The journey of Lawrence and Ralphy

THE ECHO TIMES

Lawrence and Ralphy:

A Surprise Before Sunrise

By Bert Russell

Saturday started at 3 a.m., like most of my mornings.

Out of bed. Into the shower. Through the usual routine. Then I got dressed without checking the weather.

I should have checked the weather.

I brewed my unsweetened Lipton tea in the Keurig, poured it over ice, and filled my 44-ounce Yeti—the anniversary present I received ten years ago. Some things become such a regular part of your life that you barely think about them anymore.

That morning, everything else had my attention.

I was going to meet Lawrence. At least, that was the plan. I wasn’t exactly sure where he was or whether he would be able to meet me as we had agreed.

Our meeting place?

A cemetery off Blue Boulevard in Kansas City, overlooking downtown.

Before sunrise.

Wonderful.

First, I worried about the gate. Would I even be able to get inside? Then my mind moved on to everything that might happen after I got inside.

I cannot stand horror movies or paranormal films. My wife, on the other hand, loves them. She can stand quietly around a corner, wait for me to walk past, and—

“BOOOOO!”

I jump about five feet. She giggles.

Super frustrating. But whatever.

Watching scary movies with her isn’t much better. I get up and walk around, pretending I have something to do, hoping an alarm clock in the movie doesn’t suddenly go off and launch me out of my skin.

I startle easily. I’m working on staying out of my head.

It’s easier when she’s asleep.

Now here I was, driving toward a cemetery in the dark, supplying my own horror movie with absolutely no help from Hollywood.

What if this? What if that? What if…?

Every scenario seemed to invite another one.

All I wanted was to find Lawrence, hopefully see Ralphy, spend a little time playing with him, and take us to breakfast.

My treat.

As I pulled up to the cemetery, I looked one direction, then the other.

BOOM.

Lawrence popped out of the brush.

He opened the gate, waved me through, and locked it behind me. Then he pointed down the hill.

“Drive slowly.”

“You want a lift to your camp?”

“No. Just follow the gravel road down the hill. It winds around. Stop at the huge willow tree and the mausoleum.”

I pictured every word as he said it.

Gravel road. Downhill. Huge willow tree. Mausoleum.

My imagination was doing an excellent job of making this worse.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“What?”

“Just follow the road. I’ll see you soon.”

That was weird.

A surprise?

Had he found Ralphy? Was that what he meant?

Or was he about to offer me something he had rescued from a dumpster? Half a hamburger?

My mind had no information, but plenty of suggestions.

I drove slowly down the winding road.

Something moved in the darkness.

I turned to look.

Nothing I could make out.

Then it happened again. A shape at the edge of my vision. By the time I looked directly at it, I couldn’t tell what I had seen.

Again.

And again.

That was enough of that.

I switched on my bright lights.

The heater was running full blast, and I was still freezing. After a week of rain, the air felt colder and less muggy than I had expected. My clothes were nowhere near warm enough.

The hairs on my arms and legs stood up.

Was it the temperature or the situation?

At that point, they were working together.

Then my headlights caught the huge willow tree and the mausoleum, exactly where Lawrence said they would be.

I stopped.

Looking left, I could see almost nothing through the side window except my own reflection.

I hesitated to roll it down.

“GEORGE! GEORGE!”

“YES? WHAT? WHAT?”

Lawrence.

Right there.

“Damn, Lawrence! You scared the shit out of me! Don’t do that. My wife does that all the time!”

“Man, you’re easy to scare,” he said. “You would never make it on the streets, George.”

He had a point. I had barely made it down the driveway.

Then, as casually as if he were telling me where he had left his shoes, he said:

“I found Ralphy.”

Everything else could wait.

“He was here,” Lawrence continued. “Sitting next to his own grave. Just staring at the city.”

His own grave?

Lawrence explained.

He meant the grave of his friend—the human Ralphy, the friend his dog was named after.

“George, I never even thought he would go back to his human gravesite.”

Then he told me what that meant to him.

“That’s my buddy Ralphy, reincarnated into a dog like he always wanted to be.”

I had driven down that hill wondering what was hiding in the dark. Lawrence had been waiting to tell me where he had found his friend.

We were standing in the same cemetery, looking at the same place, carrying entirely different thoughts.

I didn’t know what had brought Ralphy to that gravesite. Lawrence had his own understanding of it.

What I could understand was how much finding that dog meant to him.

A few moments earlier, my biggest concern had been whatever I thought I saw moving outside my window.

Now there was something worth paying attention to.

Lawrence had found Ralphy.

And I had come hoping to buy them breakfast.

OUR journey continues… ✌️ ☮️