Grass Grows Greener in the Graveyard

Trigger warning: talking about death

The graveyard looked quite nice for, well, a graveyard. The grass was finally starting to grow in and turn the earth from its dull yellow to something that wasn’t so depressing. Since the spring flowers grew along with the grass the graves were starting to become more colorful; bouquets sat near them instead of cheap plastic memorial pieces and deflated balloons.

I had gotten there early so I could sit and watch the fog lift from the rolling hills. I hadn’t made a habit of coming to Woodburn Cemetery every month, or god forbid every week like I knew some people did. I would visit when it felt right. I saw someone selling fresh tulips at the farmer's market the day before and couldn’t help myself from buying some for her. My parents thought that sunflowers were her favorite flower, but I didn’t think so. Maybe it just didn’t feel right, or maybe I just didn’t like the color yellow.

I laid out a blanket next to her grave and put the flowers down by her name. She didn’t say thank you, as per usual. I plopped down and brought out a box of fresh croissants I had picked up. I took one, held it in my mouth, and placed another next to flowers.

“Shit, I think I gave you the nicest-looking one.” I said once I had torn a piece from my pastry and surveyed the ones remaining. “Serves me right for not checking I guess.”

I began my ritual of talking to the grave. It was like having a second therapist except this one didn’t suggest healthy living habits and tell me to slow down on the drinking. Abby could have been a therapist, but I think she would have gone a different way. Maybe a teacher, or doctor. To me she was the annoying older sister who I thought made my life a living hell, but to everyone else she had been a selfless, exceptional individual. I hated that we never got to the phase where we were friends instead of sisters. I think by now I would have actually liked her.

My conversation with the unspeaking body of my sister six feet under was just wrapping up when I saw someone walking over to the same area of graves. It’s not that I got offended when someone else had a relative or loved one buried near Abby and the rest of my dead family, but did they really have to come here at the same odd hours I did? The man was wearing dark pants and a dark jacket, and had dark hair. As he approached, I could see he was about my age. That age being a little too young to be going to a cemetery at 7:30 in the morning on a Sunday. He stopped at a grave about 30 feet away. Not close enough to be completely awkward, but not far away enough to unabashedly stare.

He also had flowers, but they looked like roses. He stood in front of the grave and just looked at it for a bit. Eventually the man set the flowers down in front of it. I had stopped talking to Abby at this point and was watching him from my spot on the fresh grass. Suddenly, he looked towards me. I quickly averted my eyes and pretended to be fiddling with the box of croissants. I tried to covertly look back over at him, just to see if he was still looking at me. He was.

I turned towards him and put my hand up to block out the sun that was just starting to crest one of the hills lined with headstones. He continued to look at me as I looked back.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“Who?” He looked around him to see if someone was standing with him. Maybe he thought a ghost might be there.

“No, the person buried there. Like, the one you’re visiting.” I squinted as I looked at him.

“Oh.” There was a slight pause. “My grandfather.”

“Sorry. Mine is over there somewhere.” I gestured towards some of the other graves in our family’s plot.

The man stood there a bit awkwardly, not sure if he should continue our conversation. I don’t blame him for the hesitation.

“So how’d he die?”

“What?” He took a moment to make sure he heard me right. Once he realized he had he yelled out, “Do you ask everyone you see here that?”

“I don’t usually see other people here. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“I’m pretty sure people don’t typically try to make conversation with strangers they meet at graveyards.”

“I don’t know, maybe goths do.”

“You don’t look goth.”

“Maybe I could be undercover.” I looked down at my leggings, oversized green sweatshirt, and brown slippers. My blond hair was braided down my back. If I was goth, I was certainly undercover.

He looked back down at the grave again and I suddenly felt bad for trying to talk to him. I had gotten too comfortable here. This wasn’t a place of comfort for most people.

“It was ass cancer.”

“What?” I asked.

“Ass cancer. That’s how he died.”

“Oh, wow.” I nodded, but I didn’t really know what to say.

“Who’s that?”

“This is my sister, Abby. Drunk driver.”

“Oof, that’s hard to cope with.”

“No, no. She wasn’t the drunk driver, her car just got hit by his. But the drunk guy also died, so karma I guess.”

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s okay, it was almost 15 years ago. I was twelve so I don’t think it affected me as much then as it would now. Did your grandfather die recently?”

“About a year ago. Doesn’t feel as bad as it first did.”

“Yeah, it gets easier with time, I think. Now I just come here to talk sometimes.”

“Is that what you’re supposed to do? This is the first time I’ve visited this place since the funeral. I feel bad about it, but I don’t know what to do. This is the first time someone I was actually close with has died and been buried near where I live.”

“I think everyone does things a little differently. I only started coming here once I got my own car. Now I come whenever I feel moved to. Sounds kind of dumb, but you sort of get a sense for it.”

“Hm.”

He looked back at the grave and then off into the distance. I looked down at my blanket and the grass surrounding it, then at Abby’s headstone. There was discoloration and dirt filled some of the inscriptions. I would have to come back and clean it up.

“Hey, do you want a croissant?” I asked and looked back towards the man, who was beginning to be haloed by the rising sun behind him.

“Sure.” He said as I held up the box and beckoned for him to come over to my spot amid the green and gray sea. As he approached I could see him better. He was pretty. His hair curled slightly and fell just above his shoulders. He took a croissant from the box and inspected it for a second before taking a bite. His green eyes went slightly wide after tasting it.

“Is this from Veloccino?” He asked.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” I was shocked someone could tell pastries apart from each other that easily.

“I go there all the time, I live right near it.” He stepped back slightly, clearly surprised.

“No way, me too. Almost every day for coffee, almost every Sunday for croissants.”

“I’m surprised I’ve never seen you, I go there almost every day too. Must not be going at the same time I guess.”He took another large bite of the pastry and wiped the crumbs from his shirt. I shut up and let him enjoy it for a little. I looked back at the flowers and croissant on the ground and Abby’s grave. The man’s shadow was blocking all of it from the sun now.

“This might be a weird offer but I was going to go to the new bar on Main and Orange and try to get drunk on mimosas before my afternoon nap.” I turned my face up to meet his gaze. “They have a brunch special. It’s 20 dollars per person for an unlimited pitcher.”

“I saw that too.” He stared down at me. “Is that what you do? You visit your dead sister and then go get drunk?”

“Not all the time, but sometimes. You know, when it feels right.”

“I think it might feel right for me too right now.”

“Great.” I uncrossed my legs and stood up. I picked up my bag and folded my blanket, then stood and faced him. “Well, I guess I’ll meet you there when they open.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you there.” He looked at me with a slightly confused face. I couldn’t blame him. It had been an odd morning thus far, and there was always room for things to get odder. I smiled at him and started walking back towards my car in the parking lot, eventually disappearing behind one of the green hills filled with souls.