Septic

My cousin dug a hole.

It was to get to the septic tank.

It was a big hole, done with the digger from the family ranch.

We stood and stared down into the endless dark.

Ya know, if you want to throw something in this hole before I close it back up, he says.

My coworker’s horse just died. She had to hire a digger for that. Couldn’t leave the corpse for the coyotes and bears. If it had died today, we could have put it in this hole, but probably not. I don’t want to live thirty feet from a dead horse.

Probably not a dead horse, he says. But if you’ve got anything else.

Well, it might be funny to put something weird in there for the next time someone has to dig up the tank. Or maybe a little treasure or something else.

Yeah, there’s a lot of stuff that could go in this hole, he says. Got any evidence you want to get rid of?

Not lately.

Not lately, he laughs. I guess if you ever wanted to kill a guy, now’s the time to do it.

I laugh. He laughs. He’s done for the night.

We both wonder for second, a brief moment or two, who we’d be willing to toss in this hole.

There isn’t anyone that I hate enough to put in this hole. But there might be a memory or two, I’d be willing to toss down there. It’s not been a good year.

He pats me on the shoulder and walks out to his truck.

I’ll fill this up tomorrow, he says. Make sure you got those bodies on reserve.