State of Mind

Graveyard

"The Boogeyman ain't real," Rodney Wilhelm said, his preadolescent voice cracking. "You're makin' shit up again, Caroline."

He towered over me, his beady, black eyes narrowed at me as a crooked grin lifted the corners of his lips. His arms were crossed firmly over his chest, the dirt stains on his T-shirt still visible. His expression was smug and almost disturbing, sending chills down my spine. I never did like Rodney Wilhelm, not one bit. He was a jerk and even eight-year-old me knew that much.

I furrowed my brows and spat, "You don't know that, Rodney Wilhelm! You don't see what I see!"

"You're just a lying little kid," he laughed. "Who'd believe a snot-nosed brat like you?"

"You ain't much older than me," I pouted. "I turn nine in two months, so you'll only be two years older than me."

"Until I turn twelve a month later," he taunted. He took a step forward, making me move back. "But, thanks for doing the math, Caroline. Good to know you can add."

He cackled and pushed me. I lost my footing and tumbled back, landing promptly on my bum. The hard ground was not welcoming as I made an impact, causing my breath to hitch briefly. A dull pain spread across my butt, my palms stinging from scraping the pavement. He just laughed, his shrill voice bitter to my ears.

"Awe. Poor little Caroline Wheeler," Rodney Wilhelm snickered. "How 'bout you scram home and play with your imaginary friends and dolls, eh?" He turned to leave, adding, "Ain't nobody wants you here, anyway."

Tears glossed over my eyes as I watched him run towards where the other children stood. They all welcomed him with open arms as if he was some hero. They all giggled and laughed, all sharing jokes. But I knew what they were laughing at. Or, rather, who they were taunting with their laughter.

Me.

I breathed out a hardy breath and climbed to my feet, brushing my skirt off with my hands as I looked myself over. My legs were fine, minus a small scratch on my left calf. I glimpsed at my hands. Both palms were scraped up, some gravel embedded in my skin. They stung and burned, the breeze only adding to the pain but nothing horrible.

I glimpsed up, my eyes landing on Rodney Wilhelm. He was laughing with his friends, the bunch of them playing with a football as they ran around. They all appeared to be having a good time, the smiles on their faces bright and genuine. Everything about them was so happy and free. I envied that.

With another sigh, I turned and began walking, heading in the direction of my home. The soles of my dress shoes scuffed the pavement as I walked, adding some sort of noise. It was better than the silence that accompanied me on my walks. Of course, the singing of cicadas also aided in that. Honestly, I found both rather pleasant.

I rounded the bend, my house in view. I stopped in front of it. It was the same house I had known all my life. A two-story colonial with a black iron fence marking our property. The yard was well maintained with a manicured lawn and gorgeous flowers of vast species and colors. The old willow tree which had been planted long before my birth stood tall. Its leaves swayed in the warm breeze, almost as if it was reaching for what laid beyond it; the cemetery.

The cemetery was our town's first and only final resting place for the dead. Its founding stemmed back to the early days of our town. It was full of both old and new headstones that were all well taken care of. I only knew they were properly cared for because my family was the ones in charge of its maintenance. They had been since the very beginning. I guess that was why the other kids feared me. Then again, maybe that wasn't entirely it.

"Hello, Caroline," Mrs. Popper smiled.

"Oh. Hello, Mrs. Popper. How are you today?" I greeted, running into the gate.