I was so excited when I finally got my driver’s license. Freedom is what it
meant, and I was ready to drive off into the sunset alone. My older brothers
drove me to the DMV, and when it became official after years of waiting,
they performed a quick little ceremony in the parking lot. Then they
returned home together, and charged me to go find myself. I just sat there
for the next fifteen minutes, wondering where I could go, but I realized
that there was nowhere. We lived right next to a strip mall that included a
movie theatre. I mean, there just wasn’t any need for a car, except maybe to
get to school on mornings with bad weather. Otherwise, I pretty much walked
or biked everywhere, and I saw no reason for that to change. So I just went
back home. My brothers were disappointed, but they had to agree. The cabin
fever didn’t go away, though, and I continued to feel the urge to get out
and go places. So that’s what I did, not worrying about wasting gas, or the
money it cost to buy it. I just had to feel my independence, and maybe a
little wind in my hair. I never worried much about getting lost either. I
just kept exploring. It was much easier to make your way to the middle of
nowhere back then, because the area was not as developed as it would quickly
become. One day on one of my drives, I came across this tiny little
cemetery. There were maybe a dozen gravestones, most of which were damaged,
worn, and hard to read. But there was one that was clear as day. It was just
as old as the others, but it didn’t feature a name. Son, 1923 – 1923.
I was heartbroken just looking at that, and it haunted me for the rest of my
life. It’s what makes me think that life is just God’s cruel joke on all of
us.
I went back to my secret spot about once a year for over a decade. I found
it simultaneously chilling and comforting to be there. It remained my
special place to get away from it all for a long time. They’ve only now
started to build a neighborhood there, and I hate it. I doubt they’ll pave
over it, but I thought it was really cool how remote it was. I felt like it
was something only I knew about. The latest grave was placed in 1947, so it
was entirely possible that no one was left alive to remember anyone there.
Those people might have only had me. I met my husband five years ago when he
started working in the cubicle next to me. We started dating six months
later, got engaged eighteen months after that, got married eighteen months
after that, and had our child eighteen months after that. The math works out
as it ought to. We made sure we knew each other well before we took the next
step, and we made sure we were ready for kids before we did that. We also
wanted it to be painfully clear that we didn’t get married because of
any children. This way, there could be no confusion or whispers. Well, there
was still confusion, and there were whispers. People started whispering
around and at me all the time. My son managed to live and breathe for all of
eleven days before God took him away from us. I don’t know why he did that,
but I can never forgive him for it. My little boy was so beautiful, and
perfect, and innocent, and he deserved the world. I just kept thinking that
I couldn’t bury my child without a name, like that baby from almost a
hundred years ago. So we named him posthumously, and I insisted we lay him
to rest not too far from the unnamed boy. That way, they can be friends
forever. Not once in my life did I ever consider killing myself, but I
simply cannot bear this loss, so I’ve already picked out a plot right next
to my Elijah, and I will be joining him soon.
No comments :
Post a Comment