Waiting

“Can you keep a secret?” Great Uncle Owen asked, stretching his hand out for help.

“Yeah. Of course.” Thomas said, helping his uncle over a fallen tree, a shovel held over his shoulder.

“When I was… Well... how old are you again?”

“I’m thirty-four Uncle Owen.”

“Thirty-four? Yes, thirty-four would be about right. When I was thirty-something, I was with your dad in these very woods. He had turned thirteen, and I bought him his very first pellet gun. An old Sheridan Silver Streak. Now your Aunt Cynthia didn’t want him having it, so we came out here to practice. Shoot old cans and sometimes squirrels. Never hit any mind you. Now your dad sure loved that rifle, but don’t tell your aunt. She can’t know he has it.”

“Uncle Owen,” Thomas said. “Aunt Cynthia passed away this year.”

“Huh? Oh yes, yes. She did. I remember. Don’t worry I remember.” Uncle Owen placed his hand on an old oak tree, grunted, and stepped down. “Still if you see her ghost, don’t tell her. She’ll scare me to an early grave if she found out your dad had a gun in the house. So promise me.”

“Yes, I promise.”

Thomas and Uncle Owen continued their walk through the woods. The sound of wind shifted branches filling the night air. The only source of light they had was the large metal flashlight shaking in Uncle Owen’s hand. Thomas insisted he could hold it, but Owen was persistent that he needed it to find the way.

“What exactly are we doing out here?” Thomas asked, holding back a branch, letting his uncle pass.

“We’re here to bury your aunt's music box.” Uncle Owen said.

“And why are we burying it out here?”

“There is this tree. Big, red tree, that your Aunt Cynthia loved. She would always come out here to read or watch the clouds while sitting under it. We got engaged under that tree. When we found out your parents died, she buried a music box filled with some of your mom’s things. Guess it was a way for your aunt to grieve her passing. She was like a daughter to her after all. So I figure we should bury her music box out here as well. For Cynthia.” Uncle Owen stopped to sit on a nearby boulder and started rubbing his legs. “Don’t grow old Thomas.”

“I’m trying not to."

“You know how they always portray old people losing their memory like it’s the worst part of getting older. Well, it’s not. It’s remembering the things you forgot. Like remembering your wife is no longer with you.” Owen looked up at Thomas with tired eyes.

“You know what Uncle Owen. Why don’t we come back tomorrow? It will be easier in the daytime. What do you say?”

“No no. It has to be tonight.” Uncle Owen grunted as he got back on his feet. “It has to be tonight.” The soft light of the full moon began to break through the black clouds.

“Tell me about your kids.” Uncle Owen said as they entered a clearing, a dirt path etched through the center of a tall field of grass. “What are their names again?”

“Andrew and Nicole and they are great. If you want I can bring them by the home to visit. They would love to meet you. You're their grandpa after all.”

“I’d rather not have them visit me in that awful place. Too many grumpy old folds.” Owen protested.

“You are one of those grumpy old people Uncle Owen,” Thomas said with a chuckle.

“That’s right!” He waved his finger at Thomas. “And I have every right to be. I worked a hard life, I can be grumpy.” He gave him a crooked smile back. “Besides how can I not be grumpy when all they give us is green beans and meatloaf for dinner. I hate green beans and I only eat your great aunt’s meatloaf. She knew how I liked it cooked. She used a special brand of bread crumbs. Makes the meatloaf extra scrumptious. I...” Uncle Owen stopped and looked up at the sky. The moon had rolled out of the clouds and now flooded the entire field with a soft white light. “Would you look at that. Beautiful night. Cynthia loved the moon.”

“C’mon Uncle Owen let’s keep going. How much farther?”

“Beyond those trees.” He said pointing ahead.

They walked through the moonlit grass and back into the forest. It was another five minutes before they entered another clearing. At its center a blossoming tree. It’s red flowers drifting in the air, blown by the midnight breeze. The light of the moon reflecting off their petals created an intricate dance of colors in the dark.

Uncle Owen walked up under the tree and proceeded to tell Thomas to start digging.

“Do you believe there is life after death?” Uncle Owen said leaning against the tree, the music box held in his hand.

“I suppose so.”

“Why?” Uncle Owen asked, his gaze not leaving the box.

“Well... I guess because it makes things easier. When people die I find it more peaceful thinking they are still out there, somewhere, waiting for me.” Thomas continued to shovel.

“Waiting... I like that.” Uncle Owen said.

“K... that’s big enough. Ready?”

“Yes... Yes, I am ready.” Uncle Owen said sitting down, back against the tree. “Here.” He held the music box out for his nephew.

Thomas took the music box and buried it, patting the ground afterward with the shovel.

“Okay.” He said, wiping his forehead.  “Should we get going?” There was no response. “Uncle Owen?” Thomas knelt and touched him on the shoulder. “Uncle Owen are you okay?” His great uncle had his eyes closed and his head hanging low. “Uncle Owen? No... No... Uncle Owen!”

“It’s okay.” Thomas heard a man’s voice behind him. Turning he saw someone new standing in the field of windblown grass. The young man was wearing dark slacks and a button-up shirt with a red tie. He held a peaceful smile on his face.

“Uncle Owen?” Thomas asked standing up. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Thomas. It’s me.”

“How? I don’t understand.”

“Well...” Young Owen said then turned towards the woods. In the distance, Thomas saw a woman. She was wearing a flowing white dress and a large summer hat. Though she was far and much different then Thomas had ever seen her, he knew it was his Aunt Cynthia.

“Tonight is the night,” Owen said, walking towards his wife. The two met in a soft embrace, holding each other. Thomas realized at that point they were both giving off a subtle white light. His great uncle walked back to him, holding Cynthia’s hand. When he got close he placed his hand on Thomas’ shoulder.

“Thank you, my dear boy. For everything.” Then they turned and started walking away, their image fading in the night. But before they were completely gone, Owen said with a wink. “Can you keep a secret?”