3.	nickel plate
	On just the other side of the Nickel Plate bridge, the one that Steven always said he'd jump from if the water ever got low enough for his body to be found, we buried the gray tiger-striped cat that always tried to claw its way into his split- level living room window.  We dug three feet down, separating dirt from coin, earth from worm. We wished in vain we'd find arrowheads. Steven said it was far enough, that our dirt harvest could properly cover the cat; he said this as to imply that Earth was clothing that any modest and proper cat would wear.  We put the earthworms we found into an empty Coke cup I bought with my allowance at the Wendy's by the river.  We threw in some dirt for the worms, 15 cents in pennies, and three nickels.  When we dropped the cat in the hole, its bag twisted to land on its feet, and it yowled. Steven put the dirt back in place.  He made me pat my shovel on the ground to make it still. It felt like the handle would snap like twigs. We tied our shovels to our bikes and rode home. In '98, Steven jumped.
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