Chapter 50 - Requiem

   After things had settled down, after it seemed like it was all over. After I was comfortable opening my eyes every morning with no hesitation. Getting to finally believe that maybe, just maybe, I was right. That the universe had no more special requests of me. Little Lightning came to me. Well, she came to us. She came in to visit, JG in tow. Panic's son as well for us to enjoy. And I do so love being Aunt Merry. I know Panic loves being Uncle Panic.

   Its not the first time I got called that. Aunt Merry. The universe tested me before, a long time ago. Like, you ask a person. Hey, what do you think about... thing X? The way you tease and probe, seeing if that would make a good present for that person.

   I had already been poisoned. We had the rest of what poisoned me on hand. Uncle Mike used his influence, to locate us a laboratory. And, a tech put at our disposal. No waiting. Instant lab results. Panic had been impressed with him, and wanted to reward the guy. All he knew? The whole situation was highly irregular. His boss asking if he would help, was suddenly the least important big wig to satisfy. After his boss had called asking him if he'd work on his days off on this, other calls came in. To him, to his boss. All he knew? Whatever was going on, it was important.

   Those brownie points, he explained. Could take him to the next level in his career there at his lab he worked at. Or, maybe even get him his dream job. Working where he called it... The Triangle. A conglomeration of labs, built in the countryside. His decent life with his woman and child, he could make the same good money but where he could afford a house and property. No city crime. Better place for his wife and to raise the kid.

   It was when Panic first formed the plan, that was the best way to thank the guy. Get him his own little lab, in a tiny empty spot in The Triangle. Make his life better, the life of his kid and wife better. And yeah, a place to put some money we weren't really using anyways. Hopefully turn some kind of a profit later on.

   But, first we had him and his wife and kid out. To the range property. He got to meet what he thought of as a big wig. My handler, Uncle Mike. A call from an assistant director at the FBI, not long after he got up on his day off after agreeing? Thanking him. That, told him he was getting brownie points he would enjoy having. He was excited to get to meet some of his brownie points. No different, than a nice lunch with the big suits where you work. A personal thank you, you know you made friends that mattered.

   The little kid was having novelty fun, running around the campfire and camp. Little Robbie, enthralled said kid sword fighting with sticks. Horse rides. Skykid gave the tyke little treats, before the meal was ready. Little kids feel special when they get tiny things like that. When the boys were grabbing an arm and a leg each, threatening to cook a little kid for dinner, in the big cast iron pot over the fire? Squealing in typical childish delight.

   Kid liked coming up to me in my folding camp chair, and getting sips of my cold drink on ice. I told them I didn't mind. Well, when the squealing hide and seek game ensued. So the boys could catch their prey to boil for dinner, that had escaped? Toddler ran to me, and hid behind my chair. Smiling. Ended up on my lap later that night, getting tired and going to sleep.

   The mother had to explain why I was Aunt Merry. Her older sister, works at a day care. All the ladies that work there? Naturally take an inordinate interest in the kid and that the kid has fun while there. Toddler got the idea, that any older woman that gives him treats and is extra nice? That's an Aunt. So, I was Aunt Merry.

   I already knew I would never have kids, and it was a rare treat to get to handle one that weekend. I remember thinking. Enjoy this, not only can't you have one of these for your own? You don't even have a sister, the prime requisite to become Aunt Merry.

   But as it turned out, Szarabjorna was my adopted little sister. I was her adopted big sister. I still get to be... Aunt Merry. I could cry, but not out of sorrow. I get to see what Panic might have been like as an innocent little child. Walking, talking, reading early. That's his flesh and blood. His own son, something he thought he would never have. I can remember being young and staying up on grandma and granddad's little retirement farm end of our property. Fun for me, and no doubt to keep me out of my parents hair when I was too young to help out with the busy periods in the summer.

   Kid will get that. When Little Lightning and JG want a break or a vacation? Hey. He'll probably think he's the luckiest kid alive. Sit with the adults and the chief and the cops early. His own coffee and donuts, just like all the adults around him. Naturally, his will be hot chocolate, but he won't know that. Rides making rounds of the tiny town in a cop car.

   I thought it was sweet, when Panic showed me the little tiny rifle him and Little Robbie picked out, and its in the gun vault at the bank property already. Yeah, they make tiny little single shot 22 rifles, easy for little fingers to operate. Kind of an expensive scope mounted on the damn thing.

