Halloween 382 Miles Away - Baltimore Post-ExaminerBaltimore Post-Examiner

Halloween 382 Miles Away

Image by Andreas Lischka from Pixabay

I drove back

382 miles and

39 years

To what’s no longer a home.

Searching for something.

 

I killed him years ago,

But, we have unfinished business.

The shovel is so cold to the touch,

Sad to think that that such a thing

Puts one in the ground

and

Can dig one back up again.

He lay their 39 years, just outside my bedroom window

When I was a child and I killed him.

It is dark now, rural dark, not like you NYC folks,

So dark that only the demon eyes of your childhood stare back at you.

I trace my steps, though much bigger and slower now, but no less scared, maybe more,

to 10 ½ feet just outside the willow tree.

 

She’s still standing, towering over it, like his anger

That drove him in it.

I hesitate; I look around at what was my identity

That no longer belongs to me, and I think that if I get …

Let me just dig a little first, I will fit nicely …

 

I dig in slow motion unconcerned about waking those sleeping

Unconcerned about waking him.

 

It is too dark to see, but I feel myself sinking

Sinking deeper into the clay-laden earth of Western New York.

I think, though numb, will some skin still be there?

Will the head I so often touched be unrecognizable to me?

Will there be his coat of tan and black and grey?

 

I panic, as the soil moans and the shovel screams less discrete

She’s warm to the touch now and is caressing something,

Maybe bones.

 

There is a flash and a bang from up above.

I recognize it as my father’s window, right next to mine

Followed by the bathroom.

I felt a pulsating shock roar through my chest and something warm

Ooze all over me, then I heard another

Blowing my leg out from under me, and another

Killing the shovel this time.

I dropped into his grave.

 

The score is even now.

I was guilty when six, maybe seven,

When I rode over his paw with my Tonka truck.

He wanted to kill me but didn’t.

A week later my dad killed him with three shots

Just out of the window over there.

He attacked my dad, you see, because I made him angry when I rolled my truck

Over his paw.

I am 382 miles from home now.

Can you take me back to my daughter and son?


About the author

Earl Yarington

Earl Yarington is a social worker (LMSW) and an associate professor in literature, writing, and cultural studies (PhD) at Prince Georges Community College and adjunct professor at Indiana University East. He is the author of many publications under his name and under pen name Justin Forest. Earl's focus areas are the representations of girlhood in media,, eroticism, and child pornography law, paraphilia, sex offending and criminal justice. He is especially interested in the treatment of those with sexual challenges such as minor-attraction (pedophilia, hebepedophilia) to help prevent child sexual abuse while providing humane support for individuals seeking help. His book Lolita in the Lion's Den challenges readers to address what is so often hidden and misunderstood about minor-attraction, sex offending, and the child emotional, psychological, and sexual abuse. Earl provides sex therapy under supervision for the American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors, and Therapists. Earl writes about sexual issues, education, and occasionally politics. His writing is based on his expertise and knowledge, and such does not represent the opinions or positions of agencies, universities, and colleges that employ him, nor that of the Baltimore Post-Examiner. Contact the author.
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