His Resting Place

Chapter 1

"Today marks twenty-five years since the Evergreen tragedy," the tv announcer said. "Many mourners have gathered at the site to pay their respects to the lives lost on that faithful day."
"And in other news. . ." she continued but the television was muted by its owner, Marco Rodriguez.

"Every year it gets less and less significant," Mrs MacDonald said as she leaned against the doorpost.

Jane was a plump brunette in her early fifties. She worked for the Rodriguez family for over twenty years and before her, her mother worked for his mother and her grandmother for his grandparents.

Marco switched off the television and rested the remote on the table. 

"When is my breakfast ready?" he asked in a low annoyed tone.

"Just have five minutes again," she said and disappeared in the kitchen.

Marco was not much of a talker anymore. He spent most of his days in his study among the dusty old books and when he was not there he was in his gallery staring off into the distance sipping on tea. 

He was now seventy-five with his shinny silver hair and brown skin that bared no marks. He no longer had a wide smile that complimented his honey coloured eyes and the compassionate lovable kind man that he used to be were mere descriptive words to him. He got up with the help of his cane and limped onto the gallery.

"Here's your tea," Jane said appearing through the door. 

She rested it in the table along with his breakfast of waffles and strawberries. 

"One sugar, no milk and freshly picked mint from the garden," she continued.

"Thank you," he barely uttered as he sipped on his tea. 

The breeze blew through the trees in his yard rustling whatever leaves were scattered on the floor. Occasionally he would raise his head and stare into the distance with anticipation and longing in his eyes. 

After his breakfast he settled into his chair and closed his eyes. Jane appeared in the doorway briefly to clear away his breakfast and then disappeared again. As Marco dozed off. Flashes of memories flooded his mind.

"Hey dear," his wife said as she sat in the gallery with him sipping on tea.

"Hey hunnie," he replied with a broad smile on his face.

"Ronnie just called and said they're two minutes away," she continued. 

Marco and his wife settled in the rocking chairs enjoying the breezy atmosphere. Just then his son and family pulled up and the kids ran out straight into the yard. The pleasures of silence was soon bombarded with laughter, musical instruments, loud chattering and clanging of plates.

"Hey grandpa, can you take us to the park this evening?" his youngest grandson, Rick asked. 

"Of course and we'll take a picnic basket," he responded with a smile.

Marco Rodriguez smiled at such lovely memoirs. He remembered taking long strolls on the peaceful serene roads taking in all the fresh air and chirping birds. Hand in hand with his wife as they walked along the path occasionally stopping to feed the birds they saw. 

Their grand kids with little way ahead skipping about and throwing stones into the pond. Life was wonderful he thought and nothing could change that. At least he thought so.

A few minutes later he woke up from his doze and stared off into the distance. A few pedestrians passed by with their little children. Some even waved at him. He never waved back. Every time he saw little children they reminded him of what he lost.

"Mrs MacDonald I'm going to take a walk in the park," he said as he slowly got up. "Or what's left of it," he muttered.