In a New Light
9
I decided to take a walk.
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It was after nine at night and Blake and his dad/mom’s hot boss had already left. I don’t know what made me walk out onto the chilly streets. I just did.
Maybe it was something inside of me.
I don’t know.
I walked from memory because I had gone to this place so many times.
Left.
Then a right. Stop at the corner because cars come rushing down that street so fast they aren’t even watching out for pedestrians.
The gates to the cemetery looked rusted and untouched. I pushed lightly. They squeaked a little but otherwise gave way. I looked around. There weren’t any lights so I pulled out my cell phone and used it to guide me.
I didn’t need to look at the names on the tombstones. I wouldn’t get lost.
Then I stopped in my tracks. There they were.
Demetra Marie Till
Born June 16^th1987-December 3^rd2008
Daughter, Loving Sister
I sighed and noticed how shaky my breathing was. I glanced to the right and read the next tombstone.
Gary Prince
Born February 26^th1977-December 3^rd2008
I licked my lips and tasted salt. My cheeks were wet with tears before I realized I was crying. I kneeled down, covered my mouth with my hand, and sobbed. Not because my dad was gone, but because everyone would always remember him as some crazy drunk. No one would ever think of him as my fourth grade inner-mural soccer coach, or the dad that brought in my science project when I forgot it, or how every Sunday he and I would sit in front of the TV for hours and watch movies.
He would never be that again. And it was sad.
I bolted upright and my eyes flashed open when I heard the noise. Just behind me a stick cracked and then I heard the shuffling of feet. I spun, my heart pounding in my chest. My vision was still blurry but I could make out a dark figure moving away from me along the tree line.
I stood and didn’t hesitate to race after them.
Wait. What was I doing?! I was running after a creeper watching me cry over my father’ s grave?
What the hell was I thinking.
I still ran though, as fast as I could, despite my mind telling otherwise. I followed them into the trees that lined the cemetery. Branches cut my face and hands, I think there was a scratch on the left side of my cheek that was bleeding.
Then I stopped because I couldn’t hear another set of footsteps mirroring mine.
I had lost them.
And I was alone.
No one dreams of being almost remembered. But no one dreams of being remembered as someone they’re not.



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