Graveyard Swirls

“Hey! What’re you doing out here?!”

“It’s just me. Don’t worry, Fred.”

“Oh! Mr. Jamie.” The old grave keeper appeared from behind a great tombstone, dimming his lantern-light so as not to blind me. “It’s been quite a while since our last chat, friend.”

“Exactly a year,” I responded, pulling myself from my spot on the ground, standing and extending my hand. He took it, greeting me merrily. 

“I’m glad to see you, Mr. Jamie. How has your year been?” He gave me a near-toothless grin. His coat looked too thin, draping down like a robe around his body. It was soaked in the night’s mist and I shared the cold with him. 

“Just like any other, I suppose.” Leaning on a maple tree, my eyes returned to the grave marker before me. 

Fred stood beside me, following my eyes. “I find you in the same place each year, don’t I, Mr. Jamie?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Of course I do! Why else would I still check this little back corner of the yard? It’s grown so big over the years. I remember when it was just twenty folks from the same family, now I’ve got over four hundred graves to look after!”

“Ain’t that a shame.” I shook my head, struggling to force a small smile. 

He paused for a moment, shifting in thought. “You think you’ll tell me why you’re here this year?” 

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, you’re mighty solemn and staring at a chunk of stone too weathered to read. Even I don’t know who's buried there, but I reckon you do, else you’d probably find some other place to spend New Years.” 

I appreciated his bluntness. Southern folk were usually nice, but straight forward and tactless. Contemplating in silence for a while, debating myself, Fred began to walk away. Before he could bid me adieu, I called out to him, “Fred! Wait, sure, I’ll tell you. You’ve been mighty hospitable these last thirty years or so. Haven’t kicked me out yet, so I reckon I owe you an explanation.”

He turned to me, smiling and waiting expectantly. 

“When I was twenty-four, I met the love of my life. Her name was Cosette . . .” I fought to hold back tears, hoping the mist and fog would conceal them. “We met at a Waffle House, believe it or not. She was just a waitress and I was just another drunkard ordering scrambled eggs and a blueberry waffle at three A.M. Not exactly a fairy tale story, but we hit it off that night. Something about her felt . . . different. I found myself going back to that Waffle House for every meal the next two or three weeks, hoping to find her again. Looking for that girl with bright blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, those deep blue eyes that see right through you, and all those other things I thought were so beautiful about women in my younger years. But, I couldn’t seem to bump into her.” 

Memories of that period in my life swelled and came to life in my mind, filling my heart with a warmth that staved off the winter cold. I forgot what I was doing. 

“Is that so? Mighty lucky of you to love someone like that when you first met them. Rare, too. Wouldn’t mind hearing what you two talked about.”

I shook my head. “Oh, Fred. I can’t remember what we said, just what it felt like to be around her. I’d just as soon forget my name than forget that.”

“Well, old folks like us tend to forget more than just past conversations, so consider us lucky.” He grinned. “Did you ever run into your Cosette again?”

“I did. About three years later while working at the lumber yard off the interstate. You remember the one? It’s closed now, of course, just fields where it used to be.” Fred nodded, gesturing for me to continue. “Well, I was twenty-seven at the time, too old for drunken shenanigans, but not too old for a good beer. A buddy and I were cutting down trees, drunk as a skunk in July, when things went a little sideways. I was banged up pretty bad, but my buddy got off scot free. Not even a knick!” I chuckled, “He and the boss took me to the hospital, kicked me out the car and told the nurses to, ‘take care of this prick. He keeps causing trouble!’ They just nodded and took me in. Rested there for a couple days–”

Fred interrupted, “Must’ve been quite an accident!”

“Oh, yeah. Like I said, I was banged up pretty bad. But, I’m glad it happened, to be honest. You’d never guess who took care of me.”

“Cosette?”

I nodded. “The very same. Turned out she took night shifts at Waffle House while working her way through college. She wanted to be a nurse, put her eyes on the prize, and did just that! We hit it off again, like we’d known each other forever, and I finally got her to agree to a date when I was discharged.”

“Lucky fellow, I reckon,” Fred commented jestingly. 

“Yes sir, I was.”

“How’d the date work out?” He asked. 

Taken aback, I laughed, “You can see where I’m going with this, Fred.”

“I do. But it’s still good to reminisce.”

“Fair enough.” I sighed. “The date was perfect. It didn’t take long before I asked her to marry me. She said, ‘of course I’ll marry you!’ and we did just that. We were happy for a time . . . took us about six months to go from strangers to husband and wife, then five more years before we were ready for children. We tried, believe me, we tried–”

Fred chuckled. 

“-but it just wouldn’t happen. We went to the doctor one day and they told us that I was impotent. Couldn’t do the deed at thirty-two!” I frowned, my chest growing cold again. “It was Cosette's dream to be a mother . . .”

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “So, what did y’all do, Mr. Jamie?”

“We tried everything. Diet. Exercise. Pills. You name it . . . but it was hopeless. One night, as we lay together, I told my dear Cosette, I said, ‘Cosette. If you want kids, they’re going to have to have a different father.’”

