Irrationality

“So, you’re definitely getting extra credit for this, right?” I said, avoiding a particularly stubborn weed whose sole life desire appeared to be mating with my shoe. Dozens of them sprouted from the improvised path we trekked; the front gate would have been an easier obstacle, but Wren wasn’t willing to risk getting caught. “Not just a measly ten points or something–we’re talking getting a full grade bump, yeah?”

“That’s what Mr. Wright said.”

“But doesn’t he want some sort of proof? Sure you can snap a picture, but that only proves you showed up, not that you stayed.”

Wren shot me a nasty look; were that the subject of her class, she’d have no trouble breezing through. “Look, you didn’t have to tag along.”

“Just making sure you get your due credit,” I said and shrugged. There was little in life I regretted; going with the flow was more than fine when it came to just about anything. Especially when it came to Wren, because she hated spontaneity, and that made it all the more entertaining. “Besides–seems a bit sketchy to be spending the night alone. I mean, it’s sketchy in the first place, but even more when it’s solo.”

“Shut up.”

I huffed. “No need to be rude about it.”

“No, I mean it,” she said in a low tone and tugged me down by my hood. “And turn off the flashlight.”

I did so with a click and pocketed it. It was one of those weak, four inch things–a five-buck Boy Scouts prize for being the quickest to set up a fire–but it was our best bet on short notice. Wren kept her fingers tangled in my hoodie until she was satisfied we were alone again.

“Was probably just the birds,” I said, leaning in; “chirp, chirp–maybe a Wren?”

“That stopped being funny before your first joke about it,” she said and jabbed my ribs with her elbow.

“I’m sure if I asked Ronnie he’d say otherwise.”

“Well, Ronnie’s words mean jack shit to me as it is. No need to have me lower my opinion of him further. Here, this way.”

“You lead and I will follow,” I said magnanimously.

We wound up near the eastern portion of the cemetery where an admirable cluster of trees provided a semblance of cover. Dropping her backpack to the dirt, Wren quickly set up a blanket and settled her back against the nearest tree.

“Ants’ll crawl down your neck.”

“And they still wouldn’t be as annoying as you.”

I took her picture like that, while she had her eyes closed and she looked half-asleep. The flash went off–necessary because it was nearing eleven at night–and Wren opened her eyes to glare at me again.

“Hour one,” I said and slipped my phone away before she could confiscate it. “So, what’s on the agenda? Scary stories? Party games? Crime confessions?”

“I’ll admit it; when I was seven I stole Jessica’s purple hippo eraser and wrote a ransom note knowing full well the victim was already buried deep in the playground tanbark.”

“That sounds like you,” I said and she beamed. “What was on the note? What kind of sick demands did you make?”

“Petty ones. I wanted her juice boxes for the rest of the year–and it was already May.”

“Did you get them?”

“I couldn’t without revealing I was the one who wrote the note in the first place,” Wren said and shrugged. “Not the most well thought out plan.”

“Well, as exhilarating as that story was, I’m still interested in the one behind Mr. Wright’s extra credit being to spend a night in a cemetery. I’m pretty sure that’s not even legal? Or advisable, at the very least.”

“You’re just worming your way out of telling me your childhood crimes,” said Wren, but she turned quiet and thoughtful. “He didn’t assign that as extra credit; he won’t even know what I picked until after–which is what makes it safe for now. He’s got shitty eyesight, you know, and he gets so sick of reading essays. And since the class deals with the definition of irrationality, he decided our extra credit would be for us to face a fear of our choice. It has to be a major one, but not our biggest one, of course; I’m sure plenty of people are most afraid of death, but he’s not about to go around condoning suicide or murder.”

“Not that it’d matter,” I said. “He has tenure, doesn’t he?”

“I did ask him what kind of proof he wanted, and he said visual would be fine if I wanted the memory, but that it didn’t matter.”

“What? So he’s just giving free points to everyone?”

Wren shrugged. “He said he’d know the next time we’d come to class. That he’d just know.”

