The voice on the phone was frantic and sobbing, rhythmic, like a song. Each word was a chord, rooted in notes of desperation The name of the song is ‘person on the edge’. We’ve all heard it, we’ve all sung it, maybe you can’t play it on your ukelele, but you recognize it when you hear it
“Spunky’s dead. Bwa-ha-harm-um-ung-aahhhh…”. He could barely hear her, which was a blessing.
“I’m sorry, I know you loved that dog.” The dog was 20 years old, not exactly a full scale tragedy.
“Can you bury him for me? He-he’s starting to stiiiink-uh-huh-ung-huh-un-hng…”. His mind wandered, and he pondered, how she would react during an actual tragedy. Are women really this fragile? He didn’t even cry when his old man died. He was 14…..
“Yeah, ok. I’ll come over and bring my shovel, be there around one o’clock. Make sure you don’t pass out drunk and leave your door locked again. I got a million things to do today and don’t wanna fuck around with this deal. Where’s the dog at now?”
“He’s in my bed, I’ve been sleeping with him and cuddling him, I don’t want to let him go….”
He began to laugh, but stopped himself. “Look, you can’t keep a dead dog in your bed…..”
”I got a towel under him….”
”You can’t keep dead things in the house. You can’t cuddle with dead dogs. Put him in a garbage bag and leave it outside.”
”I’m NOT going to put SPUNKY in a GARBAGE BAG! He’s NOT GARBAGE!”
His mind went back to all the times she complained that his pillows smelled funny, how she was forever irritated in his bed, because he ‘fucked that WHORE on the sheets I BOUGHT YOU’…..
”You gotta get Spunky out of the house. Your other dogs are gonna start eating him, and then you’re really gonna lose your shit…..”
”They’re not gonna eat him! God, why did I even call you? You’re so insensitive! Every time I call you with some—-“
As he hung up, he casually wondered to himself how many plagues have arisen through the ages due to some goofy woman cuddling a dead thing. He decided to let her dig that grave herself.