot,” Cathy responded. Don’t tell it, Terry.

“Take your top off,” Frank suggested with a grin.

“You wish,” Cathy said, punching Frank in the arm.

Frank winced and laughed. “Hey, that hurt.” Then sat up. “What’s the story?”

“Ya, man,” Wiggy added, chewing on a long stem of grass. “Don’t leave us sitting here wondering.”

Terry sat up. The others huddled closer to him, except for Cathy who found a large leaf from a wild rhubarb plant and was fanning herself.

Terry began. “They were drinking wine behind the barn over there.” Terry pointed to a dilapidated structure up the hill. “One of them had a deck of cards and they started playing strip poker.”