TGSR cont.

The next morning we held a funeral of sorts. I knew that black was the preferred color for a death, but the closest I could get was my dark blue shorts, black shoes and socks, and a dark brown t-shirt.

Joey was dressed in, well, if you knew Joey you would say "Joey clothes": a faded Coca-Cola t-shirt, splotchy shorts (maybe a pre-tie-die), and no shoes.

We had placed the squirrel in an old Havana cigar box, wrapped it up in blue velvet paper, and tied it with a white ribbon. Now all we had to do was lower it into the small hole we had dug beside the great big magnolia tree.

But we were stuck, frozen in time. We stood there, hands crossed, looking at the wrapped box, thinking things about death.