   I could have shit when Panic showed me a scaled down Ar-15. Its in 22 as well, but to a little kid, it'll look like something out of a cowboys and aliens action movie. Digital night vision scope that works in the day, too. I mean, what little kid doesn't have a need for one of those, you know. It has those accessory rails down all sides of it. A little bi-pod, like Panic and the boys target shoot or take hunting shots with on their own. A focusing flashlight. A red and a green laser both.

   I laughed, and asked him. The hell is a red and a green laser for. He looked at me like I farted in church. Was I daft and completely bereft of my senses? The red was for night time, you can see it. But during the day? The powerful green one was visible. Panic even showed me. Its a real Ar-15 under it all. You can take the upper off, and put a short 223 on it.

   I just shook my head. Kid will be telling the other kids when he gets back to school after summer break. What did you do? Oh. Breakfast with the chief and the cops. Donuts and coffee. Ride around in the police car, making rounds. I get to work the lights and siren, and everything. Night hunts, for wild pig. I finally got to shoot my own wild pig.

   When the kids laugh, and tell him that's all made up make believe? Hey. Pictures and videos on his phone. He can have his own cement bench, target shooting with all the military and cops around the range. Kid won't even know he's learning to fight properly. All kids enjoy rough-housing. With Uncle Panic and Uncle Robbie? Go figure.

   Panic wants the boy to have as idyllic of a childhood as he can. Before the world has its way with him, too. The way the world has its way with all of us.

   So. JG and Light are in, kid in tow to run around with some of his "uncles". Lightning got me casually but conspicuously alone. I went off with her, just out of earshot.

   "What's up honey."

   "You promised. But we forgot."

   "Forgot... what."

   "Moody. She still never got her soccer ball. She wanted it, so she could play in heaven, remember?"

   Christ. Yeah, in all the excitement. Everything that happened, good and bad. That one, slipped my mind. I did promise her. We'd go and see what we could do about that. That was her big vision, laying naked in the surf. Taking worm visions. She got to talk to good Moody. She asked her at the end of their conversation, could she see about her ball.

   When my new university soccer coach had taken over the team, accepting a formerly great girls soccer team that had gone downhill over the years despite anything tried. He wanted a couple young freshman stars. Ones he could bring up inside his style of coaching, not what he found when he arrived.

   I was one of his new things. A big girl, a solid fullback. That was dependable and had some speed and ball handling, enough to switch positions. To make the other team scratch their heads. A big fullback, suddenly playing up on the front line? What the hell. I raise hell coming up, giving the star center a rest. So she can run full tilt again. We called her Little Miss Moody, and her team nickname? Sunshine. A good nature joke about that sunbeam personality of hers. A superstar center from a big quad A high school, he got her starting games early. And you should have seen her play. She was good. She could steal the ball, and feed wings like nobody's business.

   But, she was a moody thing. Kinda fun and funny, sort of. But it was all dark observations, sarcasm and gallows humor. Your stereotypical moody teenager. Coach landed Right and Little Lightning the next year. Both mega star wings that had played on opposing sides in the big national all star's final series. That was his young star starting line he wanted. Brought up to his way of doing things, radically different from the American soccer coaching style.

   She went away in the middle of summer? And committed suicide. She was an art major, and ran off to have fun in the city. Where there was a big art school, and other moody artists that dressed and acted like she did. We didn't think anything of her running off for summer fun, and what's more? We enjoyed the break from her. When her phone quit giving updates, then went off? We got concerned.

   Wizzy put his MP uniform on, out of storage in his footlocker he kept in my room. We went down to the police station. Not a lot they could do. The cop liked Wizzy's MP uniform, and talked shop with him. He suggested, maybe the city. Big art school. Lots of other Little Miss Moody's to fart around with there. He hooked Wizzy up with a detective he knew in the city. To show us around, give us ideas. And if we thought we had anything? A friend to come in and not put it on the back burner.

   Bad part of the city, where they had stuck the art school in a renovated abandoned industrial building. We found first her phone, at a pawn shop. Then, we hiked around to all the abandoned places the local kids hung out at. We thought we found one of her toe paintings, on the floor at the last one that day. A crushed up beer can pot pipe, just like she was known for making all the time at parties.

