Dirt

It comes back to me almost like a dream, or like an explosion happening in slow motion, time slows down to a trickle, so that each detail is in sharp glittering relief.

A balloon of memory that expands and envelopes me.

    My dad and I were on a camping trip, or maybe coming home from one, I don't remember those specifics. We had ridden about a hundred miles so far, and we were stopped on the side of the road.

A "Leak stop" as we called it.

My dad had walked off the side of the road and down the dirt shoulder into a ravine, while I busied myself picking at the debris in the dirt on the side of the road. Examining bottle caps, pull tabs, chips of glass, garbage, Assorted bits that had been tossed or lost by passing cars over the years. 

  My little mental diversion was interrupted by my dads voice as he called up from the ravine.
"Hey," He yelled, his voice slightly muffled by the bushes, "you gotta see this!"

I straitened up and stretched, and then walked down to where he was, which was in a sort of tunnel made of blackberry bushes. My mind raced with ideas of what he might of found. An animal skeleton, or an old wrecked car, maybe a cache of antique bottles. "What is it?" I asked excitedly.  

He made a sweeping gesture with his arms, "Check it out."

That was years ago, and I had pretty much forgotten about it, until this day. 

This day was September 5th, 1981, and I was out with my best friend Linda, and her boyfriend, who was also my good friend, Eric.

We had been picnicking out in a field by UCSC, and as we were packing up, Eric said that he knew of some caves nearby, and we decided to go and check them out.

    The first one that we went to was pretty easy. It had a big entrance, and sort of natural steps leading down into it. The main room was big, and had a mostly level floor. We wandered around in that first one for a while, looking at what others had left behind on their visits, which, since it was close to the college, was mostly beer cans and graffiti. After about a half an hour, Eric suggested that we go to another cave that he knew of further down the valley. We agreed and climbed our way back out in to the daylight. We walked down the hill, and picked up a trail down by the creek. After about a half a mile, Eric stopped and pointed up the hillside.
"It's up there," He said, "Not many people know about this one, it's a little harder to find, and not as easy to get into."
Linda and I nodded, and followed Eric up the hill to a grove of redwoods.
"This is it." Eric said. I looked down to where he was pointing and saw a slightly oval hole at the base of one of the trees. The hole was at best two feet in diameter, and descended almost straight down into darkness.  I looked first at Linda, and then to Eric. "It's easier than it looks." Eric assured us.  Linda put her backpack on the ground and sat next to it. "I think I'll wait out here." She said.
I looked again at the hole.  "All right," said, "Let's do it." 

We climbed down. deep into the earth. twisting our way down, spiriling deeper and deeper. It was tricky in spots, but we went and explored for a good hour or so. Sometimes crawing, sometimes slithering, sometimes walking. We were on our way back out when things went wrong. Eric went first. He climbed up and out, then called down to me. 

"I'm out," He said, "Come on up!" I started the climb. I got about half way up when I found that somehow the shaft seemed gotten smaller, and my hips were pinned against the walls. I pulled, but my hips wouldn't budge. Panic sparked in the pit of my stomach and exploded into my chest. I started to feel like it was getting hard to breath. "Shit," I yelled, "SHIT!" I pulled at the walls, but I couldn't move. "Help!" I yelled up the shaft, "I'm stuck!"

"Hold on!" Eric yelled back, “I’ll come down."

I tried to relax, but had a hard time. There wasn't really any light, but I closed my eyes anyway, and concentrated on breathing. After a minute, Eric made it down to where I was and shined the light in my face.

"Dude," He said, "You gotta turn around."

Then my mind replayed the climb down when we had first come in.  
I was at "the keyhole". a spot where you had to twist in a sort of circle as you passed through...
I lowered myself back down a bit and found the shelf with my foot, then turned around, and I was free. I climbed up a few feet and looked up at Eric. "Thanks." I said, "I..." But I couldn't finish.  The yellow beam from Eric’s pen light revealed a scene I had somehow missed on the way in.  

It was like the ravine, so many years ago with my Dad.

"Check it out." My Dad had said, making a sweeping gesture with his arms.

They were everywhere.  Spinning, climbing, hanging.
That time in the ravine they were shiny black and yellow.
Here, deep in the earth, they were dull and gray.  
Spiders.  Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.  
Here in the cave, the wall was a vibrating grey carpet.
 I screamed. 

