A New Ride Begins

Chapter Four

I'm sure it's purely my imagination, but the air stands still as soon as my bike passes through the wrought iron gates. The trees stop swaying. The birds stop chirping.

The cemetery is massive and I have no idea where to look. I pull my bike into the small parking area in front of the main building and shut it off. I set my helmet on the handlebars as I climb off the back and let my eyes wander.

My hands are shaky, so I shove them in the pockets of my leather jacket, pulling the fabric tighter around my shoulders.

I head to main building for information but the door is locked and the lights are off. They are closed. Of course they are. Nothing is ever that easy.

But it doesn't matter. I'll search the entire cemetery if that's what it takes. I look around me wondering where to start. The task is a lot more daunting when you're actually faced with it.

I notice a collection of flags sticking out of the ground near tombstones in the furthest corner in the back. I figure I can start there and just see where it leads me. I check tombstones as I pass them, hoping to catch a lucky break along the way.

It's when I reach those flags, however, in between two large trees, across from each other on either side, that the air loosens up and the little squares of fabric begin to once again dance in the breeze.

It starts with one name: Tara

     Tara Grace Knowles

Beloved Wife and Mother

June 21, 1980- January 12, 2013

And then, next to it:

Jackson Nathaniel Teller

Beloved Father, Husband and Friend

October 4,1978- December 9, 2014

Normally, I wouldn't admit to showing a kink in my cool, but I'll be damned if I don't get weak in the knees at the sight. I back up against the tree behind me and slide down its trunk, somehow positioning myself in between the two of them. I pull my knees up and rest my arms over the top, looking back and forth between the side by side plots that my parents had been laid to rest in all those years before.

In its usual fashion, my thoughts create a tornado of all the things I want to say to them.

I want to tell them what I know and what I hope to find by coming here.

I want to tell my dad about the first time I wrecked my bike, the first time I got to third base with a girl, and how sick I got the first time I drank a beer.

I want to tell my mom about the first A I'd gotten in English, the first time I fell in love, and the first time I had my heart broken.

But instead of speaking, I light another cigarette and sit against the tree, sharing with them instead a comfortable silence.

Just being there and remembering all those things about growing up that they didn't get to share with me, makes me feel as if they can finally be a part of it.

*~*~*

"Hey!" I hear sometime later, shaking me from the little nap I allowed myself to indulge in on the grass.

I open my eyes, surprised to see that the sun is setting already. I stretch my legs out before climbing to my feet and looking toward the source of the noise.

"You alive over there, kid?" the feminine voice calls out again.

She's a good 20 feet away from me, standing between another identical set of stones.