What's that?
Cary asked, pointing from his car seat.
It's a cemetery,
I answered, dreading the direction
this conversation could take.
That's where we bury people that have died.
He thought for a minute and asked,
Who killed them?
Did they get shot?
No, I answered.
Well, maybe, some of them were shot,
but most of them were just old and
their bodies were tired.
Silence from the
back seat.
I waited for the inevitable question,
Are you going to die, daddy?
Fuck, I thought.
How do you explain death to a 3-year-old
without giving him nightmares?
Should I lie?
When we die honey,
we go to heaven and
live with angels.
Should I change the subject?
Hey how 'bout that Tom? Do ya think
he'll ever get to eat Jerry?
Why a cemetery?
Why did we have to pass a
cemetery?
Why not a porno store?
Dad?
(Here it comes), Yea?
I'm hungry. Can we get McDonalds for lunch?
What? Sure, McDonalds it is.
As we drove to get lunch,
I waited for The Question,
but he never asked it.
I thought about bringing
the subject up again,
but decided not to.
His question was answered.
He knew what a cemetery was.