That was the last of the caves that day.

I got home that evening just as the day was fading to dusk. I walked up the path to the front door, and as I looked in the window, time began to slow. I could see my mother was at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, My moms friend Lou looked out the window and met my gaze. Her face so blank, it seemed to be pulling the expression from mine.

Something wasn't right.

I went into the house and my mother was on the phone now. Lou began to speak, but it was disjointed, rambling...

“Your father” she said, “there was an accident. The hospital called, your mom is talking to them. They have to…She’s talking to them now…we’re not sure”

It made no sense.

An accident? Why would the hospital call? Why wouldn’t my dad just be here calling the insurance company?

My mom hung up the phone, and was sobbing hysterically.

“They want to know if he has a mustache” she wailed. “They asked if he had a mustache…they said his license,.. He doesn’t…oh god…they can’t tell…” she looked at me. ” We, we might have to go to the hospital, they wouldn’t tell me how he is, will you come to the hospital with me?”

I tried to console her.

“I think he’s clean shaven on his license. Maybe they think…Maybe they are not sure it’s him?”

I shook my head

“He’s fine mom, probably just broke his leg or something.”

I went to my room and changed clothes. I figured on wearing a black suit to visit him in the hospital. I thought it would be ironic.

When I came out my mom was on the phone again, but at least now she wasn’t crying.

Ok, I thought. Good. He’s Ok.

There was a knock at the door, and I answered it.  It was our next door neighbor. We walked out on the deck.  “I’m sorry” he said. “I didn’t… I mean…We were on a ride, all of us, we were riding”

“It’s Ok,” I said.” What happened? How is he?”
He stared at me. It was like he was trying to figure out the question.

“Didn’t they...Didn’t they call you? Someone should have called you…”

“Well, moms talking to someone now. But they just told us he was in an accident. I don’t think it’s that bad, I mean…”

He looked at me shaking his head. ”No...No... He’s dead, He…He died”

His expression made it almost a question.

“No…no” I reassured him, shaking my head “No, no, he’s just…”

Inside the house there was a scream, and then a strange wailing.  I ran inside and watched as my mother sort of slid to the floor and landed in a heap sobbing. The phone dangled by its cord, slowly twisting back and forth. Lou was draped over her and they were rocking slowly.

It might have been a scene from a movie.
But it wasn't.

I went back out on the deck, my neighbor was gone.
I stood there for some time.

I wasn’t really even thinking. Just standing there on the deck, listening to the repetitive sound of my mother crying, and waiting for the next thing to happen.
I tried to grasp that. The next thing?
Was I suppoused to do something?
Do I just wait? What should I do?
I needed to fix it somehow. I asked God to trade us. It made sense. Take me, and bring him back.
I would happiy disolve if he would come riding up the driveway.
I waited.

After a while I saew some lights on the road. A car slowly drove up and parked on the road across from our house. In the dim light I could make out that it was a Sheriffs car.

A figure got out, and I walked up the driveway to meet him.

“Is this the Baron residence?” he asked.

“Yeah” I said, ‘is this about my dad?”

The sheriff looked at the ground. “Maybe we should go inside” he said.

“We already know” I told him, “the hospital called us. I think it was the hospital.” I shrugged “anyway, we already know. He’s dead”

We were both looking towards the house

“Mmm…” he said, patting his leg.

“You don’t need to do anything” I told him.

“Hmm?” he asked.

“You don’t need to do anything. You came to tell us, and we know. You’re done, if you want.”

“Mmm…” he said again.
I don’t think either of us knew exactly what was supposed to happen next.
He patted his leg again.

He had one job this evening, an important message to deliver. He had probably been rehearsing it all the way up here, all along the drive. Saying our names. Repeating the message. He had no doubt been trained on exactly how to deliver it, and deal with the emotions that come with it.

 Now a 17 year old kid taken that from him, and I don’t think he had brought anything else.

“Really,” I said, “We know...You’re done if you want.”

“Mmm…” he said again.  “Well, Ok.” He walked back over to the cruiser. “I’m sorry...” he said.

“I know” I said, “thanks”

I don’t remember much else about that night. At least not details. Lots of phone calls made and received, a lot of crying.

A lot of crying.

At some point it was the next day, and then the next.
Time passed on its own accord. It was out of my hands.

One evening somewhere in there I saw my neighbor again.