   Lightning was the first one to find her. Swinging from the rafters. She had hidden herself away in a cement storage room, and closed the big metal door before doing the deed. Summertime. Hot weather. Many days. You can imagine what Light was standing in front of, when she used a lighter to see to go in there and get her Teddy Ball that had gone in through an old metal vent. Lightning was in bad shock, believe me.

   We only truly understood her in reverse, after she was gone. Her dad hadn't left her and her mom. That was just what she said of it. He had died. When she wanted to go off and be with her dad one day? She wanted to kill herself and end her pain. Her single mother? Wasn't the barfly happy to get her kid out of the house on a scholarship to a big university to play soccer. She was trying to keep her shit together.

   Her mother committed suicide, not long after.

   Little Miss Moody had given us a gift, though. One she didn't know she gave. We all wore a little happy sun patch on our game uniforms. A rival team? Thought it would be a great idea to psych us out, by asking all catty. Where's your star center at, huh? We started a bench clearing brawl. All the players, all the helpers in it. Coaches and assistant coaches, even the refs got dragged into it. Hell, both team mascots got into it. Even the announcers got into an honest to god fistfight up in the booth and we could all hear it going on.

   We were an up and coming skill team, they were the perennial goon team in our division. Footage of that brawl and the game that followed it? Infamous. We were coming up out of the cellar in our division, and that game? If you can even call it a game, really. All fights and cheap shots. We got national coverage for the sheer spectacle of it all, and our team nickname that stuck. We became the Bloody Bridesmaids.

   I was formerly known as simply... Tina. Because Frusta Sferza Frustino? Was too much of a mouthful. But I became The Hurricane. Success, when you finally locate it and have it, you find there were many components that came together. Without any one of those components? No success. Well, Little Miss Moody inadvertently gave us posthumously a great team gift. That game, started it and sent us on our way.

   We became conference finalists, and got the first new banner in years. Then we started taking conference. Finalist banner and conference championship banners every year. And every conference championship? Is a ticket to the national title series. National title finalist banner, even bigger and more impressive.

   When you have a bunch of recent banners like that to hang up for your home games its intimidating. When the games get televised, they show all the banners, to fill time. It makes you a powerhouse in your division. But to go from powerhouse, to dynasty? You need crowned. Only a national title can do that. We finally got ours. Me and Little Lightning, have a fist full of conference rings. But that national title ring is the crown jewel.

   Little Miss Moody? Added one of those little ingredients to our recipe, and it was looking back on it? The spark that set off the rest of the powder. In her own way, without even knowing it. She gave her life, and it brought something wonderful out of the whole sordid thing. And, in her pocket. Hanging like bloated summer roadkill, a giant lab dish for growing lord only knows how many different insect colonies. Her suicide note.

   I had words with her, before she took off. Her note? Absolved me of all guilt. Tell Hurry its not her fault. I miss my dad. I'm going to be with him. Can't do it anymore.

   And, yeah. I don't know if its possible, but.... if you can? Would you bury me with my soccer ball. I actually loved you guys. Maybe we can all play in heaven one day.

   Yeah. She gets her damn ball buried with her, if we can. I enlisted Panic. He asked the obvious that escaped me and Light up until that moment. Where's the grave. We both looked at each other and felt like idiots. If you wonder, there's a website for that. Name's good, but things like birth and death dates are great. So now we have her grave location. And, we're on a mission.

   We ended up in the back end of a shitty cemetery. GPS was failing us. It was indicating we had to go get into heavy brush. Panic went and got a stick, and started peeling back thorns and growth. Fuck me. Why would the cemetery allow this. Its a sacrilege. I'm getting a little pissed. This, was a friend and team mate. The least you can do, is cut the damn grass.

   Panic answered the stumping question, there. Its a pauper's grave. Surrounded by others. No gravestone. A little marker that seems inconsequential. Crappy cemetery, lucky they even have a greens-keeper at all. And... making sure the pauper's section that no one ever visits is well manicured? Not a high thing on the list. One of the last, if everything else ever gets done one week.

   Little Lightning is just staring at this.

   "Merry? She deserved better than this. I mean, look. Panic? That's deer shit, isn't it."

   There was a fair sized pile of deer pellets. Some new, some medium. And yeah. Some old enough, the little brown berries as they're euphemistically nick named... open up and the powder they turn into blows around. Panic addressed her softly, gently.

