It was coming up out of the ground.
A woman was buried under the rocks and dirt and glass, and she was screaming, all wild and horrible, for someone to dig her out.
I just stood there, afraid. She kept screaming, muffled.
Then I started to run. I fell down, got up, and ran some more. I got in the screen door of my house and there was Mama, calm as you please, not knowing what I knew, that there was a real live woman buried out in back of our house, just a hundred yards away, screaming bloody murder.
“Mama,” I said.
“Don’t stand there with the ice cream,” said Mama.
“But, Mama,” I said.
“Put it in the icebox,” she said.
“Listen, Mama, there’s a Screaming Woman in the empty lot.”
“And wash your hands,” said Mama.
“She was screamin’ and screamin’...”
“Let’s see now, salt and pepper,” said Mama, far away.
“Listen to me,” I said, loud. “We got to dig her out. She’s buried under tons and tons of dirt and if we don’t dig her out, she’ll choke up and die.”
“I’m certain she can wait until after lunch,” said Mama.
“Mama, don’t you believe me?”
“Of course, dear. Now wash your hands and take this plate of meat in to your father.”
“I don’t even know who she is or how she got there,” I said. “But we got to help her before it’s too late.”
“Good gosh,” said Mama. “Look at this ice cream. What did you do, just stand in the sun and let it melt?”
“Well, the empty lot...”
“Go on, now, scoot.”
I went into the dining room.
“Hi, Dad, there’s a Screaming Woman in the empty lot.”
“I never knew a woman who didn’t,” said Dad.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“You look very grave,” said Father.
“We’ve got to get picks and shovels and excavate, like for an Egyptian mummy,” I said.
“I don’t feel like an archaeologist, Margaret,” said Father. “Now, some nice cool October day, I’ll take you up on that.”
“But we can’t wait that long,” I almost screamed. My heart was bursting in me. I was excited and scared and afraid and here was Dad, putting meat
on his plate, cutting and chewing and paying me no attention.
“Dad?” I said.