“So what happened?” I asked Him, “I mean everything, tell me everything. What...what happened exactly?”

“We were riding up skyline” he began.

I knew the place. Hwy 35. My dad and I had spent a lot of summer afternoons up there, twisting through the mountain roads.

“Your dad was out in front," he said "We were on the big curves up by page mill road. Like I said, he was up front by a ways.  I came around the corner, and it was like an explosion, there were parts everywhere, there was stuff sliding on the road, stuff everywhere. Your dad was lying on the side of the road, I pulled over and ran to where he was, but he died right there”

“Did he say anything? what did he say?”

my neighbor took a deep breath. “ No....he kind of made some sounds, and, and kind of shook, and that was it”

That was it.

That, was it.

My dad was riding a late 60’s Kawasaki 500 two stroke. It was set up as a café racer, with drop bars and a small fairing.

It was fast.

Really fast.

Once out on a camping trip, we rode out through Yosemite, over the pass and out to Mono Lake, then got on highway 167. 

15 miles of straight, flat, empty road.

He swatted my leg. “Should we open it up?” he shouted.

“Sure” I shouted back.

He twisted the throttle, and the bike leapt forward. I was crouched in, peaking over his shoulder at the speedometer. 70, 80, 90, 100, 110,

I tucked in and held on. The bike was making a whining howl that I could feel in my teeth

It was as much a feeling as it was a sound. 

To be honest, at some point it stopped being fun, and I just held on and waited for it to be over.

120? I don't really know. Whatever it was, it was fast.

He was probably going fast that day up on skyline.

Then out of the blue comes a Honda 750 touring bike, also going too fast around a blind curve in the wrong lane. They hit head on, and just explode.

And that was that.

I called my job at the summer camp where I was working and told them that my dad had been killed in an accident, and I would not be at work for a few days.

My boss said, “Whatever. Look, if you don’t want to work, why don’t you just quit?”

So I did.

We made funeral arrangements. 

There was a viewing, which I didn't go to, and I talked my mother out of going as well.

Most of us did not want to remember him that way.

 I think his mother and sister went, but I don’t think anyone else did.

I remember before that, when we were making the arrangements, and the “up-selling” began.
When all was said and done, the funeral director probably thought I was a heartless bastard of a son.

We had already bought a cemetery plot, but they wanted to sell us a concrete vault.

“No” I said, “He wanted to be in the ground”

“Ah, yes, I understand." the director said, nodding."But the safety and security offered by a solid concrete liner, is not only peace of mind…”

“No” I repeated, shaking my head “He wanted to be in the ground”

 “Yes, and in many places a vault or liner is required by law, and even if it is not required, the protection it offers from the elements is…”

My mom was doe eyed. 

“Maybe we should think about it…” she said blankly

I held her hand, and shook my head, “We don’t need it, the guys at the cemetery said we don’t”

“Very well.” The director said. It was a resigned sigh. He seemed peeved.

“Have you decided on a Casket?” he asked.

“No,” My mom said. “But I know he wanted something simple”

That was the truth. 

He had said it himself. I would have built his casket if I had the time.

Funny thing is, in fact, he actually built the coffin for my grandfather. 

Simple pine box, stained dark.

“Something simple” I repeated

“Ahh, I am sure we have just the thing. Right this way”

He led us through the door that opened into the show room.

“I’ll let you take a look around,” He said ”…and I’ll be back in a moment. take your time.”

He gestured around the room with his hand, “Please”

Caskets were situated around the room on satin covered risers.

The waist level were the most expensive, sparkling gold, bronze or brushed chrome, glossy polished exotic wood, all spilling out heaps of quilted satin and lace pillows...

Small easels held signs touting the features.

“Beauty and security”

“Weather proof”

“Ultimate protection”

“Strong and durable”

“Lasting peace of mind”

“Luxury”

Knee level were a bit less dramatic.

Floor level looked like fancy painted cardboard

I could not see him in any of them.

Neither did my mom. “I don’t know...” she kept repeating

When the funeral director returned, I asked the dreaded question.

“Don’t you have anything…Simple?”

The director got the peeved look again.

“Well, I suppose…but a man of his social standing deserves quality, take this one for example. I am sure he would have wanted something more like....” He gestured towards a gaudy box that looked like a rosewood Cadillac with no wheels.

No.