   "Little Lightning? When I was in high school. I worked on a grass cutting crew in the summer. Part time. Kid's job. We did a few cemeteries. This? Is an old time one. Not laid out, like newer modern ones. There's a science to it now. The graves are laid out, perfect. With laser transits. Made so you can run the grass machines around. Some really modern ones? All flat gravestones, so you can cut right over them and maintain a bigger cemetery easier. So... this shit doesn't happen. Its not nice to think about it like this, but... its a business."

   Light looked around.

   "Shitty business, Panic."

   He sighed.

   "I know. Old cemeteries, like this one? Local church probably maintains it. And, if the church ever goes under? This place will get abandoned."

   He paused.

   "Look. See that? Deer like cemeteries. Safe place to graze the cut grass. They bed down, over there. Near her. And yeah... deer pellets."

   Lightning pointed.

   "The deer, they wipe their ass with toilet paper?"

   I looked around, unable to face her. Yeah. There was some piles of toilet paper near. Some old, some newer.

   Another big sigh out of Panic.

   "I been there. Its not the best job, to cut grass for a fly by night crew, honey. Outside in the summer heat and humidity. No bathrooms. I would shit myself, or... I learned to carry baby wipes. And yes. You jump off your grass machine, and go running for the nearest place to hide to take a shit. They don't mean anything by it."

   Little Lightning held her palms up around her.

   The deer poop? Okay, sort of sweet. Kind of. The deer sleep here, and... yeah. I get it. Can't expect an animal to understand where not to take the morning shit. But, she's the toilet now! She's an outhouse!"

   Light sat down in front of her former room mate and team mate's ignominious grave. She touched the little marker you could barely read.

   "Poor Moody. No wonder, you asked me for help. Panic? You seem to know something about all this. What will it cost. To, you know. Fix this. Hell, I almost once killed myself, just like she did. I escaped. She? Didn't. I have more money than I really need now. How can I make this better."

   I looked at Panic. Szarabjorna knows we have some means, after all we gifted her getting her own cutting house up and running. But, she has no idea what we have. We're not ashamed of having it, but.... we have more money than we'll ever spend in our lifetime.

   "Light? Just worry about you and Junior, and your kid. She was my team mate too. We got this."

   "You sure?"

   I put my hand on her shoulder.

   "Yeah."

   Poor thing. She died young. Committed suicide. Hell, she's lucky the church even let her be buried here. In the old days, a suicide can't go to heaven, you couldn't be buried on hallowed ground. I see they only relented so far. She can be buried here, but... with no will of her own. Father already dead. Mother not far behind her. And she was a suicide. Yeah, a pauper not worthy of any real respect, since no one comes and visits. Or else they would complain, and she might get a little path weed whacked to her.

   We walked around. Golf balls here and there, among the tombstones. You could tell they get thrown around sometimes by the grass cutting machinery. Along with a few empty aluminum cans and plastic bottles.

   "First things first. Don't you girls need to see if you can even locate her soccer ball?"

   Now I sighed.

   "Yeah."

   We traveled to the university town. Me and Little Lightning are alumni. We found The Village, the rows of upscale townhouses. A perk, for starting athletes. NCAA won't let us get cars and money like the golden days, but... room and board? No rule against a better place to live. It was bittersweet to walk around, and find our original row. There's the same grass field. Where we used to practice on our own in the summers. Where my precious Wizzy brought his Army friends up, for a little public fighting practice. Kickboxing and grappling practice out in the open, not hidden in their basement.

   A little gift for me. I fell in love with a general on the geek squad, and got teased for it. The girls about shit themselves, when the boys were practicing fighting out in the yard. A little show. And my Wizzy? Was their fighting coach. He didn't want that. That, was just for me.

   Panic hung back, sitting on the wall. Where I used to sit, with Wiz. Watching the girls practice more. Me and Light stood in front of our first townhouse. I knocked. A tall girl answered.

   "Yes?"

   "Hi. We're both alumni. We... used to live right here. In your townhouse."

   "Huh. Means you two started. What sport did you play."

   "Soccer."

   "Wow. Small world. Me too."

   She stuck her hand out.

   "I'm Toni."

   "I'm Hurry."

   "Well. Nice to meet you. And you?"

   "Everyone calls me Light, for the most part. No one can spell or pronounce my first name, anyways."

   "Aw. Humor me. Let me take a crack it it."

   "Szarabjorna."

   "Well? Team names exist for a reason. What was yours."

   Light shrugged.

