The Graveyard

The sky was overcast promising rain. Maybe the newspapers would finally stop screaming out headlines stating the lack of water. As the old woman made her way towards the creaking iron gate she stopped briefly to look at the clouds gathering on the horizon.

The silvery grey of the rain bearers made the woman think of just such a day that now existed in a dimension of time no longer tangible. Life had moved on sweeping her with it into the future which, now called the present. Sighing, the woman walked on. Her monthly visit reduced to a yearly pilgrimage..

Anyone would have been able to see that she had been beautiful. Her demeanor and bearing not losing any of its character, her face as finely chiseled as ever was still serene. No trace of life’s cruelties was visible. Her Body was giving way but like the stately manor house that rots on the inside but retains its façade she remained ever beautiful.

Her tired limbs screamed in silent protest but with the grim determination of a mountain climber she moved slowly forward. She leaned on the gate trying to catch her breath and felt once again as she always did the presence of strong hands about her, holding her up and a voice telling her that she would be okay. Was it stronger today? Could she actually feel that familiar warmth again? Or was it her mind; enfeebled by old age and befuddled by her own merging of time? She couldn’t tell. Did it matter?

She pushed open the gate, the creaking loud enough to remind her of her own bones slowly grinding to dust. “Osteoporosis, Mrs. B. I’m sorry.” That’s what her doctor had told her. Did she believe he was sorry? Not for a moment. They probably felt that she had led a full life and she would be better off dead. She herself felt the same way. ?Though not as strongly as before.

It’s a sad state when your convictions crumble in the face of the march of time. Time makes all your good decisions seem bad and all of life’s lucky breaks appear as traps that it set to ensnare you in its claws. Life can be kind sometimes but the reality remains that it always takes away more than it gives.

When you have good times you tuck them away so that you would be able to remember them when you grow old. Like a long forgotten ticket stub that you find in the pocket of an old coat, your mind squirrels away bits and pieces that maybe some day you would find glittering in the darkest corner when you least expect to find them but then time takes away your memory and you lose the very possession that is supposed to aid you through you old age. The irony of it all.

Perhaps death is the greatest kindness that time bestows on us. Whisking us away to a place where memories have no meaning and the pain of parting can’t be felt.

Life had not been kind to her, always taking away and tantalizing her with things that always seemed just within reach but slipped out; brushing past her fingertips. It had been very cruel indeed.

For her, there had been no reprieve. She had never forgotten and so there was no remembrance and no question of loss.

She reached the grave and sank down beside it; here she could feel the presence even more strongly, enveloping her in its warmth. She felt curiously alive .She looked about her and her mind brought into sharp focus the rows of headstones, the leaves strewn all over the path, the mundane everyday dress and sensible shoes that she had on. Then slowly everything dissolved the grey of the sky, the brown of her boots, and the dirtied marble of the headstones. In their place, a rainbow of color settled itself over every object. A cornflower blue sky, a simple yet expensive yellow chiffon dress, slender black shoes on her feet and diamonds on her fingers, everything acquired a multihued vibrancy. She looked at the grave, the lettering clearly visible now. The epitaph: a tribute to her distinguished father. He had been dead for a year.

She looked at her watch, a delicate gold and diamond affair that sparkled in the sunlight. She was waiting for D to turn up, he had promised to be here at 10 and it was already 11:30. She waited for another half hour before her heart accepted what her head already knew, he wouldn’t come.

Slowly she got to her feet and began to walk towards the gate.

He had been watching her for the last hour. He often came to enjoy the macabre solitude of the place. As the day dipped and swirled around them he looked at her face devoid of emotion and set in that face a pair of the most expressive eyes that he had ever seen. He knew without being bothered about the whys and wherefores that she was waiting for someone. He knew instinctively that whoever it was would not come. Beauty, the likes of hers, would always go unrequited. It was the law of nature; nothing would be allowed to violate it.

When she finally got up to leave, he got up too. Acting without thought he followed and finally when her composure broke, he was there to catch her before she fell at the gate.

She could still feel the touch of his fingertips and the sound of his soft, unassuming voice telling her that it would be alright. She could still feel the strength that flowed from him, giving her hope and a new will to live.

One day she would wait for him too and as always, life would let her down. She would wait but the only thing that would come would be the intimate knowledge of his death. He might still be alive, they said. She knew better. Nature would not allow her rules to be violated.

Slowly the colors shifted, darkening with a sinister tinge. She was as before waiting at the graveside. He had told her that he would come. She had waited with anticipation, with trepidation slowly mounting until it turned to anxiety. She carried a new life within her, a promise of hope and new beginnings. Maybe now life would give her a reprieve. But it was not to be.

This time there was no one to hold her up; no strong arms around her and her dreams came to an end at the gate in a pool of blood. She survived. Life was not going to give up so easily.

The colors began to dissolve and blur, the sky became grey again and the years rolled to a stop back in the present through a veil of tears she looked down but what was this? Her hands still carried her beloved diamonds, she turned and the sky was a bright blue, she could see the gate, it was still freshly painted! What was happening?

She shook her head and once lush brown hair fell about her shoulders, a river of molten chocolate that fell in a straight cascade. In the distance a shape came slowly into focus. It came nearer and her breath caught in her throat, did she dare call out? What if he disappeared again?

This time she didn’t rise. He came up to her and knelt down, “I’m sorry I took so long.”

A pair of young lovers found her. They had run into the graveyard to shelter under the tree that stood near the gate. She lay with her head resting against the headstone, her face a study of contentment that even the rain could not wipe away.