“You said that? Really?!” 

“Yes. And I meant it, too. I was willing to do anything, even raise someone else’s kid, if it meant seeing Cosette happy.”

“And did she?”

I shook my head. “No, Fred. She didn’t. When I said that, she started crying and kissing me all over my face. It was . . . it was amazing. I’d never felt so much love from anyone before, let alone a woman. You know what she did after she got done being all emotional?”

“What?”

“She took my hand and pulled me out of bed, put on my favorite Nat King Cole vinyl, and started dancing! I thought she was crazy, but . . . when she held out her hands to me, I took them. We danced the night away, Fred . . . twirling and swirling around our sad little bedroom, just me and my beautiful Cosette.”

“So, she gave up her dream out of love for you . . . that’s very poetic, Mr. Jamie.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it was.” Something brushed my arm. Looking down, I found Fred offering me a handkerchief. I took it, not even realizing that I had been sobbing throughout my story, and dabbed my old eyes. “She died, you know, Fred. Only ten years later on New Years. It happened so suddenly . . . cancer just comes so fast. One moment I’m the happiest man alive, the next I’m a forty-two year old widower. It makes me feel so foolish for all those times I was stubborn or made her cry . . . If I could go back, all I’d ever do is love her with everything I got. I’d spoil her rotten . . .”

“Hindsight is crystal, that’s for sure.”

“I’m seventy-two now, Fred. And I haven’t danced since.”

He patted my shoulder. “I understand, Mr. Jamie. Love is an amazing thing, but it sure does hurt when it’s gone.”

We stood there for a while. Checking my watch, it read 11:52 PM. Only a few minutes until the New Year. I offered the handkerchief back to Fred, he shook his head. “Keep it.” And walked away. He called out to me as he disappeared behind a catacomb, “Don’t stay too late, Mr. Jamie. It’s freezing out here.”

I didn’t respond, returning my eyes to my dear Cosette’s grave. It pained me to see it so dilapidated, but to touch it or to clean it seemed like blasphemy. The minutes ticked on until the clock struck twelve. The nearby church chimed loudly, filling the graveyard with reverberating song. 

“Oh, my dear Cosette . . .” I  mumbled, letting the tears flow freely, “Another year without you . . . without anything worth having . . .”

The air grew tense and filled with a tingling sensation that caused each of my hairs to stand attention. The fog curled around me, the mist lessening as the clouds cleared and the moonlight cut through the air. Suddenly, I found myself in a ballroom of blue bright fog with a carpet of soaked grass, surrounded by a wall of catacombs and tombs. It was as if heaven had cast a spotlight on me in my solace. My heart pulsed in pain. 

The wind died and my vision began to blur as I saw  . . . something . . . coming from the ground beside my dear Cosette. A hand. Translucent like smoke and reaching out as if to grab something, then pulling on the ground. An arm appeared, then a head, a torso, and then the entirety of a smoking specter floated before me. It shifted in and out of focus, swirling within itself, struggling to take shape. The curves of a woman appeared, long hair formed, and the figure approached me. 

I was too stunned to speak as it reached out and placed a hand on my cheek, its lips moving silently as if unable to say something. It wasn’t until I locked eyes with the specter that I realized . . . 

“My love?” I gasped. 

It smiled at me, wiping away a tear that had escaped and was racing down my cheek. I grabbed her hand, “Cosette? How? How is this possible?” Kissing it, I knew that I must be dreaming . . . or dead. 

She simply mouthed a phrase, a phrase that I missed so dearly. 

“I love you too-” I choked. 

Cosette smiled that beautiful smile, grabbing each of my hands and placing one on her waist. Confusion melted away as I realized what it was that she wanted. 

Smiling genuinely or the first time in thirty years, we began to dance. Twirling and swirling in the graveyard, the stones and trees and fog and moon paling in my periphery as my entire world became my love once again. My heart felt peace. My soul a joy greater than anything I’d experienced ever before. The only music we needed was the sight of each other. It wasn’t until I looked down that I realized that I was no longer on the ground. We were going higher and higher as the graves shrunk. 

“Is . . . is that me?” I asked Cosette. There was an old, hobbled, frail looking man curled into a ball beside a gravestone. 

She nodded. 

“Am I . . . dead?” 

She nodded again. 

For some reason, death didn’t bother me so much. Hand-in-hand with my wife, my darling, my beautiful Cosette, I felt better than I had in ages. 

“I’ve missed you, Jamie.” Her voice was like music. Like an angelic choir was singing just for me. 

“I’ve missed you too, my love.” 

Her lips tasted of clay and ambrosia, locked with mine as we swirled together above the graveyard that I had spent so many years mourning in. I couldn’t help but think of it as we ascended further and further. It was a place of so much sadness, but also of reunion. A place I thanked for existing. 

As the sun crested the horizon, coating the world in soft oranges and reds, Fred found my body laying above my dear Cosette. He called an ambulance, but I was already gone. 

“Damn it, you old coot . . . Why’d you have to go and die like that?” He paced back and forth around my body. Fred stopped suddenly, staring at my face. 

I was at peace and had died smiling.