   "I had a couple. Mainly? Lightning. So, Light... for short. What's yours."

   "Tornado. Toni, Tornado."

   She looked at me. Eyebrows raised. What was my team name.

   "Hurry. The... Hurricane."

   She looked at us funny.

   "This is, uh... a practical joke, right?"

   Me and Light looked at each other and back to her. Shook our heads, for no.

   "Come on. Who put you up to this."

   "No one. We used to live here. We were just wondering. If we could look around."

   Another girl came up behind her.

   "Who is it, Torny?"

   "They said, alumni. But, I'm starting to think its a practical joke."

   "Why."

   "Bunny?"

   "Yeah."

   "Little Lightning and The Hurricane, are at our front door. I mean, coach didn't have a team meeting, nothing. Right."

   I raised my index finger.

   "Actually? Right, was Little Lightning's wing mate. Right. The girl with the big right leg."

   Bunny walked over, to a shelf next to their flat screen TV. Stuck a DVD in, and picked something, at what seemed like random. She spoke loud enough to be heard.

   "Torny?"

   "Yeah, Bunny."

   "You need to see this. You're not going to believe it."

   She went in and stood next to her.

   "Look."

   It was Light's old "Little Lightning's Secret Practice Moves" DVD. The one Wiz got his computer crew friends in the AV department to make, for a fun project. I guess they're still burning copies and passing them out. In the freeze frame, Lightning was standing there. Younger. A bigger and more tan girl had her arm around her in the freeze frame. The Hurricane. My giant ripped legs bulging.

   They both turned around and took a look. Back to the TV, back to us. No mistaking it. Add some years? That was us. Bunny ran screaming and squealing upstairs, dragging the other two girls down. Toni just stood there, with all but an open mouth. Bunny held her hands up, indicating us.

   "Girls? These are the original Bloody Bridesmaids. Look at the TV."

   Yeah, we got treated like royalty. Jewelry show. The girls have a few conference championship rings. Its still a powerhouse. The occasional national title still comes in because every conference championship itself is a winning season, but... its also a ticket to the national playoffs. Check that. Its no longer a powerhouse. It's a dynasty now.

   We got our tour of the townhouse. When you live somewhere for years, you can remember every minor imperfection in the drywall. Toni, The Tornado? Has my old room. She's the biggest one. Starting fullback. Switch utility player. I'm looking at my modern replacement. Bunny? Short for Bunny Rabbit. The fast wing. The other wing is here, too. Jet. Another speedster. The quiet center? That's Slick. They said she has a thing for ball stealing.

   Bunny suddenly realized, showing Little Lightning her room. Light's old room. Yeah, Light has Teddy Ball with her. Under her arm. Was that Tedward. "The", Teddy Ball. He was in the practice video DVD, too. Light introduced him like a high school coach, in her little movie. Bunny wanted to touch him. They all did.

   Looking around, I could see the Sun patch? Has turned into a little built in thing on game shirts and practice T Shirts. Weird. The quiet center? Lives in Moody's old room. She's not an art major, though. Good for her. She's going to be a CPA, she said.

   Light finally looked at me.

   "Hurry? Ask. You were the den mother. Its your place to do it."

   "Girls? You know why you wear a sun, I'm guessing."

   They knew. Team lore. One of the original Bloody Bridesmaids? Committed suicide.

   "Well? I know there's probably no chance, but. Years ago. In the lower basement. You know the cages, where you can store stuff securely?"

   Toni nodded yes.

   "Sure. Whole row of them. They never really get used. I mean, not like we get thrown out for not making rent. No need."

   I sighed.

   "Because... years ago. Always meant to come back and get the stuff, but. Slipped my mind, then? Other things. When... Sunny? Went away. We put her things in one of the cages. Locked it up. In case, a relative came one day. We'd have her stuff to give it to them."

   Toni stared at me.

   "Is that what that old stuff is?"

   I nodded. Light got happy. Pay dirt. Initial phase of the mission? Successful. We went with Toni, down to see. She has the keys to the sub basement. Under the real basement with steps. Head of household on paper. The den mother, the adult. She swept her hand.

   "There it is. I got keys to everything, except that one cage."

   I nodded. I showed her my key. I slid it in. A little stiff. But, it finally turned and clacked open. I could see her practice ball, in the corner. Covered in dust, a little bit deflated after all these years.

   Bunny then asked.

   "What's with the framed finger paintings? I guess she had a kid, or a little relative, I guess."

