Rebecca's friend had a weekend yoga teacher training and couldn't come, which was fine with me anyway since I have major ambivalence about threesomes and though Rebecca and I have had a lot of hot sex in the past, I see her more as an important friend to me now and feel less into her sexually as a result. I mean, she's still hot, mind you, but I just see her differently now. As I've gotten older it's harder and harder to have sex with people unless I'm in a relationship with them because, like a girl, I get extremely bonded extremely quickly when I have sex with someone and it can get confusing if I don't know them well or even worse, don't like them very much. Because regardless, once we do it, I get close to them. But being a very sexual man, lonely, and having no negative judgment about my own or other's decisions about the sexual company and frequency with which they keep that company, I have to be careful not to fall into a girl.

So, it was just me and Rebecca. We got to my house in Vermont; it was a stunning crisp day. I showed her where the gun was, asked her if she wanted to shoot it, and then demonstrated, as I always do, to mark my territory upon arrival with three quick blasts out into the heavens from my front door.

BAM!!! Chook-chook.
BAM!!! Chook-chook.
BAM!!! Chook-chook.

"You sure you don't want to shoot it."

"Naaaaaa" She said smiling and recoiling.

"Okay, well it's in the chest at the foot of my bed. Don't play with it but know it's there if you need it."

"For what?"

"For if the evil doers try and kill us while I'm napping in front of golf."

"Okay."

And with that, I made a fire in the fireplace. The Mets were playing game three against the Dodgers at 8 and I needed everything to be perfect; roaring blaze, putanesca finished... so I set about my domestic chores.

"Can I help?" Rebecca asked like an enthusiastic puppy.

"No, sweetie, I got it covered."

She looked out the window. "Okay, just let me know if there's anything I can do... Wow your lawn has really grown up."

"I know, it's a jungle. It's bad that I haven't chopped it down." It was way past mowing, shrubs and small trees were growing five feet tall since it was last paid attention.

"Do you have any clippers or anything. I love doing yard work."

"Yeah, in the mud room there's some stuff."

"Do you mind if I cut it?"

"No, if it would be fun for you, go nuts."

"Okay, great." And she was off. Man, was she off.

My friend Rebecca is a bit OCD, so when she puts her mind to a task... she puts her mind to it. Over the following three days, Rebecca cut a swath through my acre large lawn like a fucking rotatiller. Sweating like a marathon runner in her sports bra and shorts, she sliced and diced that hilly rocky land with pioneer-woman gumption while I lay in sublime slumber in front of the fire and football, only rising to make us gourmet meals, and then she did the dishes... because I had paid for the weekend (Her rules, not mine). I kinda like this old fashioned thing. But then it all went a bit wrong. I was making us fresh swordfish salad sandwiches and corn on the cob for lunch in-between the early and late games on Sunday when she yelled from outside. "OH MY GOD! I ALMOST FELL IN A HOLE!"

"Okay! Have fun!" I added more organic mayo.

"NO! I'M SERIOUS! IT'S A BIG HOLE!"

"Okay!" Treating her like a child, I was sure it was nothing and put the spelt seed bread in the toaster. I shouldn't have thought twice about her alarm, I mean this is the same girl who, in her clipping frenzy had cut what we both thought was a "very important black wire" that led from the dish outside, through the brambles she was demolishing, into my house and presumably to the TV. It would have been the death of the weekend, but luckily it turned out to be just an old unused phone line I had disconnected years ago. So maybe this hole was something after all. I went out to take a quick look while the toast toasted.

"What the fuck?!" I was shocked.

"See. I told you."

There was a MASSIVE hole in my front yard. Five feet around and at least six feet deep with water at the bottom. I took the rake and prodded the hole. I banged the sides of the earth and got a clanking noise. Was it a grave? Buried treasure? Of course those were my first two thoughts. Always the drama and then the rational.

"It's probably an old septic tank or something." I said, resigned the drunk old farmers hadn't hidden millions of dollars in my yard.

"But it doesn't smell."

"I know. It might be a hundred years old and the water is just ground water and rain."

I heard the POP of the toaster and had to resume making lunch, wanting the butter to melt.

"Lunch is ready in three minutes. Put your little tools down and don't fall into the hole."

That night, as I lay in bed, unfortunately, as they are want to do, an awful thought popped into my head.

What if the hole in the front lawn is a grave the ghosts dug and they are going to shoot Rebecca with the shotgun while she sleeps and, having no defense when I find her dead in the morning, I'll be forced to bury her in it!

See, I definitely have ghosts. To this point they have seemed benign enough, just curmudgeonly, cantankerous, drunk Vermont farmer ghosts not wanting the "flatlander" in their house upon occasion. The worst they had ever done was lock me out once, dead bolting all three doors from the inside. I had been shooting Mind The Gap there and had a 40 person crew in and out for three days. The ghosts were used to at most, me, my ex Liza and a friend couple on any given weekend. My part American Indian cleaning lady suggested the ghosts were annoyed with all the commotion and that's why I had to break in through a window to find all three doors dead bolted after I had left them unlocked when leaving. You can only throw the bolts from the inside and no one broke in to lock the doors and then broke out. It was the ghosts.

So I figured if they could move a bolt, they could open my chest, pick up the gun and shoot Rebecca with it as she slept in her room, adjacent to mine. What would I tell the police? The ghosts did it? I would be arrested and sent to prison and the ghosts would have the house to themselves. But why wouldn't they just kill me if they wanted me out? No. Then my mom would get the house. They had seen my mom at Thanksgiving one year and while I love her to death and just think her wonderfully quirky, to some, my mom makes my craziness and high maintenance seem like something you'd wish for for Christmas.

No, killing Rebecca would be the ghost's plan. I was terrified. Should I bury the gun in the hole? Should I wake Rebecca up and warn her of the possible coup? Maybe I could make it look like suicide. She'll be dead in her bed with the gun on the ground next to her where the ghosts have dropped it. I could put it in her hands, get her fingerprints on it and then try and simulate where it would have landed if she had pulled the trigger. I'll tell the cops she was scared of the ghosts so I gave her the gun to sleep with and she must have gotten very depressed after... what?... all her lawn work?... and blown her head off? That's STUPID! YOU'RE GOING TO PRISON FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! WAIT! IS VERMONT A CAPITAL PUNISHMENT STATE?! No you cunt, it's the only state where gay people can get married, I'm sure they don't have the death penalty.

I would have Googled it but my bitch Internet doesn't work up there. I calmed down and remembered the excellent epiphany I had a couple years ago.

If Ghosts exist, God exists... And God beats ghosts.

I prayed to God to save us from the shotgun wielding ghosts and went to sleep. The power of prayer worked and I awoke the next morning to find Rebecca not only alive and well but amped up on caffeine and OCD, having been up since 5AM filling the ENTIRE hole with all the trees and shrubs and grass and brambles she had chopped down the previous two days. Little did she know how close she came to having that hole be her final resting place.

"Look, I filled it."

"I know. You're incredible."

"Should we put a layer of dirt on top?"

"Yeah, but hold on a second." I went inside and grabbed the shot up posters of Leo and Ben and laid them on top of the hole.

"Perfect." And laughing, Rebecca shoveled some dirt over them.

May they rest in peace.

Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 3:12 AM

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