In the Cemetery
Mairin found herself wandering again in the cemetery. Sleep was elusive these days. She found it harder and harder to sleep knowing that her inevitable demise was a reality. Cancer, that terrifying six letter word changed her perspective on a lot of things these days.
She wandered off the cobblestone path in search of the trickling water sound because of a sudden urge to put her toes in the icy water of the stream that ran along the cemetery. She’d forgotten about the meadow, it would be a superb place to lie on a blanket and read a book some afternoon. Mairin didn’t recall seeing a headstone before over here. Strange place for it and why does this gravestone sit alone?
Mairin was sure there must be more to this unresolved story than meets the eye. Why this crooked headstone isn’t perfect like all the other stones in Craven’s Loft Cemetery. The stone carver would be disappointed to see his work isolated and in such bad shape. She felt confident there was a good reason it was placed in this leaf-strewn meadow along the stream’s edge but looking around under this fog-shrouded moon the answer wasn’t clear. What was clear that sleepless nights were becoming her norm. The tall pines cast an eerie shadow but the earthy aroma felt comforting in this lonely place.
Mairin traced her finger across the stone edge. The cold granite felt smooth like glass except for the right corner. Ow, damn it, that hurt. Mairin looked at the blood trickling from her finger. She sucked on her finger savoring the salty taste as she noted the name on the stone. Bruce Lewis. Oh my god, that can’t be. Mairin stumbled back. Her feet refused to budge and her knees buckled. She collapsed on the ground.She shook more than the birch trees in the night breeze as she read.
Bruce Lewis age 64 years of age. The marker said deceased on October 31, 2001. October 31st 2001, that’s a year from now. The birthdate read March 3, 1953. What the hell was going on? The name and birth date are correct but he’s not dead. Bruce was very much alive. Bruce was on a business trip and was due back on Friday. Mairin trembled knowing there was something creepy but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine what. She looked around feeling uneasy when she noticed lying beside the stone a lacy black glove haphazardly across some dried maple leaves. The fog dissipated and the moon glowed brightly above her as Mairin picked up the strangely familiar glove. It’s not possible but there were three black pearl buttons along the edge. It can’t be…. how did my glove end up here?
The wind rustled the pine and the pungent aroma wafted in the air. Mairin staggered to her feet with the glove tightly. Her throat felt raw and scratchy as she retraced her steps back to the main walkway out of the cemetery. None of this made any sense. She should call Bruce and tell him what she discovered. On second thought probably not. He already thinks she’s losing her mind since she got the diagnosis.