   I grinned and shook my head.

   "Nope. That was her. Not just an art major. She wasn't really a good artist. Practical Art. You make things, out of anything. These were? Toe paintings, believe it or not. Look. I'll show you."

   I showed it all off. Everyone and everything was represented in bright, happy colors. Smiles on their faces. All except for her, in every toe painting. She? Represented herself in dark, somber colors. Always a straight line for a mouth, and that was rare and at best. Usually, an upside down little kid's frown. She was in pain, and this was the only way she could express it. We hadn't known. How could we. We only saw god awful finger paintings, like a first grader would make. Excuse me. That wasn't correct. They were toe paintings.

   I explained it all, to a quiet audience. What she had taught me. Art didn't have to be great. It just had to convey emotion. This, was her emotions. Right out in the open, for everyone to see. How much she was hurting, and how she saw everyone else and everything around her? Happy and doing fine.

   Then? There it was. The last frame. A blown up poster sized picture. Of her last toe painting. From the floor of the abandoned industrial building we found her swinging in. I ran my fingers over it. Reverently.

   Wiz had decoded it that day. Look, that's me. The spikes for hair? That's my military crew cut. The big girl, smiling, in a mom's triangle dress? Almost as big as me. That's you, honey. The girl next to you, close? That's Light. And next to her? Right. We're all happy, and smiling, and together. She's in dark colors. Off to the side. Alone. Frowning.

   I sat down and touched it. Her, and the representation of Wizzy.

   And yeah. I cried my eyes out.

   Lightning caught it too, the crying. That was Wizzy. Her Wizzy too, as much as mine. He gave her unconditional love. Her first crack at having that. He gave his life, to set things right for her. He started it all, everything. Imparting his code onto me. Karma. Set me on my own path. A path? That ended up making the world, or at least some part of it? A little better of a place.

   This fucking world. The best world, out of all possible worlds.

   Then, there it was. The beer can pot pipe. The one we found at her suicide scene. I had put it here, with all of her things. As horrible of an artist as we had all thought her to be? She finally succeeded. As an artist. Her work? Is stirring emotions. And big ones, too. That's success as an artist. No matter how you accomplish it. You feel an emotion. You hurl it down in a medium. Then, some onlooker? Feels the correct emotion you intended. Here, its pain.

   We cleaned out all of her stuff, every scrap of it. Loaded it up in the trunk, and took it with us. I can't believe no one ever came to claim her stuff. In all these years. I grant you. Her dad died. Then she had her own issues, and that was too much. She killed herself to get out of her pain. Then her mom followed soon after.

   The mom dying, brought state police to the townhouse. There was a comedy of errors. They were looking for, well... the dead girl. To tell her? Her mom died. One state cop, recognized Little Lightning. His daughter, played soccer. Did she know her picture was up on most of the girls soccer team lockers? No, she did not.

   She had been in a short national clip. She led her half of the national all stars team to a nail biting victory near the end, and got hurt bad and would never remember it. It made her famous for fifteen minutes. The state cop? Wanted her autograph, maybe some cell phone pictures and say hi to his daughter, look who dad met.

   That? Led to her practice DVD. Which led to her taking audio video for a masters. To get to stay and play soccer longer, to enjoy being Captain Lightning. Which led to her getting a job cutting video. Which led to her having her own cutting house and production facilities. And while a lot of that is because Wizzy had access to the computer crew, many of whom majored in AV... it only all came about, because... Little Miss Moody killed herself. She was actually the reason we had our first infamous brawl, and even became the Bloody Bridesmaids. A skill team? That can't be intimidated by goon teams.

   She deserves better, than this. A few belongings, collecting dust in an old sub basement. A grown over grave, off to the side in the underbrush. Buried with any other indigent drunk that got ran over by a street sweeper. A embarrassment to the church, who can't turn away a suicide victim any longer. Though, you know they would like to. So, they let her grave get grown over. With all the other people who don't matter.

   Just someplace for animals and humans, to shit on her. The humans wipe their ass, and drop it on or near her.

   Well, she's going to get better than this now.

   First things first. We located the greens-keeper. Not a bad guy, but not a pillar of the community. But what do we expect. His brother in law got him this gig. He's divorced, wife took the kids. A broken man. He gets to live in this little apartment, attached to the garage. He has a machine, to dig graves. Lower caskets, set vault lids on. Bury them.