“Huh,” I said, rethinking my assessment of Mr. Wright’s mental stability. Of course, my initial assessment of him overall was built from the fact that he looked like Mr. Dolittle and I liked that. “So cemeteries. Uh, you want me to hold your hand, then?”

Surprisingly, Wren’s face softened. “It’s not like that. It’s an old fear, not based on things coming alive or out of the graves. It’s derived from sadness.”

“Does it count as a fear, then?” I sprawled out on my back, staring up at the darkened sky. Most of the stars were hidden, or maybe just not there at all. Against the blackness, though, the moon stood out in its half arc.

“Definitely a fear,” she said firmly. “And yourself? What’s your skeleton in the closet? Devil in the dark?”

“Nah, I’m not afraid of anything.”

Wren sputtered an incredulous laugh. “Excuse me? That’s bull, Josh, and we both know it.”

“Think about it as you will,” I said mildly and nudged her foot with mine. “Say, any beers in that pack of yours?”

“Because breaking into a cemetery isn’t enough for you? You really want to add public intoxication, too?”

“Just a suggestion. So, you’re really planning to stay here all night?”

“That’s the plan. You bored already?”

“Not bored–just wondering how we’re going to fill the time for hours if we have no drinks, no games, no anything.”

“So you’re bored.” Wren sighed. She looked pretty exhausted already, but it may have just been as a result of dealing with me. “You’re welcome to leave at any point.”

“Do you think Marella’s would deliver here?”

Wren leveled me with a dull expression. “Josh. Go home.”

“I can’t! It’s only eleven-fifteen. What kind of friend would I be if I abandoned you in this cemetery?”

“Fine, stay; but don’t complain!”

We lapsed into quiet for some time, which neither of us minded much. I had a tendency to talk Wren’s head off on occasion, but it seemed neither the time nor place for that. Instead, I watched the sky for any indication of acknowledgement, whether that was the evincing of stars, movement of the moon, or even a UFO for all I cared. Little entertainment came, though, and eventually I turned to ask Wren some nonsensical question–only to find her head resting against her shoulder and her eyes shut.

How could she possibly feel comfortable enough to fall asleep in a cemetery when it was one of her biggest fears? Maybe she was overworked, though; it was part of the reason she even opted for this extra credit from what I could tell. Normally, she was a straight A/A- student, and her C+ in Mr. Wright’s class had devastated her. Apparently it wasn’t uncommon; his teaching style was rather absurd and out-of-touch, but the class was mandatory for her major; thus, she suffered.

It was painfully tempting to scare her awake, but I like to think I’m not that much of a jackass. Plus I had to piss pretty badly; at the same time, it seemed cruel to leave Wren while she was sleeping. And a little sacrilegious to take a leak potentially on someone’s grave. I contemplated my options–which was more than I usually did–and decided her seeing me struggling with piss-soaked pants was enough of a deterrent to holding it. Shuffling to my knees, I spared her one last glance and headed for the way we arrived.

As expected, my flashlight was pretty useless. Still, I managed to make my way out of the cemetery and started toward a nearby bush. As I pocketed the flashlight again, the wind whistled against my ears, drawing a shiver. My hoodie wasn’t exactly Winter material, but it was the comfiest I had. I waited for the wind to pass, but it only strengthened.

“Josh.”

I jumped, then turned with a scowl. “Ha ha, Wren. So kind of you to sneak up on a guy with his pants half down.”

Leaves rustled on the ground where no one stood.

Stiffening, I turned back around to see only the bush. With a nervous titter, I cleared my throat and called, “Wren?”

Nothing.

Okay, so maybe I was going insane. That happened sometimes to people, right? No better time than in a cemetery at night, right? In haste, I finished relieving myself and made my way through the cemetery. Once I got back to Wren, I could wake her, relay the story, and laugh about it. She could even make fun of me, and I wouldn’t mind. The flashlight trembled in my hand and I scoffed at myself, embarrassed by how cowardly I looked. Returning seemed to take twice as long, and when I finally arrived at the familiar, crochet blanket, it sat alone. Wren’s backpack was still there, keeping it grounded against the heavy wind.

