My father didn’t care what was done to the remains after he was through with his carcass.
“Light me up” he said mischievously, “and toss what’s left away.”
Thankfully there are professional body burners who spared us the trauma of torching old dad and they did so in a manner which likely wouldn’t have bothered him much as he was very experienced in the art of setting himself ablaze.
The old feller had a secret passion for fire and had spent months under medical care for serious, self inflicted burns even though for three decades he preached to many questionable characters about spending an eternity basting in the flames of hell.
To get a party started, dad would splash gasoline on just about anything to ensure we all heard and felt the whoompf of ignition as well as making certain no one close to him ever sported a combustible amount of upper body or head hair.
On more than one occasion the aging pyromaniac almost lit us all up like roman candles as his ill planned flammable maneuvers caught a little too much wind and tarp awnings / kid’s ears.
Yep, dude certainly had a love affair with flames and in the end they hungrily devoured his body until there was nothing left of him but a few pounds of salt and pepper ash in a gallon size brown plastic mayonnaise container lined with a thin poly bag.
At the plantation I removed the closure ring which was in place to seal the inner bag and slipped it into my pocket to give to one of dad’s kids.
Then, with two night-owl, semi-interested witnesses monitoring my 3 AM deed, I crested the small hill between the parking lot and train tracks and in the dark tumbled ash over tea kettle half way down the other side, winding up a stone’s throw away from The Last Spike.
After the commotion there was little time for words as my car was running with the driver’s door open so I dusted off my knees and elbows, picked up dad’s plastic bottle coffin and scooted like a bandit back over the hill.
It was the last mix-up for the old fella, he would blaze no more.
As for myself, I was just nicely getting started and once
underway I could already feel the heat flushing my
face. It felt different and good. Very, very good.
Thank you, friend.
Barry out.
It was three o’clock in the fucking morning and people were sitting at a picnic table on the toilet end of the parking lot.
They scared the fuck out of me to start with because I didn’t see them and they weren’t moving either.
Soon as our eyes made contact we were all more frightened.
Fuckers.
I thought about those people for hundreds of miles and obviously, still today.
They have a story too, those two.
Ahmah oldest damn weeliams here I said to dude.
You got a smoke? he said to me.
No I said. How old are you?
I likta smoke. Not got ta.
Gotta is for shit pants and I don’t own any! I told them as quick as I could git it out.
Yeah, they looked funny at me for a minute but before long everyone but me had forgot about what I said.
I said it.
Wasn’t like it was about to be entered into evidence in a court of law or anything.
Was it?
Try having your privates stuck in a pop bottle on account of no one wanting to stop cause someone’s got to go to the bathroom.
Part of you stuck in a bottle. With pee in it.
Never saw dude pee in a bottle while driving.
Lots of other stuff but no peeing. Not once.
I was proud to drive my drunk dad around town at age 14. Not him…me.
He’d say “don’t go anywhere and then pause and add, just around the parking lot but nowhere else.”
Try driving around any small town parking lot for five or six hours.
Ain’t gonna happen.
I knew only trouble could lie ahead and still I went.
And I want to go back!
I drank many beers with my father.
I was his listening post.
Herd much shite most people do not want to hear. Nothing fancy. Just too much.