To The Grave

After forty-five minutes of standing in one spot, I placed the sunflowers at the foot of her grave.

The sky had gone from a vibrant baby blue to a slowly darkening purple. The cemetery would be closing within minutes and I had to accept I couldn’t stay by her grave forever.

My hands were in my pockets and my eyes stared at the floor.

The pathway was covered with freshly fallen leaves. I stepped on the ones that were darker than orange, looking for a satisfying crunch under my feet.

My gaze shifted to my Nikes and one of the laces that was coming loose.

A pair of benches that sat back-to-back to each other were about thirty feet away. I took a quick pause to sit and fix my shoe.

With my head hung low, I untied the lace of the right shoe completely, tying it better.

But then I sat up and didn’t move. I could no longer leave. I didn’t want to leave. I never wanted to. Even as I was compelled to by the hours of the cemetery’s operation, I dreaded the thought of having to abandon her. It pissed me off that I couldn’t stay, even just for the night.

It felt tortuous.

Every thought brought me back to the realization that this was my new reality. I had visited her every friday for the last three months. I was never able to stay for long, but I made sure to get around an hour each time I visited. And I just spoke to her. Every weekend. Silently begging her to come back to me, but fully knowing that no wish  I could ever make would ever bring her back.

I felt my blood begin to boil.

I was past just being sad. Life was forcing me to accept a truth that seemed unfathomable. A truth sprung on me too soon.

The footsteps behind me caused me to remember to breathe. I let out a big sigh and inhaled slowly, feeling my chest rise on my sternum.

The footsteps got louder but slower, then stopped.

There was a combination of a sigh and groan that immediately told me the person behind me was a man probably over forty.

His breath was audible yet quiet enough to be ignored. I returned to focusing on my own breath. I manually kept each inhale and exhale steady, keeping myself distracted from my anger.

And I sat there. And I kept my breath and thoughts controlled.

“’Scuse me, I don’t mean to intrude.” The man behind me said.

I was caught off guard by how young his voice was. And I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to me or someone else, so I didn’t answer

I was not in the mood to talk anyway.

“Could you tell me the time? I don’t got a phone on me.” He continued.

I could tell he was definitely talking to me.

I considered the fact that if I ignored him, he could just ask again. So taking preventative measures, I lifted my wrist upwards. My watch screen turned on, showing the glow of three digits.

“Seven-forty-three.” I replied, dropping my hand back down.

“Thanks, bud.”

He sounded like he was in his early thirties. And he definitely wasn’t from the south. His accent was immediately distinguishable. What specific northern state, I couldn’t say, but I was certain he was just visiting.

I almost scolded myself for overanalyzing something that had nothing to do with me. But I remembered how she liked that about me. She could always see it in my eyes when my focus was entirely on our surroundings. And she would occasionally have to pull me out of my “trance”. She would laugh and tell me how she found it funny when I “locked in”. She would tell me how she loved that I would constantly watch our surroundings in public. And she would tell me how it made her feel safe.

Knowing I would never again hear those comforting whispers of words again felt like a punishment.

I took control of my thoughts again and prepared to get up and leave.

“Do you ever feel like…”

I froze. I was praying the man wasn’t talking to me a second time. I ignored him and patted my pockets.

“—this can’t be reality, right?” He continued to whomever.

Phone, check. Wallet, check. Keys, check.

“The feeling, I don’t know, it makes me never want to leave.” He whispered.

A chill ran down my spine and goosebumps spotted my forearms and triceps.

I relaxed my body back into the chair.

“You ever feel like that?”

“Every time.” I responded.

He let out a sigh.

Countless seconds of pure silence passed. As I began to wonder if the man had silently gotten up and left, I heard him adjust in his seat.

“Who’d you come here to see?” He asked.

I sat forward, placing my elbows on my knees. My face was down, eyes staring at the boringness of my plain white shoes.

“Ruth.” I replied. “My fiancé.”

He made a noise of recognition, expressing his knowledge of how it felt to lose a loved one.

“Damn, bud. How long were you two…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence. It was as if the atmosphere had changed, pulling the darkest cloud right over our heads.

“I proposed to her this March and lost her in August”

My throat was dry.

“Three months?”

He sounded shocked. He drew in a sharp breath and shifted his feet a bit.

“I don’t know how you’re doing so well after three months. I was bedridden after I lost my baby girl.”

He almost choked on his words. He cleared his throat and sniffled.

I could hear his pain, and it brought a chilling feeling I couldn’t shake.

“How long has it been?” I asked.

“There’s years ago. She was ten.”

My heart ached.

“I’m sorry.”

That was all I could say.

“No, no, don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I mean, you don’t even know what happened.”

He laughed quietly and awkwardly to himself.

“You know, I find it a bit odd when people offer apologies for things they didn’t do. Is that some sort of thing here?”

I knew he wasn’t from the area.

“I guess it is.” I replied. “I think it’s just a way of letting people know that they feel your pain.”

“But they don’t.”

“Well of course not. But it’s more of a its-the-thought-that-counts thing.”

“But why go through that whole mess? Because even if people could feel my pain, it doesn’t take any of the pain I’m feeling away.”

His voice had raised just a bit. He noticed.

“You understand what I mean?” He asked in a softer tone.

I sat back up.

He sounded tense, and seemed to also be burdened with anger issues.

In a sense, I felt as if the two of us knew well enough how the other one felt.

“How long are you visiting for?” I asked. “You’re from up North, right?”

He chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m from somewhat up North. I’m actually on my way back right now. This was my final stop.”

“That’s nice.” I replied. “Stopping for a visit one last time.”

“Oh, I didn’t come to visit my daughter. I spend so much time with my daughter.”

I was confused.

“One thing I once learned is that people like to reach out once death has already entered the picture. You’d be surprised how many people have spoken to headstones more than they ever spoke to the person below. So if everyone is speaking to the deceased, then who’s speaking to people not dead? They need the most encouragement.”

“Wait. I’m a bit lost. You said you spend so much time with your daughter, did you mean as in she’s always with you? Like her presence?”

There was a second of silence.

“My wife left years ago, so I only had my daughter. And when she died, I couldn’t bear it. A week later, I ended up taking my own life.”

I froze. I felt as if my pulse had abruptly stopped.

“So trust me when I say you’re doing way better than I ever could have.” He added.

I was breathing hard. I hesitated, but eventually my body turned around to look at the bench behind me.

But that was all that was there. An empty bench.

No man. No person. One bench.

I shot up from my seat and faced the two benches. I looked left, right, I spun and looked behind me.

There was no way he could've been gone that quickly. Not without me seeing which direction he went in, or at least the sound of footsteps leaving.

Instead, I heard the light grumbling of a motor directed my attention to my left where I saw a security officer roll up in his golf cart.

With his left leg hanging off the floor of the vehicle, he slowed down but didn’t stop.

“Closing in fifteen minutes.”

The roar of the golf cart lowered and I was alone once again.