Friday, September 11, 2009

SYTYCW First Challenge Second Entry

A dry spring breeze tossed the colorful bouquet of hothouse daisies Sapphire grasped in a tight fist. The browned edges of sod replaced over the fresh grave deepened her sorrow. But as much as she missed her friend, she couldn’t stay here. This visit was too soon, her sorrow too fresh.

After carefully placing the tattered flowers next to the headstone, she brushed away a few stray bits of grass. Too soon for the monument company to have carved the second date, the stone looked empty, and a bit sad. Nothing left of a life but dried grass and smooth stone.

She turned and walked aimlessly along the narrow, square-curbed roadway. Bits of gravel and a winter's gray debris collected against the curb and crunched under her feet. Ambling through the old cemetery often brought her calm, and now the first signs of spring brightened the grass. If she stopped to rest on one of the memorial benches or scrape away some of the thick, dead leaves from the base of a headstone, she might discover the first brave shoots of spring flowers. At some of the oldest graves, the peonies had spread, and when in bloom, obscured the barely readable markers.

She inhaled the end of winter dank air. Cemeteries no longer allowed planting lilac bushes or peonies in their family plots. Even the tiny, tight leaf buds of wide spreading shade trees were uncommon in newer 'places of rest'.

The curb ended and the road narrowed. The new cemetery. Unimpeded by trees, visitors could pull off the asphalt and park on the grass to leave their silk flowers or commercial 'mom' or 'dad' wreaths. Rather than the lush natural comfort of the old cemetery, this newer section had been designed as a caretaker's dream. Little existed there but modern remembrances, leaving a clear path for wide lawn mowers.

With slow steps, she crossed an empty plot and stood before a low, plain stone. No flowers would ever adorn this memorial, not from her anyway. She grinned at the bird blessings scattered over the mat-black stone. Blessings? No, more like just a taste of what the six-foot down occupant deserved...

“Our secret, right Faithie?”

When he was done, he held her head, and she wished he'd squeeze until her skull burst. Then she'd never have to do this again.

“Faithie? Our little secret?”

He wouldn't let her go until she said yes. Wouldn't let her brush her teeth and scrape the hard bristles over her tongue. “Yes.”

He shook her head then pressed her cheek against his thigh. “Yes what?”

“Yes, it's our secret...”

His fingers tightened and for a second she considered not answering.

“...Daddy.”

Anger held her as tightly as he had and she glared at the headstone. A gust of wind battered her back, angling her shoulders so her shadow darkened the deeply carved name. A tremor of dread coursed her spine.

A windchime's mellow tones flowed on the cool breeze. Sapphire relaxed and managed a weak smile. The chimes hanging from a shepherd's hook reminded her of music, music of the loss of her friend, Paul.

And Paul of his son, Jeffrey.

A crow added a harsh cry to the quiet day. Sapphire shaded her eyes and looked into the clear spring sky. The dark bird soared, dipped then landed a few feet away. Unconcerned, it returned her stare.

A crow in a graveyard. How appropriate. “Hey, was it you who decorated this grave?”

The bird preened one wing.

“Good job. Keep it up and before long no one will know who's here.” She hugged herself and grimaced, then spoke to the stone. “I buried the memories of what you did when Mom buried you. But now, I remember. I won't hide it any more. No more lies. No more secrets.”

At the dry crunch of footsteps behind her she backed away, turned and froze. Jeffery. What was he doing here?

He smiled and tiny cracks splintered the ice around her heart.

“I thought it was you. Did you leave the daisies at Dad's grave?”

She glanced toward the comfort of the older cemetery and nodded.

“Visiting someone over here? Family?”

Sapphire straighted her spine and shook her head. “Nope. Nobody here worth remembering.”

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