Had it been her calling me at the edges of the cemetery? Maybe she’d just been pretending to sleep and planned her own scare. That didn’t seem like Wren, though. After checking behind the tree where she had once sat against, I was at a loss. There was no way I was staying here myself, though, so I pulled out my phone to text her.

01:22 where are u??

I waited for a good three minutes, desperate for so much as a ‘read’ indication.

01:26 wren seriously this isnt funny

Shoving the phone back in my jeans’ pocket, I resolved to make another sweep of the area. I just hoped the groundskeeper hadn’t shown up for some reason and caught her; surely he would have let her take her backpack and blanket with her, though. Maybe she had left it as some sort of warning to me?

Christ, I was being paranoid. There was just something…wrong about being in such a desolate, well, dead place. It made you feel too much–too alive, too disconnected, too everything. You became the outsider in your own humanity.

A few branches crunched. Spinning around, I flashed the dim light at the area.

“Hey–”

The voice was in my ear. Turning in a stagger, I shot out wildly and punched.

“Jesus!” Wren stumbled and clasped her hands over her face. “Josh, what the Hell!”

“Shit, Wren,” I gasped, trying to ignore the throb of my left hand; I’d punched with my non-dominant hand, which meant it had been poor form. Hopefully I hadn’t broken anything–either of my own or of Wren. Dropping the flashlight into my hoodie pocket, I guided her back to the blanket. “Here, sit. Are you okay? What happened?”

“I was looking for you, asshole!” As I leveled the flashlight on her face, I saw a sickly trail of blood making its way down her chin and through her shaking fingers. Her eyes were wet and pained. “I…I woke up and you were just gone. I…” At this she turned, ashamed, before uttering, “I was scared.”

My own voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry. I had to take a piss.”

Her laugh stung. “Right. Stupid me.”

“Wren, we oughta take you to the hospital,” I said. Her whole body was trembling now, from cold or shock or both. “What if I broke your nose?”

“My extra credit,” she said miserably. She did sound a little nasally.

“Screw that! Mr. Wright won’t know if you stayed the whole time–trust me, Wren. You were here hours, anyway. And he’d want you to take care of your health first. Look, just–stand up. I’ll pack up the blanket. Can you hold the flashlight with one hand? It’s fine if blood gets on it.”

“Josh, I can’t; I’m a shit liar, you know that. He’ll know.”

“And he’ll see you have a broken nose or a black eye!” I didn’t usually get this frustrated, but the weight of fear was beginning to cling to me. At that point, you couldn’t have paid me to stay the rest of the night there. “At least let’s go back to your apartment so we can take a look in proper lighting and clean you up.”

Finally relenting, Wren moved off the blanket so I could fold it up and shove it in the backpack, which I slipped over my shoulders. She handed the flashlight back to me, now slippery with the evidence of my panic.

“This bites,” she said through a sigh as we walked along our path to freedom. “All this over an irrational fear, and I couldn’t even make it through the night.”

“Are you kidding me? I was only here a few hours, and I’m telling you it’s definitely not irrational. In fact, I’ve decided it’s irrational not to be afraid of this place. Here, give me your hand.”

“Should I be concerned at how nonchalant you are about getting my blood all over you?”

“It’s–it’s for both of us,” I stuttered and clasped her hand in mine. Her fingertips were cool and her palm was warm with blood. Still, it felt a bit grounding.

“Hey, Josh?”

“Mm?”

“Why didn’t you reply?”

I spared a glance at her. “Huh? To what?”

“When I asked where you were. I thought you’d left, but then a minute later you punched me in the face,” said Wren.

“Wait, hold on,” I said. “When was this?”

“When you shook me awake and said my name.”

Once her words registered, I said, slowly, “Wren, when I say ‘now’, we’re going to run.”

“What? Josh–”

“Just trust me, please,” I said and she gave a tentative nod. “Now!”

We ran, and she screamed.