The Freelance Retort: Zombies Dig Spring

The Zombies across the street were out raking their lawn the other day—starting their spring cleanup—so I thought I’d amble over and see how they’ve been holding together...in more than the usual way you’d expect from the un-dead.

They lost Grandpa Zombie a while back and since they’re not used to losing people, or sort of people, or not-people...however you want to phrase it, they’ve been having trouble making sense of it all...if there’s any sense to be made when it comes to Zombies.

Let’s just say they have somewhat different attitudes when it comes to living their lives...or not living their lives...whatever the case might be.

Plus it was all kind of sudden. One minute Grandpa Zombie was sitting out on the front stoop munching on some rotten apples—who, to be honest, had it coming—and the next, he was gone.

And it’s on the rare side to actually lose a Zombie.

Yeah, Gramps was up there...I mean way, way up there...but you usually don’t hear about this kind of thing.

Someone suggested he might’ve just shuffled off, down to the library and wasn’t lost at all.

I guess that’s possible. They found a Zombie big toe propping up the short leg on the periodicals table, and everyone knows Gramps was a big fan of Life Magazine—he enjoyed the pictures, especially of wildlife—but let’s face it, finding a Zombie big toe is not that unusual. They drop those things—and more—like the rest of us drop our keys...it could have belonged to any one of them.

So who knows?

What we do know is Gramps has been gone for a while now, so I suppose doing yard work, turning the soil and digging holes, is the Zombie way of coping with their loss...or un-loss...or something.

Despite the incongruity, Zombies really do enjoy spring, probably more than any of the other seasons.

You know, that whole re-birth thing.

And if last year is any indication, before long they’ll begin planting their gardens...and as far as Zombie gardens go, they really do a nice job.

Okay, sure...maybe that’s not saying much; most Zombie gardens leave a lot to be desired. They’re not very big on watering or weeding. Plus, over time, they let a lot of things just go to seed.

I think their theory is, if it dies, let it go and eventually it will come back.

Which I guess, from the Zombie point of view, you can see why they’d think that.

But, like most things “Zombie”, what works in theory doesn’t always work in reality.

Like that whole “Kill the brain...kill the ghoul” thing.

Yeah, maybe that sounds good when it’s typed out by some Hollywood screenwriter...but we all know there’s lots of sorry folks out there who’ve ended up catching their heart in their throat when they actually tried to put it into practice.

I mean literally...if they were able to move fast enough.

Yeah....

But, like I said, the Zombies across the street really have a nice sense of design and tend their gardens as well or better than most.

And their lawn is always plush...I mean, spectacularly plush.

Probably from all the natural compost it absorbs.

Yeah...I know. Probably best not to think about that.

But here’s the thing...speaking of compost...while I was commiserating with Burt—you know, the Zombie Bowler whose name is stitched across his chest...and his bowling shirt—over Grandpa...it turns out we literally were...standing over Grampa, I mean.

All of a sudden, from out of the hole Burt was digging, intending to transplant a nice holly bush, comes a tattered copy of last November’s Life Magazine. And attached to it, a hand that could only belong to Grampa—because, who else has a tattoo of Lilly Munster on their ring finger?

As it turns out, Burt initially planned on transplanting the holly bush last fall, and first dug the hole back in October. But then the rest of the Zombies wanted to start work on the Halloween Haunted House they put together every season, so Burt—easily distracted as most Zombies are—just abandoned the thing.

Apparently Gramps, once all the Halloween festivities had passed, volunteered to empty out the punch bowl, and since he never saw a hole he didn’t consider a prime resting place—final or not— decided to jump in, finish his magazine and take a nice little after party dirt nap.

Later, Burt returned, well after dark, and re-filled the hole, without any idea Grampa was down there sleeping off the holiday punch, since Zombies rarely stir when they’re down, nor snore...with or without noses.

So now, here’s Grampa, crawling out of yet another hole in the ground, back from the dead...or un-dead...or whatever...again.

Burt just stood there rolling his eyes, which I politely retrieved and handed back.

Still, while he feigned annoyance, I could tell Burt was relieved, as were the rest of the Zombies, to have Grandpa back among the living...or something to that effect.

At least I think they were relieved, because let’s face it...with Zombies, who can tell. Besides, whatever the prevalent emotion may or may not have been within the group, it was cut short as another commotion broke out over who was next to read the Life Magazine...

Zombies...always about me... me... me....

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Have you picked up my new book “The Kingdom of Keys”?

No....what's up with that???

Better hurry before they're ALL GONE...which is a lie because they'll never be all gone...never....

So why not buy one just to reward my forthrightness..ness...ness?