This is one of my favorite stories. It was based on a writing prompt: Labor Day.

“Time ta dig, time ta dig.” Steve hummed in the brisk early-morning air. He skipped through the dew coated grass, sunlight reflecting tiny rainbows around him.

A bright, cheery, cloudless Labor Day, but one full of sorrow for some. But not for Steve. Working at Thane’s Funeral Home gave him purpose. His goal was to be the unseen entity that crafted the best, purest rectangle in the ground, preparing the place of honor for the sendoff of somebody’s loved one.

They, the family, friends, or necrophile’s, shouldn’t know the work that went into preparing the resting place. Only that it was ready, able to fit the sometimes oversized, sometimes undersized casket.

Today’s service featured a nine-year-old boy named Alex Heston.

Steve had to craft the plot for a child once before, a girl, Nancy Stanton. Was it already a year ago? He meticulously dug the hole for her, only his second day on the job, but his first solo. Little Nancy, or Nan as he liked to call her. The family would never know the care he put into the preparation. But Nan would, always. And that was the most important part.

’Small for her age, yet wise beyond her years,’ her obituary listing had read. Nan’s obit didn’t say anything about her life, nothing about what made her special. She deserved better. Even at her service, nothing stood out. No cheers, no wonderment. It reminded him of a rice cake: dry, flavorless, and not nutritional. So bland!

He had seen so many obits that the words bled together. Always the same, only the names changed. Variations on a person taken too soon, one that will be missed, wise, yada yada yada. But not Alex’s. His obit featured something new, something Steve had never seen before.

Come one come all to the once in a lifetime EVENT to honor…

Alex Heston!

Not just one of the good ones… one of the GREATS!

Wow! An event! I’ll make this extra special, tha jewel in my crown!

Steve got up extra early, before dawn, and began his prep work. He reviewed his list of casket sizes in order to craft the perfect sized hole, then went an extra step and manually measured the physical casket that would be used. He inspected the equipment next, determining the right width of the backhoe blade, grabbed the proper pickaxe, a few shovels, tarps, and donned his lucky gloves.

“C-184. Yap. Right over there.” His breath steamed into the brisk morning air, the sunlight cresting the gentle hill in front of him. His heart raced as he parked the truck & trailer, then prepped the pathway to Alex’s casket’s eternal home. The tiny rainbows danced in the air around him, whirling as his feet swept through the pristine green grass.

First, position the 2-by-4’s so the backhoe won’t harm the grass. Then craft the outline on ground in front of the headstone. Measure twice, cut once. Next came the tarp he would use to store the mound of dirt. Peel back the grass and set it aside. Oh, what a wonderful smell!

He unloaded the backhoe and drove it along the wooden path. The blade reflected the early morning sun as it cut into the sacred ground. After the bulk of the dirt was displaced, Steve put a ladder in the hole.

His boss, Mr. Rhodes, strode toward him. Not unusual, but Steve hadn’t finished sculpting the resting place yet.

“What’re you doin’? Hole looks fine. No need to be a fancy boy.” Mr. Rhodes animated his arms as he spoke, reminding Steve of an inflatable flailing arm tube man the car dealers displayed.

Steve stifled a smile at that thought and replied, “Tha better I make tha hole, tha more comfortable they’ll be.” He wrung his hands together and kept his eyes down.

“Who, you twit? The dead? They ain’t gunna care!”

The gruffness of his reply made Steve cringe. “No. Tha peeps. Tha visitors. Tha mourners. They need ta be able ta say a proper goodbye.”

“What the hell does that have to do with the hole? Just shut your trap and finish.” Mr. Rhodes turned and strode away, muttering all the while, dark dew droplets flying into the air around him.

His boss didn’t understand. As long as the resting place was ready, Mr. Rhodes didn’t need to know why Steve put so much care into it. As his boss walked away, Steve scampered down into the hole with his shovels in tow.

The backhoe was a blunt instrument, able to remove large sections of earth at a time. But his shovels, gleaming and pure in the sunlight, were the scalpels. He smoothed the walls on the sides, trimming the finger-like roots where they bulged out. He tamped down the bottom and assured it remained level.

After climbing out of the well-manicured rectangular hole, Steve covered the displaced dirt with an artificial grass tarp. He collected the miscellaneous nuggets that spilled from the mound, then drove the truck, backhoe, and tools to the garage. Once there, he cleaned the equipment, scrubbed the dirt and grime off until each piece shimmered.

The final tasks he performed before the mourners arrived included placing the podium to the right of the headstone, laying down fake grass and setting up chairs upon it, and installing the winch and pulley system that would lower the casket. So many chairs! It truly is gunna be an event! Every task meticulously completed in time for the 10am service.

Now tha hard part. Tha waiting.

And… that’s all of this short story you get! Subscribe to my mailing list here to read the rest for FREE!

Conner Crenshaw

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