September 17, 2005
The oversized, black garbage can strapped down into the bed of The Boy's old Toyota pickup truck didn't necessarily strike me as odd until I noticed the ten to twelve packs of recently purchased razor blades tucked away in his center counsel.I'm a big girl, with lengthy limbs, a long torso and abnormally large ears. It would, mostly likely, take a garbage can of that exact manitude to conseal the body parts of such a sizeable girl as myself...
And he always parks the truck waaaaay in the back of the apartment building at the end of the lot where few people dare to roam in the darkness of night and where, if one does show a modicum of bravery, one can surely be made aware of the rustle of large, scurrying animals in the dense forest of motley trees behind the parking area.
Ahhhh, yes, a forest of trees...
I suddenly recalled the two or three movies in which I had seen many a mysterious murder take place in a forest uninhabited by humans but overwrought by the same kinds of large, scurrying animals. The very sort of place where no one would think to look (unless they, too, were avid movie goers -- in which case I would have to admit that my imagination proceeds me). Still, it is the very sort of location, hidden enough to ensure a safe getaway after the deed was done, one could imagine a murder to happen. I watched The Boy blink several times in a decidedly innocent fashion as all of this information came together in my head. His expression was such that one could nearly feel the emphasized angelicness stand stoic between our glances.
Something was up.
He's going to hack up my body into manageable pieces and then bungy cord the lid over the garbage can and then bury it, with my disfigured gangliness, in the back of the parking lot in the tangled, forest of trees. No one will know and no one will inquire until the moments wear down into an exhausted mass of wonder and worry. And, by then, it will be too late...
They will all wonder, "Where is the tall, lengthy limbed girl that we all didn't really know and sort of just nodded to in the hallway passing by while gathering our mail? Where is the 1996 Acura Integra which rumbles away into the early morning back drop of this 30 unit apartment building each day and where is The Boy with his old Toyota pickup truck and reasonably innocent face?"
"Laura! I'm not trying to kill you!"
Yeah, that's what I would say...