   Nice enough guy. He runs the belly mower around where he can, and weed whacks where he can't get with the belly mower. A little every day, and when he's done? Where he started more than needs whacked again. Panic made up a story. He used to work like this, for a local cemetery where he's from. Low pay, thankless work, nobody gives a shit. And you know what? They should. Its about respect. And no one has any, not anymore.

   Guy said it. Amen, to that shit.

   Fuck it, we should have a party. Toast all these fallen heroes out there. There's guys with veteran markers out there. They gave their lives, so we can have a country. And you know what? Amen to that, too. Guy's a broken man, but he's not a bad guy. There's empty bottles of cheap liquor around. A friendly happy drunk.

   "You ever treat yourself to the good stuff?"

   He indicated around him. No, not really.

   "What do you think, girls. This is the guy that takes care of our dead relatives. He's the only one trying, to show some respect."

   And you know what? That, sounded like a pregnant idea just as well. Panic got two bottles. Big half gallons of the good stuff. The really good stuff. He saw cheap rotgut scotch around. He brought two half gallons, of the top of the line scotch. Friday night, early.

   We found out, the golf balls were from a game called tombstone golfing. Guy had once had a good job, nice wife, nice house and life, nice kids. All gone. He had once enjoyed golf, back when life was still worth living. Certain tombstones are the holes. You try to hit the golf ball into the tombstone, from your starting point. When you finally hit it? You get to start and go to stone two. He knew which were which. His game, go figure.

   We three had very little to drink. Though we appeared to be getting drunk with him. We played rounds of tombstone golf. We all helped to chase kids out after dark. A fifth? Is 750 mL of booze. A half gallon, is 1.75 liters. About half a pint or so, over two fifths. When it went over the halfway point disappeared, and into two thirds gone? That was, just about, all him. Thinking two other people were in on that much, allowed him to allow himself to keep going. The little white lie.

   When the guy finally pitched over? Panic located the keys to the high lift. He's used to running an ancient high lift on the RLB range property. Making drainage ditches, creating shooting lanes and trails, making sure the backstops are there and working. Took him a little while to get used to this high lift and the articulated digging arm out the back end. He's used to a big old wheel loader.

   Yeah. Me and Little Lightning stood, while he dug her up. He slowed when he got close. Scraping as gently as he could. Until we heard something. I guess pine boxes for paupers are a thing of the past. She was in a... steel box instead of a pine box. He had to dig a little trench, so he could tap the long metal pin out. No room in the hole. He told Little Lightning, she might not want to see this. He opened it up.

   Honestly? Just a skeleton, with hair. In a body bag, medical examiner style. Lightning cussed him out, if sweetly.

   "Fuck you, Panic. I saw Bad Moody. This might not be Good Moody? But I bet its a whole lot better."

   "Yeah. You girls want me to do it? Or..."

   Me and Light did it. We put her own practice soccer ball, inside her body bag with her. We all get one, with our jersey number on it. One of her books, too. Comparative Guide to the Afterlife. Big irony there, huh? We said goodbye. Then, we zipped her back up. Pounded the pin back in. And? Panic reburied her, tamping the dirt down with the back knuckle end of the articulated arm as best he could. I mean, its obvious she's been dug up.

   Of course? Its just a suicide pauper's grave. Who really gives a shit. Other than us and a team that remembers her. We now went back, and had our own little party. We toasted her, and me and Light told stories. We all hate scotch, by the way. Panic had a gallon of orange juice so we could get the stuff down.

   In the morning? A groaning drunken greens-keeper woke up, with a headache. We pretended we had hangovers too. We had coffee, and breakfast burritos ready for him. God, can Panic lay it on thick. Another Wizzy trait.

   Panic started it. Reminiscing how much fun the party had been.

   "I mean, god damn, were we all kicked in the ass, or what?"

   "Oh. I lose track of the, um... festivities, after a certain point, but... gonna have to agree with you, on that one. Yes sir. Kicked in the ass? Oh yeah."

   "Man. I gotta admit. Never would have thought, tombstone golfing? Hell, more fun than miniature golf."

   "Yeah. Plus? They don't kick you out at ten PM, and they let you get shitfaced, playing. There's that."

   Panic went on.

   "Oh god, we got so drunk, we lost most of our golf balls. Sorry about that."

   "No, problem. Kinda happens. I find them. The mower whips them into the fence. Find them there."

