Bury Me by Kenneth M. Kapp

Bury Me by Kenneth M. Kapp

It was cloudy, a breeze was coming in off the ocean, and the salt hung in what was left of the early morning fog. But this was going to be the “BIG DAY.” We were going for the Guinness Book of records for the number of kids buried by hand in the sand.

It was little Willie who came up with the idea. “Man in the Sand by Hand – MaSH. You get it?” We looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. Willie couldn’t help himself. “Don’t you guys read anything?”

And Willie wondered why he was so popular –not! Read books? Give us a break. It’s summertime and only an idiot would pick up a book. Jeez! But we kind of liked his idea about the sand graves. And MASH was in its third year. Sometimes Harry would try wisecracking like Hawkeye, but it never worked. Never mind that some of the guys said the new fourth grade teacher looked like Hot Lips – they’re all blind. And it didn’t make any difference, we’re all going into the eighth grade. But we liked the idea of getting buried and getting in the Guinness Record Book.

Willie was the only one who was scared. We’ve all been buried before. It’s fun when you get to pick where. Real hot, you want to be down by the shore, not too close to the shore line. You get dumped with wet sand or some smart ass runs and gets a pail of water – splash, right in your face. If your hands are under the sand you can’t even wipe your eyes and the salt water burns. If you’re going for some PB – personal best like time buried; thirty minutes is mine – then you don’t want to lie on wet sand. It’s hard and eventually your butt starts to itch. You try wiggling and everyone teases, “Diaper rash baby.”

But no one ever buried Willie. He asked once and the guys laughed. “It’d be no fun just dropping a handful of sand to cover you, shrimp. Come back when you’ve grown up.” I didn’t think that was nice but I kept my mouth shut. I got it enough for handing in my assignments on time. Got a bunch of raspberries behind my back in the lunchroom when Mrs. Autter returned the Thanksgiving essays, saying mine was the best she had read in ten years. Johnny whispered, “Yeh, told you you’d be safe copying your mother’s.” Class cracked up. I think Mrs. A turned redder than me. I made sure to make some mistakes on those other assignments.

But we were going to do Willie’s idea. Six of us. Red told Willie he had to go last since it was his idea and he’d be able to make sure we did it right. “Yeh, and if it gets late, you’re the smallest and we can finish you in no time.”

Willie looked sad. He had told me that since it was his idea he should go first. “My father said it’s like a prototype – proof of concept.” His father is some kind of engineer. I told him he says “prototype” or “proof of concept” the guys are going to dump him for the rest of the summer. “Willie, you got to learn to shut up.” But he was smart enough to listen and agreed to go last.

It was almost noon when it was Willie’s turn to get buried in the sand. The clouds were mostly gone but it still wasn’t all that warm. My mom would have said it wasn’t much of a beach day. Seemed that most grownups thought the same. Hardly any were on the beach and there was only a few kids playing at the water’s edge or swimming.

But the sun did peek out from behind the clouds and Red said we should bury Willie down by the water. “Keep you cool and we’ll make sure the sand crabs don’t finish off your toes.” And when Willie got pale, Red said he was just joking.

So Willie lay down and we started scooping out the sand next to him, piling it on the side and then telling him to slip into the hole, not to worry about the little bit of water where his heels were. I like to fish and follow the tides so I knew there was still 30 minutes until the tide was full. Hank told me to shut it. “Willie wants this big time.”

The guys buried him deep. I was in charge of his head so I raised it as much as I could, making sure Willie was at least comfortable but couldn’t see the mound of sand over his toes. Not sure he was even able to see the pile Red packed above his groin, making it like a big penis. Johnny laughed and ran over to the jetty, coming back with a handful of seaweed left over by the last high tide and spread it around Red’s sandhill penis.

“Hey guys, look, the Jolly Green Giant.”

Red stepped back, admiring it all. “Willie, let me tell you. The girls see this you’ll be king. Damn, wish I had a camera.”

We all laughed. I could see Willie was getting uncomfortable and then squirmed when Red announced, “Willie, don’t go away. We’re going to get you an ice cream cone. Back in fifteen minutes. Remember, we’re trying to set a record so don’t get up.”

Well, the tide was coming in and already the waves were rolling up to his toes. But there were heaps of packed sand on top of little Willie. I doubt he would try to get up even if he could.

We went up the beach. I looked at Red. He laughed, whispering, “Ice cream cone? Nah, man, what were you thinking?”

Only Hank and me stayed, the others ran off, brushing the sand from their hands and knees. The tide was now full. One wave rolled up to Willie’s chin. I was glad I had raised his head. “Hey, Hank. I don’t think Willie’s going to get up. Maybe we should dig him out before he drowns.”

“Give it a minute. Can’t drown a rat, that’s what Red said.”

 I stared at Hank. Didn’t expect that from him. I was about to run down and rescue Willie when an old guy came running. He must have heard Willie crying. Hank shrugged his shoulders and said he was going home. I ran down to the water to see if I could help.

Willie was still crying but got up on his knees, wet sand spilled off his shoulders and belly.

The man glared at me and then brushed some of the wet sand from Willie’s head. “Stupid stunt. Go wash yourself off, son. If I were you, I’d get some new friends.”

Well don’t go blaming me. We all had to say, “Bury me,” when it was our turn.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Kenneth M. Kapp 2025

Image Source: anonymous from Pixabay