L Akers - Shoot Like a Girl

Could they have taken her? Would they? What reason would they want an old woman?

“Elmer!” Emma screamed from the far side of the yard. She was standing at Mei’s grave, next to the edge of their property, where it met the woods.

Elmer put his hand up, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun setting. “What is it?” he grumpily yelled back across the yard.

“Come here! Hurry!”

Elmer hurried over, cussing under his breath. He didn’t have time for this right now. He had to find Edith. Getting closer, he noticed the dirt piled up beside the grave. If those animals dug that girl up, I’ll kill ‘em with my bare hands , he thought.

He stepped beside Emma and looked down into the grave; he was nearly struck down with shock.

Edith stared up at him with wide eyes, not moving a muscle. Probably scared nearly to death , he thought. In an urgent voice he said, “I’m coming, Edith… hang on. I’ll get you out of there,” and then dropped to the ground, turning over onto his belly, hurriedly crawling to the edge of the grave.

He pushed his legs over first and mumbled, “Oh Lord, help me… help me… please.”

Elmer let go and dropped the six feet with a hope and a prayer, landing on Mei’s legs with a sickening crunch. He cringed and paused a second, waiting to hear the screaming pain of his own old bones breaking. But nothing seemed to hurt too bad. He turned around, easing to his knees, and crawled down Mei’s body, trying to keep his own legs to the sides of her, instead of on her. He stopped before he got to her waist. There were Edith’s hands, wrapped around Mei from behind, helping her hold the picture of her little girl; her two aged, but beautiful hands, and Mei’s young one, all entwined together around the photo of the child.

“Edith?” he whispered loudly. He held his hands in the air, not sure what to do with them. He was afraid to move her, she was so still. Was her back broken? Was she paralyzed? It was quite a fall for an old woman. “Are you okay? Edith! Say something !”

She didn’t answer.

Edith lay under Mei, as though she were holding her, arms wrapped tightly around her. Mei’s head lay on Edith’s shoulder. A nasty, pink and brown wound screamed from her arm, burned deep into her skin.

She’d been branded with a huge number “2.”

A low hum started and grew into a heartbreaking wail.

“Eeeeediiiiiiiiith,” he screamed.

As he crouched over Mei’s body that covered his wife, he was struck by the worst hurt he’d ever felt—much harsher than the day he’d said good-bye to their only son—and the agony of it enveloped him.

Emma stared into the grave from above, and dropped to her knees, realizing Edith couldn’t answer her husband. Wouldn’t, ever again. She brushed the curtain of her hair aside, and reached a hand down to Elmer, not even coming close to reaching the broken man. “Elmer,” she said, stretching her fingertips down. “Stand up. Take my hand.”

The tears streaming down her face matched his.

He glared up at Emma and panted, taking painful breaths. He waved her away. “ Leave me,” he roared.

She stood and stumbled a few feet away, her hand to her mouth as her tears ran unchecked. She took a sharp breath.

“Edith!” Elmer hoarsely screamed again, in a voice so broken it was barely recognizable.

Emma flung her hands up over her ears and dropped her head, feeling the life sucked out of her. She drew in a huge breath, holding it. She had no right to cry; no right to share Elmer’s grief. If she hadn’t hitched a ride with him, he might’ve been back home already to prevent this. She turned and ran to the house, not being able to stand the poor man’s howls.

The screen door slammed behind her.

Elmer scooted forward, tears rolling and snot bubbling, and pulled Mei up by her shoulders, then held her up with one arm, as he struggled through his sobs to try to pull his wife out from behind her. Edith’s long silvery-gray hair was down, streaming around her shoulders; she was beautiful… more beautiful than the day he’d married her almost fifty years ago. He rarely saw her with her hair down anymore. Usually it was up in a bun. At night, she braided it. A couple times a year, he might catch a glimpse of the long silvery locks, but it was rare.

It was impossible. He couldn’t get Edith out from under Mei like that. Instead, he stood, putting one boot on each side of Mei, and lifted her. The smell nearly knocked him down. He turned and carried her to the other side of the grave, leaning her against the dirt wall. Something in Mei popped and cracked again, as though her bones were snapping like dry tinder. Her head lolled over like a rag doll, the bandana falling off.

Elmer nearly heaved.

He got down and scrambled across the dirt again and looked at Edith.

Finally seeing her without Mei on top of her, he gasped. There was the bullet hole that had killed her. He turned his head up and cursed God. How could you let this happen?

She’s gone. She’s really gone.

He grabbed her and picked her up, standing to hold her broken body to his chest. Edith’s feet hung six inches off the ground. He tightly hugged his bride.

He ignored the smell of burnt flesh and convinced himself that she still smelled the same. Like lilacs and honeysuckle… a smell he’d associated with his bride for half a century. He buried his nose in her hair, sucking in huge breaths, and bawled until he was too exhausted to hold either one of them up anymore.

He fell to the ground, with Edith still in his arms, howling relentlessly, for how long he didn’t know, squeezing and hugging her while her arms flopped lifelessly at her sides. Finally, he took a deep breath and held it… then shuddered. “I’m so sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have left you here alone,” he cried. “I just wanted to get those girls home safely.”

He felt so shallow. Fifty years and that was the best he could come up with? Meaningless excuses? She’d been shot and thrown into a grave with a dead body… he couldn’t imagine anything more frightening for his wife. She would have hated that. In the past, he would have had to hold a gun to her head to get her into a hole. She’d barely glanced at Mei once they’d put her down there when they’d buried her.

That’s when it struck him.

They’d buried Mei in bright purple shirt. He remembered it plain as day.

Mei was now wearing a yellow shirt.

Somebody had to change that shirt.

His wife was alive when they put her down here…

Holding Edith with one arm, he stuck his hand to the dirt floor where Edith had lain, and searched the dirt, coming up with her little revolver.

That was why her hair was down. The few times he’d asked her to carry her gun, she’d act silly and hide it under her bun, sitting on the top of her head, and then tell him she was carrying her tiny revolver he’d bought her. She ignored the bigger 9mm until he’d been forced to put it away.

He smiled proudly through his tears. She went out fighting. He hoped she’d at least winged one of them. “That’s my girl,” he said, as he pulled Edith close again.

The sun finished setting, leaving him in the dark, softly singing through his sobs to his bride. It was the only song that came to mind… but he didn’t think Edith would care. She was a huge Johnny Cash fan, and loved for him to sing it to her. “I fell in to a burning ring of fire… it went down down down…”

As the moon rose, shining down on them, he refused to dry his tears or wipe his nose. He let it all go, only singing the same verse over and over, wishing for the darkness of night to completely blanket them and bring him sleep; giving him one more night to hold his bride while she lay against his shoulder.