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.
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.