Overturn the Sandbox, the Rock Garden
By Brian Cooper

Cathy stood at the kitchen sink (filled with soapy water and dinner's dirty dishes), biting off the last bits of meat from a pork chop. She dropped the cleaned bone into a greasy paper bag, licked her long, thin fingers, and reached for the dessert plates. Glancing up, and out the window, she noticed her grandson, Tyler, on the edge of the yellow cone cast by the floodlight, tearing up the overgrown sandbox with a large stick. With fierce underhand strokes, he ripped through the moist sand and thick weeds, throwing debris against the board-on-board fence.

Cathy's husband, George, sat in the next room, laughing softly with a television program, sighing between jokes.

Tyler looked up, saw his Grandma watching; his face stiffened. He threw the stick down and strained a scream through his teeth. Cathy wiped her hands on her apron and rushed out the door.

"Tyler! What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," the boy groaned, stooping to pick up his stick, "I just lost something."

"What? You lost something! Is it your watch?"

"No." He returned to the sandbox, stabbing it again, but with little force. "No, it's upstairs. I'm just looking for a toy, a toy car."

"A toy car? I found some toy cars the other day in the garage."

"You did? Was there a van with fire on it?"

"I don't remember. I put them away. If you go take your shower and get ready for bed, I'll find them for you."

"No. Hurry up and get ready and then you can see for yourself."

"OK, Grandma."

---

Tyler returned to the kitchen after his shower with his short, spiky hair still dripping, and water soaking through his green summertime pajamas. The cars, plastic, one red, one blue, and one yellow, plus a larger orange metal dump truck, sat on the counter.

"They're not it."

"No," she said, "I'm sorry."

"It's a black van with red and orange fire on the side. And it's small and made of metal. And the windows are black too. So you can't see what's inside."

She put one hand on his shoulder and, with the other, stroked his head. "Did Mommy give you that car?"

He took a step away. "No. Grandpa did." Turning to face her again, he asked, "Do you ever remember me playing with it, when I was six?"

"No."

 

George, still watching television, laughed rather loudly. "You should see this."

 

"I just want to find it. I think I remember playing with it in the sandbox. Maybe I just dreamed about having it. No I remember. And I buried it."

"We'll look more tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"It's dark now."

"But what about the lights? I think we can find it quickly."

Cathy rolled the red car back and forth on the counter. The wheels, which showed tooth marks, would barely turn. "OK," she said quietly, "quickly."

---

Using the snow shovel and an old screen placed over the wheelbarrow, it took them about an hour to sift through the entire sandbox.

"What the hell is going on out here?" George demanded, clomping into the yard in his robe and an old pair of tasseled dress shoes. "I said I'd get to that sometime. And what's he doing up?"

"I'm helping him look for something."

"Look for something? Look for what?"

"Nothing," Tyler said, "just a toy car."

"A toy car? What do you want with a toy car?"

"Stop it, George."

"Nothing! Nothing!" Tyler shouted, trembling. "I don't even care that much."

He turned his head down and ran-- stiffly, with arms straight at his sides-- into the house.

Cathy shook her head, retying the belt of her robe.

"What?" George snapped with an angry cough.

"Nothing, nothing."

"C'mon, let's get to bed."

---

The next morning, perhaps an hour after dawn, Cathy woke George, vigorously shaking him. "George, George, wake up, wake up; Tyler's not in his room."

George opened his eyes and groaned, "Oh, what is it?" He raised his hand to block the light leaking through the gaps in the shutters.

"I can't find Tyler."

George stretched out his legs, one at a time, and slowly sat up, holding his back. "He's not in his bed -- or the bathroom?"

"No."

"Well jeez, it's Saturday morning. Are you sure he's not watching cartoons? Or asleep on the couch waiting for them to come on?"

"No."

"Is his bike here?"

"It's in the garage."

"Oh, I know--" he slapped the bed and groaned loudly. "He's digging up the yard looking for that damn toy."

"That's a possibility."

"A possibility? Sure it is." He lurched out of bed and into the kitchen. "Look, you must have seen him." He pointed out the window.

Tyler, still wearing his pajamas, lay on the ground, staring into the empty sandbox.

"Jesus! You must have seen him. But maybe I'm the stupid one here? I'm going back to bed."

Cathy walked across the yard, knelt in the grass and put her hand on Tyler's back.

"Tyler."

"I've thought of one more place."

"Tyler."

"In the rock garden."

Cathy put her hand on his head and stroked the fine straight hairs -- smooth like glass, soft like-- softness. "Tyler."

"We can look there and then stop."

"Will you eat breakfast first?"

"Deal."

---

George woke up around ten, showered, and dressed: Bermudas, a dark blue collared shirt, no socks, loafers. He wandered through the kitchen, stopping for a few of Cathy's homemade peanut butter cookies, and into the living room, where he sat down in front of the TV. He turned it on and checked out a few channels, thoughtfully chewing his way through the cookies. On one channel, Aunt Jemima was advertising her delicious waffles, pancake mix, and syrup. George returned to the kitchen, wiped the crumbs off the front of his shirt into the sink, and turned to the refrigerator. He didn’t open it, distracted by a postcard that his daughter, Tyler’s mother, had sent from Africa, of a young women dressed in beads and feathers, her breasts bare. He lifted the magnet that held the card on the refrigerator, and turned it over. "Dear Mom, Dad, Tyler—"

The rest of it, except for "Suzie," and "Mommy loves you T!" was in French. George replaced the card on the refrigerator with the words, rather than the picture, showing, and then walked through the house out to the front yard. Cathy and Tyler were struggling to roll a stone three times the size of a bowling ball out of the hollow beneath the pine trees.

---

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