Saturday, June 02, 2007

It occurred to me, one late summer day, that my life was in something of a rut. Up every morning and out. Home every afternoon within half an hour each day. It did not seem notable that I worked most every day of the week because I knew that I could take off days just about any time I choose. So the working every day was a choice thing. Still, I was in a rut.

That line of thinking had set in on the way home. I’d made it about three-quarters home in heavy traffic and while stopped at a light had got to looking around; something I didn’t remember doing for a long time. I realized I was looking at one of the more progressive hospitals in the city. Why that particular complex of buildings suddenly stood out I’m not sure, but it did.

Their location was on a hillside, and I knew that behind that complex stretched a block or better of hospital corporation owned houses. Those houses filled with various levels of hospital expertise and family. Up there, on the other side of the hospital from where I was waiting, was a cemetery. Lots of folks called it the Jewish Cemetery. The point being it was above the hospital and on the uphill side of the road I was traveling, and was mandated perpetual care grounds.

On the other side of the road, up there directly across from the Jewish Cemetery, on the down hill side, was another cemetery - generally not spoken about. It wasn’t a perpetual care area and a sign had been erected stating that the cemetery was filled and had no vacancies. When that sign had first been displayed I had wondered if they were going to put lights up for night timers, the sign being that large, and in red and black eighteen inch lettering on white. The sign stayed up for almost three weeks before disappearing.

Some while after the sign had disappeared from the landscape, a newly opened burial site appeared. I saw that grave site on the way to work. It was an anomaly considering the newly gained knowledge we have and I was puzzled for a time, until I figured that the burial site could have been purchased prior to the “Filled” notification. I’m slow in the mornings without coffee.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

There is a lot of stuff about this that might not need to be told. And there is a lot that might - above and beyond the basic story. A couple of stories might go this way: When I first moved into the area I asked a service station owner about those two cemetery’s. He, it was, that told me the name of the Jewish Cemetery and that I wouldn’t want to be in the other. That one, he said, was for slaves and “you know, the other kind of people.” Times later, he also explained that one was being closed up because - and never finished the statement. I never pressed, being new around and not knowing the street. Eventually I accepted the fact that it (they) was (were); living my life became paramount and I thought no more of the conversation.

If you consider the area of the other cemetery being a rectangle with the long axis being East - West and butt one short end against the East side of the road I traveled, then it will make sense when I tell you a dirt road entered from the Southwest corner, parallel with that same main road. That dirt road entered the cemetery set back from the West end of the boundaries, allowing a couple of rows of plots between itself, the boundary chain link fence, the rather steep slope to the main street above.

All of which means that during any rains the water washed from the main road, down the slope, and across the cemetery’s dirt road. One could imagine, then, my concern seeing the newly opened grave as it was immediately in the road fringes, if not in the road itself, given the wanderings dirt roads seem to undergo down through the years.

The site remained open from Monday until the early morning of the following Saturday, when I observed the traditional green canopy and false carpet spread on my way to work.

Monday, June 04, 2007

It happens on this Saturday a friend and part time fisher friend of mine for a number of years drifted by. I described what it was I’d been seeing and he, being a black man, told me the folks wanting a plot opened up in that place had to do a bit of planning. Mostly because, he said, the few folks doing such work had to be spoken for well in advance and that particular cemetery wasn’t much a priority. So, those as wanted had to wait on it. When questioned about the Jewish Cemetery and its equipment just across the road, my friend just shrugged and changed the direction of the conversation.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

A few hours went by after my friend left when I decided to call it a day and as I drove by that cemetery, I noticed they were having a service around that open grave. Not many people was my first thought, and it seemed that it was a woman that had gone on. I judged that by the way all those dressed to the nines folks were gathered around a fellow.

It’s hard for a person to judge the middle ages of another race. Or it is for me at any rate, but that fellow that appeared to have lost his wife seemed in his late thirties or early forties. At any thought, driving by at thirty-five miles an hour in traffic with my turn coming up, I didn’t have time to dwell on long looks or speculation.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

I allowed Housekeeper to read what I’ve set to white board thus far. I did that as a means of gauging the voice and meter of the story. Her first reaction was a tightening of the neck and face into a defensive expression and silence. I pushed just a bit and asked about those things most worry-some to the writer and her response was; “Why a cemetery? Why are you writing about a cemetery?”

I told her the story wasn’t complete. I also told her that it wasn’t about a cemetery. She remained un-convinced and demanded again why a cemetery. So I told her it was really a real life, along with a love story, and . . . I was cut off by her asking how the story ended then. I told her I’d let her read the end on her next visit and she went mildly sideways on me; demanding I tell her the ending.

That was a rather strong reaction to a simple tale. I hadn’t known that Housekeeper had buttons to push - though, truth to tell, I don’t know which buttons were pushed - the reaction was strong enough though.

So I told her, even how I knew that would make the story harder for me to finish.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

I took the Sunday after seeing the end of the site-side services off. It had been a while for days off, and I got some personal chores done, relaxing and half-hearted yard work. On the Monday I checked the grave site while going back to work and observed that the flowers left there were real flowers. They appeared to be showing the effects of the sun.

That evening, homeward bound, I noticed that the middle-aged man was there. Just standing. He had a bag and it seemed he had been cleaning up the inevitable small messes humans strew about in any gathering place.

The next day, evening, I saw him there again.

And the next.

On the Thursday I saw the car but didn’t see him at first and then, in those tricks of the human eye, his form jumped out. He was lying stretched out along side of the grave. Completely oblivious to the heavy traffic going by just above him.

I didn’t take any days off the rest of the week and every evening the man was there. I almost began counting on him being there. I also knew that, maybe, that was not the most healthy activity for him and wondered if his friends would come by and be there for him. But they didn’t.

That is, until the Saturday four weeks after the services. I observed the man and a group of people around him while traveling home for lunch. Three men and a woman. All the men were larger in most directions than the man. I was in time to see the three lift the man from his knees and back him against his car. The four then surrounded him and began talking in earnest.

At this point, I must admit to wanting to know the outcome of the talks. I pulled into the Dry Cleaners lot immediately adjacent the cemetery and observed. I wasn’t close enough to overhear, but could see that eventually the entire group left.

I never again saw the man at the grave site. Nor flowers. And did observe that the gates were pulled closed, chained and locked.
_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile