Whose grave is this?Mature

Homer couldn't believe his eyes. He looked at his watch, thinking the time might be off: Nope, time was right. Amazing, there was Haydon's pickup and Hayd', himself outlining the grave.

Homer parked behind Haydon's pickup. Getting his shovel from the back end, he called out. "Mornin' Hayd. Your old lady kick you out?"

Haydon gave him the one finger salute, and said, "Ah, I couldn't sleep and it's a beautiful morning."

Homer dug his shovel into the grass, "Who's grave is this?"

"Helen Gruber. Remember her?"

"I don't know, the name's familiar."

Haydon laughed, "You don't remember Mrs. Gruber?"

"I do now. She was that old bat that chased us down the alley, yelling, and waving a rake. Mean old lady. It wasn't like she was gonna miss a few precious apples. God, she was old back then; it say how old she is now?"

Haydon stuffed his jaw with Copenhagen. "She just turned 91 last Tuesday."

"That old saying must be true; only the good die young."

Haydon leaned on his shovel and pulled the cheat-sheet from his pocket. "Did you know that she was the one that started the food bank in this town? Not only that, but it says here, she was the president of the historical society for 10 years, and brought the Girl Scouts back to town."

"Good thing she didn't hit us with that rake, she'd probably gone to jail."

"Let it go Homer. We were in the third grade."


The End

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