My dad did not even own a suit. When he wasn’t on his motorcycle, He drove a 52 ford pick up with more rust than paint.
And he loved it.

I took the director aside, out of my mothers hearing.

I looked him in the eye. “My father is dead." i told him "We are going to bury him. Deep underground. deep in the earth.  He is going to decompose, and the coffin with him. He is going into the dirt, and returning to the earth. What he would want...and what WE want...is something simple”

The director did his best to gain composure, and not show the disgust he was obviously feeling.

He lead us to the back of the room.

I had overlooked it completely in the flash and glitz.

“We do have this…economy model.” He drawled, his expression was board dismissal, and he did his best to make it seem undesirable.

It was a simple pine box. Dark stain, slightly domed lid, nice simple fixtures.

It had no easel, no luxury features.

My mother smiled

“Perfect” I said.

The funeral was on a Wednesday.

I have never seen so many people at a funeral. Friends and family, people he had made art or stained glass for, co-workers, motorcycle friends, local people who just knew him from his many years at Safeway. They spread out in all directions through the cemetery.

My cousin, a Mormon deacon, read the eulogy.

None of us were Mormons, but it didn’t matter

When it was over, they lowered the casket. The caretaker stepped on a lever, and It disappeared slowly into the AstroTurf lined hole.

His mother stood beside the hole and mouthed a silent prayer, and then she picked up a handful of dirt and threw it down onto the coffin.

What the hell? I thought.  I had never seen that before, and wondered about it, but did not know who to ask.

When she left. Everyone followed, back to our house to get drunk.

I stayed behind with my friend Matt. The cemetery workers came, but seemed hesitant to start shoveling with us there, so we wandered down to the gazebo and stayed until the caretakers patted down the last shovel full of fresh earth. 

Then we went to the party.

We made a bit of a stir, because Matt gave me a ride home on his Motorcycle.

Half the family was proud, the other half shocked.

You never know.

You do what you do, but you just never know.

I have gone back to the day he died many times.

As if I can change it, or find something I am missing to make it all make sense.

But it’s always the same.

I close my eyes, and I’m there.

I arrive as the two motorcycles collide.

I am in the road as they both pass through me, meeting in the middle

An explosion happening in slow motion so that each detail is in sharp relief.

A balloon of debris that expands and envelops me.
A swarm of angry bees made of tiny flying motorcycle parts

At first in silent slow motion, then chaos

Then I am walking along the dirt shoulder, over bottle caps and pull-tabs, chips of glass and other assorted bits that had been tossed or lost by passing cars over the years.

He is laying on the side of the road, cradled in my neighbors arms.
No one notices me.

In their point in time I am in a cave about 25 miles south, as the crow flies.

Deep underground.

In the earth.

In the dirt.

But here, now, I drop down on one knee and lean in close enough to feel his breath.

He looks confused

He is the only one who can see me.

I close my eyes and concentrate on blocking out the chaos.

Because this time he will tell me something

This time he will whisper the secret.

This time it will all make sense.

But he just makes a few garbled sounds, shakes, and then is gone.

I open my eyes, and I am back to wherever I started.

No time has really has passed.
A mere blink.
A fraction of a second.

An eternity.

I swallow the shudder, and go back to living.

Because,
There is always next time.

Epilogue:

I still remember the last time we spoke. It is almost as though it were only a moment ago. 

We passed each other in the Laundry Room. He was going to bed to catch a few hours sleep before his ride that day, I was going out to meet friends.

 "Going to Bed?" I asked.

"Yeah," He said.

 It's funny, I can still remember His sleepy Smile. 

"I'll see You later." I said. 

I thought maybe I should have said good night, but it was morning.

He nodded, "Yeah," He said, "I'll see You later."

And that was that.

 Now, I close my eyes, and I’m there.

I arrive in the middle of the road, as do the two motorcycles.

Then I am walking along the dirt shoulder. 

My father is laying on the side of the road, cradled in my neighbors arms. I drop down on one knee and lean in close enough to feel his breath.

I close my eyes and concentrate on blocking out the chaos.

Then I open my eyes an look at him

He looks confused, like he is the only one who can see me. He make a strange gurgling noise

I shake my head slowly, and hold my finger to my lips

"Shhhhh" I say. I know what I need to do, but I just never want to say good bye

He looks oddley serene

I smile slightly.

"Good night, dad" 

And that is that.