Treasure

I was so proud I couldn't hardly stand it.  My own house, with acreage.  I walked out of the closing at Bob's Bank and Furniture Emporium with my mind full of sweet fantasies of what I could accomplish with my new plantation.  Sure, it was only a 1.89 acre plantation, but the possibilities were infinite.

I took a little walk around the grounds of my new ranch and drank in all the sights.  As I passed the prefab tin shed I felt the ground shake.  Surprised, I stomped the ground and it reverberated.  "That's weird." I thought.  My imagination turned to thoughts of buried treasure, or perhaps an abandoned gold mine.  I hopped in the car and sped up to the local bank which also sold tools and hardware, to get a shovel and pick.  Chuck, the tool expert and chief loan officer looked at me curiously.  Thinking quickly, I blurted "Mother-in-law coming over."  That explained it, and he'd never expect I was digging up treasure.  I wondered how I managed to be so smart as I drove home and started digging out the millions that must be buried in  the yard.

An hour later and a foot deep I hit metal.  Searching for the edge, I started clearing the earth in all directions. After a while I saw writing on brown metal.  Brushing the dirt away, I read "B & O Railroad".  I remember thinking it was a strongbox from a great train robbery.

It took about an hour to get to the edges of the metal and I discovered it was a door to a boxcar.  I moved out a foot from the margin and dug down, but didn't hit the boxcar, darn it.  Sliding my shovel under the edge, I pushed down hard and broke the handle in two.  I decided it'd take more force, and promptly broke the handle of my new pick as well. The rest of the day was spent prying with various contraptions to no avail.  The bumper jack raised the door a fraction of an inch but I nearly lost a finger when it it slipped.  Just when I was about to give up I heard the unmistakable roar of the souped-up Bronco driven by my teenage daughters' boyfriend.

I looked up to the window of the Bronco on steroids.  "Drive around back." I said.  He hesitated, but complied when I gave him my best "psycho dad" look.  I hooked a chain to the boxcar door and then to the monster hitch on the truck.  Stepping out of the way I gave him the "go" sign and he gunned it.  Nothing happened so he floored it.  After scraping the mud off of my face I suggested he put it in 4-wheel drive, which he did to no avail.  He pulled to the left, he pulled to the right.  Nothing worked for a long time.  It finally took me questioning his manhood for him to get serious. 

Suddenly, the box car door released all at once.  Boy-fiend and Bronco-beast rocketed across the yard, demolishing my shed and leveling the neighbors garden.  "That's good." I said and waved reassuringly.  I walked to where the door had rested for untold millenia and peered over the brink into a yawning abyss.  Truck-boy joined me as we gawked into the gloom.  "It's an old mine." I thought aloud.  Looking at me sheepishly, he said, "It's a cistern."  I withered him with my dad look and he faded back to the truck.  "A mine.  A gold, or silver mine.", I thought as I went in for a flashlight.  My thoughts were full of gold and fame and more gold as I hurried back to the entrance to untold riches.  Shining my light down the hole I saw it.  Mud.  Mud and concrete and no mine shaft.  It was a cistern after all.  I hate teenagers. Ever vigilant to safety I told truck brat to pull the door back over the hole as I went in for a shower.

The night was spent mulling over the hole in the yard and the lack of treasure.  I awoke in the morning with an epiphany- my very own landfill awaited me in the back yard. 

Months were required to fill the cistern.  Tons of leaves and tree branches were laid to rest.  Old newspapers, junk mail, and infinite Walmart bags met their fate in the hole.  Many car parts went to their end there, until finally the hole was full.  I stood at the brink, looking at my handiwork when it hit me that over time all of these things would decompose, and that I could speed up the process.  I could compact everything except the metal with that most useful of tools, fire.

I started to lug the gas can to the hole when I remembered old Mr. Pulliam had once said, "If you're gonna use gas to burn somethin' mix in a little oil so it don't explode."  Ever safe, I did just that.  I put a pint of oil in about two gallons of gas and walked around my landfill pouring it in.  I saved the last cup or so to make a little trail of gas, just like in the movies.  It seemed the safe thing to do.  In the safe zone that was at least three feet from the rim, I lit the gas.

I felt rather than heard the explosion.  It was surreal laying on my back, watching burning paper and tree branches launching into orbit.  Engine heads and hubcaps plummeted to  the ground next to me. I rolled just in time to escape being squashed by a burning tire still on the rim.  Still in a daze I sat up and felt my stinging face to find my eyebrows were gone. 

I was looking into the newly empty hole when the fire department arrived.  Then the police arrived followed by the ATF and the EPA.  The worst  was when the wife arrived.  Unknown to me an unlicensed landfill is illegal.  So is a bomb, even an accidental one.  I was in for big fines, and weeks of sleeping on the couch.

This was quite an adventure.  I experienced the thrill of discovery and met a lot of interesting people in court.  All of my neighbors know me, and always smile and wave, though it looks more like they're pointing.  The local officials never have to ask my name.  I'm sure I'll go down in the history of this town.  That's good enough for me.