Ghosts

Every summer we had a family picnic here, at my folks' house. Cousins--distant ones; never knew them before then--would fly in from all around the world. Big party, new traditions--a Clan Newsletter even came out of it, though it wilted a bit as its editor aged and lost interest.

Five years ago, cousin Tommy drove down to the liquor store to stock up on his favorite beer, then took a dive into the shallow end of a pool he'd swam in for years. The one up there, above. Broke his neck. Paralyzed for life. Had only enough finger use left to sign documents suing my parents.

They came out OK in the end, though it was a terrible process for them and for the extended family, and actually only was resolved in the past year or so. The pool was never opened again; it sat there, rotting, all of these years. I offered to pay to fix it and open it this year. Dad resisted. He can't even look at it.

Today the pool is going underground, literally. The deck is gone--pulled and torn and piled into an enormous dumpster. The house is shaking--I can feel the bucket of the bulldozer pounding at the block foundation, burying that, too. It's $50K worth of value, plowed under, though there'll be a beautiful yard in its place. The next owners won't know what happened there.

A new era begins.