That's God, Emily

Emily remembered long ago when her parents found her in the backyard as a child, knees in the mud, digging in the dirt with her bare hands. She looked up at them as they loomed over her, the gentle rain beading on her father’s glasses and painting dark dots on her mother’s red jacket. Emily started to cry, the rain mixing with her tears as they dripped down her dirt-stained face.

“Oh honey,” her mom said, kneeling down to hug her, “is this because of Rusty?”

The name of the family’s recently deceased Irish setter made the tears fall harder, as her chest heaving as she sobbed. That he’d been cut so quickly from her life was a wound still so fresh, and it hurt worse than she could even fathom at that age. Something about that pain had compelled her to dig, and the only thing she had thought  to do was listen to that urge. Emily hugged her mom tight and buried her face in her red jacket.

“They said something like this might happen at the vet,” her father whispered. “Kids just have a hard time handling this kind of thing.”

“I know,” her mom replied, sharing his hushed tone, “I’m having a hard time handling it too.”

“Hey, Em,” her father said, “let’s get you inside. It’s freezing out here.”

She sniffled and nodded, taking her mother’s hand. They walked her to the back door of the house, offering reassurances.

“We’ll get you cleaned up; Dad will get a fire going…”

Later, Emily sat by the fireplace, draped in a blanket and watching the embers burn as the rain continued to pour. Her dad sat down beside her, hands clasped around a mug of tea, or maybe coffee, it never made no matter to Emily.

“Hey, Emily?”

She replied by nodding. Her gaze had refocused on the rain tapping against the window by the fireplace. She watched the sky grow dark behind the tree branches outside. Her father set the mug down as he continued, as he reached to tear a small strip from the pile of newspapers by the fireplace. 

“You know…,” he trailed off. “I miss Rusty too.”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice wobbling as the tears threatened to return.

“It’s ok if you’re still upset, Em.”

“It’s not fair.”

“It isn’t fair, but…” he searched for words as he fed the strip into the fire. “Rusty is in a better place now.”

“He’s in the dirt, I saw him. We put him there,” she argued, scowling at the fireplace. The flames ate up the paper strips, the muted colors of the newsprint dissolving into blackness. 

“I know,” her father replied, nervously scratching the thick, black hair at his temples. She was a stubborn kid. He’d have to get clever. Emily was able to trap her parents into never ending circular arguments of which neither could win.

“Do you know why we bury people when they die?” he asked, evading the incoming debate. 

“No…”

“Because God has to get them ready to go to heaven!” her father said. Emily’s tears stopped, and she turned her head towards her dad, intrigued.

“Only our souls get into heaven, so we leave our body behind. But God can’t let us see how the soul leaves the body, or else people would be trying to get into heaven before they’re ready, right?”

“Like when you try to leave class before the teacher says you’re dismissed?” she asked.

“Exactly. God wants us to bury people, so their souls can leave their body without anybody seeing.”

“And that’s why we buried Rusty?”

“M-hm. So the other dogs can’t see how Rusty gets into heaven.”

It made sense to her. She looked out the window again. The sky was pitch dark now, the rain having given way to gusts of wind that shook the house’s creaky wood frame. Emily could see out in the backyard where they’d put a rock to mark Rusty’s grave, imagining God underground, throwing Rusty’s toy into heaven so he would chase after it. Emily smiled ever so slightly, and her father breathed a sigh of relief. They sat in silence, listening to the last crackles of the fire. Her dad continued to tear small strips from the pages of newspaper, gently pushing each one into the fireplace and watching it disappear in flames.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, Em?”

“What did Rusty die from again?”

“Are you sure you want to talk about it?”

“I just want to know so I can let them know at school what happened.”

“Alright, just…don’t tell them if they don’t ask, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Well, he got really sick, and there wasn't anything we could do to make him better. But we made sure he wasn't hurting at the end.”

“Okay.”

“How about we get to bed? It’s pretty late.”

Her dad tucked her in, and her mother kissed her goodnight. She laid under the covers and she closed her eyes, thinking about how Rusty looked when they buried him. He was lying on his side in the deep pit her father dug in the backyard, his favorite chew toy tucked delicately between his cold paws. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered what it would feel like for Rusty to go to heaven. 

Emily remembered the day after, during recess at school. The wind had brought in a gloomy overcast sky, and the playground was slick with rain. Her frog-colored boots squeaked against the wet grass and she felt the cold, muddy water soak into her jeans as she knelt down, pushing her fingers into the dirt and pulling up clumps of sod. In between her knees, swaddled in her bright yellow rain poncho, was a dead robin.

She had found it right below the window in the computer lab room. It sat there, motionless and cold, crumpled in a delicate mess of feathers and broken hollow bones, clumps of pink jelly stuck throughout its plumage. She carefully scooped it into her poncho and walked off with a solemn sense of duty. It was bad enough it had died so cold and alone; it should at least be able to get to heaven. 

“Whatcha doing Emily?”

Emily looked up but already knew who the words had come from. It was Mikayla Pierce, flanked by two of her friends. Mikayla was a tall, lithe girl with light brown hair who had an almost uncanny ability to pick out who among her classmates was “weird” and mistreat them accordingly. Even worse, Emily had not taken her father’s advice from the night before but had bluntly told the entire fourth grade class about the family dog’s passing, burial, and her attempted exhumation, almost immediately after she’d been dropped off that day. Her teacher and some of her classmates had reacted tactfully (though they were a bit bewildered). But it had given Mikayla a fresh new thing to pick on Emily for.

“Leave me alone,” Emily mumbled, hunching her body over the fresh hole in the dirt. The mud felt cold, smeared all over her hands like chunky paint.

“Look, she misses her dog so much she’s pretending to be one!” one of her friends cackled, pointing to the hole in front of her. They burst out into a mocking chorus of barking and woofing, Emily’s face burned red hot as she balled up her fists.

Before Emily could open her mouth to argue, Mikayla snatched up the poncho between her knees. Em’s blood ran cold as she scrambled to her feet. 

“Stop! Give it back!” Emily shouted, her reaching arms batted away by Mikayla’s giggling friends. Emily remembered clenching her jaw so hard her teeth hurt as she tried to stave off tears.