Gardening
By Craig Izard
You drive and drive as the sensory numbing windshield view of the road ahead takes hold and doesn’t let up. Nothing else visible to you. Nothing else matters. All those things that have made their import known to you over the years are left back down that road you just traveled. People, relations, work, hope and dreams – what little there were – all in the rear-view mirror now. They’re no longer important.
She has been quiet the entire ride, and you expected that. Everything changed yesterday after she told you people have been talking. Talking. You just listened while your head began pounding. Now you just drive while she sits there. There’s nothing that needs to be said.
You see the turn-off up ahead, and you know there’s no turning back now. Everything you thought might make you drive on and not take that turn doesn’t matter anymore. Everything changed.
Leaving the pavement, the rutted surface hits the tires with a violent shock and jolt that you feel as your hands instinctively tighten on the steering wheel. The path becomes rougher as you drive on until you see you can’t drive any further. You have to stop.
You turn the ignition off, pull the hand brake on, then pocket the keys while still sitting behind the wheel. She is actually outside the car before you reach for the door handle. If you had been keeping track – which you haven’t – this has never happened before. She has to disengage from whatever was occupying her on her phone, and that takes time. But not tonight. You open the door, step outside, and begin to lock the door out of habit. But this night is different. Very different. Not a trip to the store, to the post office, to the gas station, or wherever. You realize that you are not going to lock that door. All these instinctive behaviors are going to be overridden tonight, and you might as well get used to it. Everything has changed.
She is already opening the trunk by the time you come around the side of the car. She has to see for herself that it’s empty. Another time, that might have made you angry, but not tonight. She leaves the trunk lid up, then opens the door to the back seat and retrieves the shovel from the floorboard. You step up to her and extend your hand offering to carry it. She hands it to you without hesitation. She wipes her hands together then turns towards the woods.
The moon is hiding behind a dense layer of clouds and your hope for any illumination on this walk is lost. This may be both fortunate and difficult for you. You both stumble over the rocky path as you walk side by side. Fortunately, the rain held off over the last few days and the ground is dry. The path is problematic to make out in the dark, but you both know it’s probably not safe to use a flashlight. So, you have to make your way in the dark. The shovel isn’t heavy but awkward to maneuver with no light and the difficult terrain. You concentrate on balancing it with one hand while you put one foot in front of the other and hope to avoid a misstep. You remain silent while she curses quietly from time-to-time after tripping over the occasional rock or debris in her path. Nothing was said in the car on the drive over, and you doubt if anything will be said now. You know there is nothing that needs to be said. Not now. There’s nothing more that needs to be talked about. But you’re afraid a question or two may be coming.
“You didn’t tell anybody, did you?”
And there is the first one. It will be the easiest to deal with. You decide to dispense with it right away.
“No.”
You glance her way to see if she shows any reaction, but it’s too dark. Her face is a shadow.
Silence ensues again as the slow walk continues. The woods are quieter than you remember. Where are the tree frogs, crickets, katydids, owls or other night noises that make their presence loudly known almost every night? Have they been disturbed by your intrusion? Are they shining a light on you through their silence? The sound of your steps is the only sound audible, and your anxiety level rises with each and every step.
“What if I don’t believe you?”
There’s the second question, and that’s when the things left standing break down. When trust is gone, it’s gone. And you need to follow.
You pause for a moment to transfer the shovel from one hand to the other. She continues walking a few paces ahead and then turns, waiting for your answer. She stops walking, and you know she’s staring at you. But as you approach her you look instead at the shovel, the ground, the woods around you. You know she’s waiting – not for you to catch up with her – but to look you in the eyes. You don’t look at her and you walk past her without saying a word.
You know she’s furious with you now, but that doesn’t matter. You just want this to end.
Craig Izard is a songwriter, musician and attorney. His short story, Time, was published in Dark Winter Literary Magazine.
He was a member of the cult band, 'Jim Bob & the Leisure Suits', featured in the Oxford American Southern Music issue. His songs appear in the campy movie musical, 'Elvis's Grave'. His songs were also recorded by blues singer Elnora Spencer.
“Gardening” is based on the song by the same title as recorded by the Cosmic Snakehandlers, available on all digital music platforms.
