Welt, Coma, Jumbo Jet, Red....

Darryl looked up, tired of digging. The sun was setting, but it was still at least 92 degrees outside. A jumbo jet flew overhead, followed by a couple of crows. He sighed and carved out a couple more shovel-fulls of sandy clay. Why did the cat have to die today? Yesterday when Darryl got home, he was greeted by his girlfriend's best friend Sara.

"Oh my god I'm so glad you're home. Your cat got hit by a VAN and he's in a coma, and Diana is about to DIE."

Darryl remembered when he was eight and his grandma's dog passed away. Nana's face had been red and kind of puffy, and she smelled like Kleenex. She had asked Darryl if he knew what heaven was. At eight, Darryl was sure heaven meant that dog and he were hanging out down at the river with his 3rd grade crush and daring each other to jump in naked.

Tonight, digging Max's grave, the welts on his hands reminded him that heaven was not skinny dipping in the river of his childhood; it was more than likely a cold beer and an air-conditioned room in an average apartment complex somewhere outside of Tucson. Maybe they could get a dog now.