Deeply Buried

Deeply Buried
a short story by Diana Weeks

Back in the 90s…our neighbors Carol and Harry played bridge with us once or twice a month. We never partnered with our spouse. Harry cursed when Carol trumped his Ace and frogged her on the shoulder like it was a joke. She didn’t laugh she groaned.

We all worked and didn’t have much time to socialize. Carol and I never had any “girl” time…so we weren’t really close. I did notice a bruise under her sunglasses…when they came back from a skiing trip. And she had to go to the hospital when she fell and broke her arm. Harry said Carol was clumsy.

I was glad when Harry decided to move them to a new sub division where they had room to have a swimming pool. We meet them for dinner once in a while. Harry was very good at telling jokes. The guys both liked to fish and play golf.

I suspected Harry was an abuser…their kids left home as soon as they could and didn’t visit. I knew he had a nasty put down mouth…and she had a jewelry box full of “make up” gifts she never wore. I knew she left him several times but he must have made love like x times squared and promises to stop drinking… to get her back.

Widowed now I was living alone and got a call from Carol and Harry’s oldest son saying his mother had shot and killed his dad. I brought Carol home with me after the funeral. She spent the night and sadly admitted that Harry was rough…he had put her in the hospital twice and always rapes her every month during her period. I didn’t question…Carol needed to voice her life of hidden terror.

“The final argument was when he wrecked his new truck and instead of having it repaired…went out and bought another one. When I questioned him he was insulted, he yelled ‘You cunt, I’m going to break your nose!’ …with evil shining in his eyes…he slammed his left fist into his right palm…the pop sound reminded me what it had felt like to get a broken nose. He’d given me two.

“You’re dead bitch” he growled…at.me and I knew he made good on his threats… I panicked …reached in his night stand drawer and got his gun and shot at his right arm, the one with the swastika and lightening bolt prison tattoo…he chuckled sharp and surly… and I shot him in the shoulder with the one percent tattoo…he still swaggered at me pointing… ‘ Now you’ve made me angry, I’m going to kill you with my fists and then I’m going to cut off your ears…like I did the Gooks”.

Then she tells me, “Really, I was aiming for his other shoulder but he bent down and got hit in the chest. I didn’t mean to kill him. I wish I’d let him kill me…but I couldn’t take another broken nose”.

THE END
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