   "Hell. You weren't that happy about it last night? No sirree. You got the machine out, and went driving around, drunk as a skunk. Something about, finding lost balls."

   "I did? Oh, shit. Please, tell me I didn't knock too many stones over? Christ almighty."

   "Aw, no. We tried to stop you, but you said you had work to do."

   "Well? I wish you'd of stopped me. Was I just mowing, then?"

   "Digging, some. You said you was looking for balls."

   "Where was I digging?"

   "Back, in the brush. I don't know. We done followed you out there. Eventually, we got you to just fill your hole back in. Its in the tall weeds. No biggie."

   "Well, thanks. Hell. Don't get many nice visitors out. Damn kids come and vandalize stuff. I get tuned up and chase them out. Hell of a life, but. Its a living. Someone has to do it."

   "Amen, brother. Here. This? Is you. Thanks for taking care of our relatives, okay?"

   "Hell. I promise you? I'll remember you when I drink it."

   Panic held his hand out.

   "Take care. You? You're okay."

   "If you say so."

   "I do. And, hey. After we leave? Don't lose the card I set your bottle on."

   Panic left him a wad of money. In an envelope, under his bottle of exceedingly expensive scotch. Looked like a couple grand, in hundreds. A note in it. Get what you want. Even a new set of golf clubs.

   Phase two? Completed. Phase one, locate ball. If ball exists. It did. Phase two? Exhume and inter, with said ball. Phase three now can happen. No more being a toilet. Poor thing had it bad enough when she was alive. No reason to get shit on all through the afterlife.

   We went and looked at gravestones. Its just a question of money. If you want to out do the neighbors, in the afterlife? You can. We'll never spend all our money. Go nuts, I told him.

   Exhumation. Storage, for while the work is being done. Dug down to the bedrock, and scraped clean. Waterproof cement pillars, with stainless reinforcing rods. For support. For footers. Dry laid granite, with interlocking key-ways. Solid piece of granite, really thick, for the roof. Her stainless steel county casket, is now in a raised granite vault. Inside this tiny fortress. The lid of the vault, I found out they make inscriptions by sandblasting to a stencil. Or designs, for a few extra bucks. The lid has a representation of a female, laying there. Hands folded over a sword laying down her length. Her chin about on the hilt. The junction of the sword to hilt handle? A soccer ball. The female form is in armor. So she's buried like a king or a knight.

   The inscription, so when people walk by and stop to stare and marvel at what someone put here?

   'Here lies Saint Sunshine. Unafraid to die. We'll all play again in heaven one day.'

   Paupers grave, where you toss the assholes like used tissues? Not any more. She has the biggest, most impressive thing there. We paid some architect to design it. Its made to resemble where Joan of Arc lays. When later on, someone realized what had been done wasn't right, and they decided to finally honor Joan properly. Same deal for her now. Well, okay. Joan of Arc had her ashes dumped unceremoniously in the Seine river. So there's no mausoleum or grave, but... they built a monument there later on to honor her. We told the guy to use that as his guide.

   In a great irony, and one not lost on me? Moody was 19 when she died. Which was the same age as Joan of Arc when they burned her at the stake.

   Her death? Inadvertently kicked off a little war we won, that led to a dynasty being created. Her jersey was retired, and it hangs on the first national title banner when they display them all for home games. Along with the rest of the team jerseys that won it that year. You can't wear her number, and everyone has a little sun on their practice and game shirts.

   Little Lightning, and Right, and Moody's replacement? All had their numbers retired, too. The starting front line that kick started everything. Moody was known as Sunshine. The new girl? Everyone called her Sunny. Hers wasn't a reverse nickname, like calling the moody girl, Sunshine. She actually had a quiet but sunny disposition.

   Taking her trunk full of effects home, Light begged us to bypass her home state. Not only doesn't she want to pass near or let alone through Swellsville. Hellsville, as she refers to it. She wants to never set foot in the entire state, if she can avoid it. That took us near enough to pass through my home state.

   I bought a trunk to put her effects in, and decided to store it with Wiz's locked footlocker. I had to open that. I looked through. For me and Lightning? All good memories, save for that one really bad one. At the end. His end. I decided to tie them both to the hood of the car we were in, and find a place for them in the bank somewhere.

   For those of us that made it? Life goes on.

   Life. In this world.

   The best world, out of all possible worlds.