All Hallows Eve. I’d already handed out Halloween candy to about
a hundred kids in the neighborhood and blown out the candles in my
jack-o-lanterns. I’d bring them inside when I got home, so they wouldn’t be
smashed. There were some customs I didn’t like.
I sat in my car and reviewed my notes. I wanted to make sure
I was ready. There was always a lot of confusion, and I wouldn’t have much
time. I kept an eye on the dash clock. 11:40, time to go.
I climbed out, switched on my lantern and walked into the
cemetery. This was a nice one, kept up by the church next door. Wide straight
paths meant that the headstones had probably been moved around at some point to
make it easy for the lawn mowers. That lent to the confusion, sometimes. I had
walked the rows earlier in the daylight to make sure I knew my way. I headed straight
for my first target. I found Mr. Jones’ headstone, with his wife Ollie’s
nearby. He had died in 1927. Hers had a blank date.
I checked my watch again. 11:58. I turned off the lantern so
my eyes would adjust to the moonlight. Lights were hard on their eyes. I
started humming the tune my grandmother taught me, “I am bound for Canaan
Land.” At midnight, I sung the lines, “There, I’ll meet my loved ones gone on,
and the others who’ve gone before.”
I never saw them approach. There was no flash, no mist, no
hand rising out of the ground. He just stood there, looking around. He looked
normal, although his haircut and suit were old fashioned. I knew I could touch
him, but I didn’t like to do that. I called his name. “Mr. Jones? Mr. Jones?
R.C.? I want to help you, sir. I want to tell you about Ollie.”
He turned to me with a broad smile. “Ollie? Is that you?
I’ve been waiting so long. Are you ready at last?” He faltered when he finally
focused on me.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not Ollie. I want to
tell you about her. She went back to live with her mother, Almedia. They moved
out to Texas in 1932. She was buried out there in 1977. Sir, she’s not coming.
You don’t have to wait for her anymore.”
“She’s not coming? Why not?”
“R.C., I’m sure she didn’t know you were waiting here for
her. I bet she is waiting for you now. You should go on. Will you let me help
you do that?”
He looked around, lost. He’d been waiting all these years.
It always made me sad, their disappointment. When they realized whoever they
had waited for was never going to come. I tried to help them see the upside,
that they might meet again when they moved on. I resisted the urge to look at
my watch while he worked through things. Finally, he nodded to me. “What do I
do?”
“You let go, R.C. I know that might seem hard. You’ve been
holding on to here for so long. Let go, and you’ll go on. They’re there,
waiting for you. Your mother, your father, Ollie. She never remarried. She’s
going to be so happy to see you, R.C. Close your eyes and think about them, and
go to them.” I hummed the tune again. I don’t know if I had to, but that’s how
my grandmother taught me, and it always worked.
He was gone. No fanfare, no lights. I stood alone in the
dark. “Goodbye, R.C. I hope she’s there for you.”
I picked up my lantern and switched it on, checking my watch
as I headed to the next grave. 12:10. If they were all this easy, I might clear
off my list for this cemetery at last.
The sweet old lady stood next to me in a long skirt and
high-necked blouse, with a simple, elegant feather pinned in her hair.
“Mabel Hutchens? Mabel? I want to help you.”
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Dogs in house:
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Houdini, Brindle
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Music:
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“Dance in the Graveyard,” Delta Rae
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January word count:
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15444
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