That’s Not a Dead Body, It’s My Book

I just came back from the dinky little Independence Day festivities in my tiny little town, and as I gimped my way back to the car, we passed a little stone structure tucked into the edge of the woods, right behind the Porta-Potty. I’ve passed it a million times before without noticing it.

“That would be a great place to hide a body,” I said out loud, before checking myself.

The eight-year-old boy I am striving to keep normal said, “Huh?”

“Uhh, That’s an odd place to put the potty.”

Since it didn’t relate to the candy haul from the parade, he was disinterested and I crammed a lollipop in my mouth to keep myself quiet for the rest of the walk.

As we drove home, I pondered my outburst, and considered other times I have blurted out the exact same thing…

…at a relative’s wedding, on seeing the tiny little crawlspace door under the pews at my feet.

…on seeing the covered well hatch on the Montessori school grounds.

…regarding the dense foliage bordering the public transit train rails in Philadelphia, while travelling with a coworker and my boss.

…to my first real boyfriend when we discovered an open window casing leading into the cellar of a long gone home on the riverfront in Bath.

There are lots of other times I have said it, and still more when I thought it. Maybe it’s the storyteller in me, but it seems I’ve made an (unhealthy?) hobby of locating good spots to get rid of a bodies.

Not that I’d ever need a spot to hide a body. But a few years ago there seemed to be a spate of people finding stuff in trash bags on the side of the road. Money. Weed. And  bodies.

I remember talking to my husband and being mystified both by the force that compels someone to open a trash bag on the side of the road, and how little effort some people put into murder.

If I, who have never committed, and never would commit murder, can manage to find so many good places to hide bodies, how can some people just fling a bag of remains out the car window and be like, “Cool, That’s done then.”

It’s like they’re not even trying. I mean, if you are going to go through the effort of killing someone, and dismembering them enough to fit into a Hefty bag, you’d think you’d put a bit of effort into the disposal part of the process. Have some pride in your work.

Also, I went looking for images of trash bags on the side of the road and came across this meme. That there is a meme about finding bodies on the side of the road in trash bags speaks to the frequency of this lack of effort exhibited in the final execution.

Also, don’t Google that; there are some disturbing returns.

meme trash

Then it occurred to me that actually, I am no different than these people lazing out on the last step of a murder. I am a starter, but I never stick the landing. I have so, so many things started. 3 novels in varying stages of completion, a non-fiction book, a memoir, 2 children’s books, a quilt, 2 afghans, a cookbook, and a pile of laundry.

These are all of my bodies in trash bags on the side of the road. That’s a hell of an epiphany, really. And it makes me consider creeping up to the church at dusk and stuffing the 42 completed squares of the Minecraft afghan, or possibly my computer, into that little stone structure.

No one would ever know.

One thought on “That’s Not a Dead Body, It’s My Book

  1. Geeze, it’s like we’re some kinda twins from Hell in a sense. I have this sociopathic streak, and luckily no one to pass it on to. It first manifested itself when I was a kid; I’m not a big person, but my father and his mother were boxing fans, and being a string player, I already knew about pronation, so I took some sparring lessons. When I was about 18, some asshat hurt my mother at their company picnic, by stomping on her left hand (and she was left-handed) when she covered her egg, during the egg-roll contest. She and my dad were playing and I was just watching. My dad was a huge bear of a man, but he taught me how to fight properly and throw a punch and put my whole 115 pounds behind it. My father was also a very mild, gentle man who wouldn’t hurt anyone, but I am another story. I got up and walked over to look at my mother’s hand and it was a mess; bleeding, looked like maybe some bones could be broken. I was standing directly across from this man who had hurt my mom, maybe 2 feet from him. I sized him up, went back on my right heel and threw a straight right just below his sternum that left him flopping on the ground for air. I turned and walked away. My dad stood there with his mouth open.

    That little trait has served me well, living where I do now. In the lest year, I have beat up two muggers; one got four good hits with my blind cane, the other got a left upper-cut that probably broke his jaw. I heard his jaws snap shut. As they crawled/limped away, I said “Hey! I’m not through playing yet!” This past March, while I was sleeping by myself (Jim died in May of 2015 and I’m alone) my lizard-brain felt something was off. We were having horrific wind storms, and the deadbolt had pulled away from the door frame. Being legally blind allows you to expand other senses, and I have my house “mapped” in my brain. I was lying on my right side, but I sensed someone to my left. I quickly reached out with my left hand, grabbed the heavy-based lamp on my night stand and swung to my left, letting the base do the work. I narrowly missed braining some black guy and took a chunk out of my wall. There was another guy getting ready to grab my ankles, but I came up out of that bed, like the 9 Furies of Hell! and they ran. LC, I had 7 computers, jewelry, wallet was out, big screen TV. We had another lock installed on the screen door that day.

    The saddest thing about this? About 6 weeks later a colleague of mine, who is a string-bass player was beaten beyond recognition in a home invasion, and he had guns in his house. This was my 3rd home invasion and I’ve always met force with force + crazy. It’s the only way to live.

    Procrastinate? I got an unedited novel, anotther started that lies moribund, and some “idears”. They can come and rest along side yours. Oh, and by the way, if I do ever kill anybody in one of these confrontations? I won’t be cutting up bodies and putting them by the side of the road. I’ll be calling the damn Police and telling them “Hey, I just did your job,” and will not lose a moment’s sleep. THAT’s why I know I have a touch of the sociopath.

    I’m so glad you’re blogging again, You may not be, after you read this! 😀


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