Four Rubbings

Chapter Four: Seth Finds an Unknown

While talking with Josie on my cell last night, I did a quick web search of Lakefront Cemetery. The oldest boneyard in the Pacific Northwest, it is a popular tourist destination. Housing the graves of people from city founders to dead musicians, how I could live so close to this property and be oblivious to its rich history? I scanned the cemetery map on my monitor for names I might recognize as Josie explained our Halloween plans in my right ear. She was going to rub her mother’s grave, but I wanted to find the grave of someone that shared my love of inventions and history.

“Have you ever heard of someone named Harvey Yessir?” I asked Josie.

“Sounds familiar, but I can’t peg why. Was he a professor at the U?” she asked.

“Naw, his name’s on half the buildings downtown. He was a founding father, big lumber guy. Now do you know him?”

“I think so. Is he buried in Lakefront? Wait! Are you doing research while you are on the phone with me?” she asked. I pictured her cute, freckled cheeks colored with an angry, pink tinge.

“Busted. But, where would you be without my research? I found that bit about Halloween for you didn’t I? I’m your guy, right?”

“Yeah, you’re a keeper. So, are you going to rub Yessir’s grave? Is he historically significant enough for you?” she asked.

I roll down a couple screens and scan the man’s history. He made a lot of money selling dead trees, built the original city and all, but I’m not intrigued. “No, he’s interesting, but he’s not the one. I want someone less known. I want to find someone that made a contribution to the world, but isn’t what you would call famous. Seems like that would be more fun. I could rub someone and then unearth their life story afterward.” I shut down my computer.

“Do you have your costume figured out yet? Want to go as Lewis or Clark?” Josie asked. She is going as Sacagawea, Lewis and Clark’s guide.

I grunted. “No way. I don’t want to be a matchy-match with you. I was thinking about being a vampire, a stylish, steampunk blood sucker.” I finger the Nerf gun I retrofitted last weekend for the big Nerf gun tournament at Marymoor Park. The details turned out great. I glued on metal gears, attached a leather belt for a shoulder strap, and painted the whole gun copper, two coats. It is epic cool. “I think I’ll wear my gun.”

“No kidding, but what else are you going to wear? Do you still have that monkey suit from the wedding last year?”

I rifled through my closet, shoved hangers out of the way and found the grey pinstriped suit she was referring to. “The pants look too small. The shirt will work though.” The white button-down shirt appeared relatively clean. “If I wear my Doc Martens, maybe no one will be able to tell the pants are high-waters.”

She giggled. “Well, now I know. What about your bolo tie? I love that thing. Is a bolo steampunk?”

“Not so much. Steampunk is when you mix vintage stuff with high-tech sci-fi, think monocles and robot parts. But yeah, I can wear the bolo. I need something vintage.”

“How about a pocket watch? I’ve got an old pocket watch that was my grandfather’s from World War II. The glass is cracked on the face, but otherwise it is fine,” she offered.

“Perfect. Thanks, Josie. Do you think it’d be too much to put blotches of red ink down the front of my shirt?”

“You do that and your mom will make sure there are some real bloodstains to go with them,” she joked.

“I’ll put the shirt on at your house. She’ll never know.”

“And that makes me an accomplice….awesome.” I heard a beep on the other end of the line. “Hey, Seth. That’s Casey, I’ve got to try and convince her to come. Bye.”

Now, a day later, I wander the paths of Lakefront in search of an unknown to rub. I find Yessir’s tomb immediately. It is right next to the entrance gates and I nod hello. I keep moving toward the center of the grounds where the flags whip and dance over the military graveyard. This property isn’t technically part of Lakefront. I found that out doing research last night. Once upon a time the different branches of the military had small cemeteries spread out over the Seattle area until one group got a chunk of federal funding to buy this area from Lakefront. They spent the next five years relocating bodies and headstones into a new united military cemetery.

I unlatch the white picket fence that defines the military section and wander inside. The clang and clatter of chains against the flagpole draw my attention. I look up and admire the United States and Washington State flags that flutter and wave in the wind. I put my hand over my heart and recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

The grave markers in this area are simple, humble things. Most lie flat on the ground and are no bigger than a computer keyboard. A few are decorated with fresh flowers and potted plants, a couple have bouquets of fake flowers stuffed into metal urns. All of them sport a thin layer of dead leaves. The huge tree that looms above must be the culprit. I continue to wander until I stop at a marker coated entirely in wet leaves. I kneel and wipe away the leaves and read the name:

Sergeant Isaac Paxton

1925-2013

Let freedom ring.

I remove the supplies from my briefcase and rub the simple stone. I don’t lie across the grave, don’t utter a prayer–heck, I don’t even introduce myself. My relationship with Sergeant Paxton will commence behind the screen of a computer later tonight. I make quick work of the rubbing and fold the results into the briefcase and rise.

As I walk to the cemetery entrance to meet the others, I see Casey and smile. She doesn’t see me yet. I unstrap my Nerf gun and duck behind a thick tree trunk. I stuff a foam ball into the gun and laugh under my breath. She is going to be so surprised, I think as I wait for her to come closer.

  

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