Lagniappe Ty's Story

Ty's story Part 1

            Lazy moss hangs like cascading waterfalls frozen in time from the oak trees in the cemetery. It's one of those nights where the cold winter battles the warm spring entering in on its territory. The result in this Louisiana climate is a thick fog that blankets the city of New Orleans, sending it soaring into familiar tranquility that only seasoned residents understand.

         Like a hot knife through butter, the wrenching sound of metal pierces through the night, cutting through the silence. An old woman steps through the iron gate. She closes the gate with her right hand as it continues to send screams of protest through the once peaceful night. In her left hand, she holds a bouquet of red roses neatly arranged and ready to be on display.

         With the gate secure, she walks slowly through the cemetery. It is a cemetery whose gates were supposed to close with the setting of the sun an hour ago, but she does not mind, nor does she obey. A small smirk appears on her wrinkled face as she continues her onward trudge past the grey and white headstones that flank her sides. She passes grave after grave, her eyes fixed on only a certain one set across this crowded urban cemetery.

         Onward she moves toward this bitter beautiful spot. She holds out the flowers, at last, reaching her destination, extending them to place them gently on the headstone. She pauses a moment holding her gift one last time before finally releasing it to its intended recipient. Her hand lifts up, resting on the name professionally etched on the cool marble. Her eyes drift to the blank side of the headstone made for two.

         Her smirk falls, and she lets her emotions overcome her as tears roll down her proud face, but no sounds of sorrow leave her lips. The only sound that can be heard is the rustling of feathers coming from the raven in the old oak tree.

         "Happy Anniversary, my dear."

         Her words are etched with adoration for her departed husband. She kisses her hand then releases the kiss onto the cold marble. Her fingertips linger, letting the warmth of her sweet gift to her husband absorb. How she longs to kiss him in real life. How her body aches to hold him, giving him one last peck on the lips and have him kiss her, but like the sun sets on everyone, their time in this world has passed. All that is left are the cherished memories of a lifetime filled with love.

         She takes a step back, removing her hand from the stone. Her eyes flit to the empty space on the headstone that sits beside her husband's name. It is a space that one day will house her name, forevermore. Death's sadness has beauty when shared with love. She lets out a sigh. The single sound amplifies in this empty arena where all the occupants rest in peaceful silence.

          With a smile, the old woman turns her attention to the oak tree. The wind catches the moss, and it lightly dances with the leaves. The only object not moving is the black bird whose gaze rests on the old woman. The sleek feathers of the raven reflect the light of the moon. His gaze focuses solely on her. 

         "You can come down now, Ty. You can not hide. I know you are there," says the woman as she wipes her eyes. "These old eyes of mine have not failed me yet."

         The raven lets out a cry before descending from the tree. His size grows as the air around him vibrates. The shape of the bird molds and bends, drifting to the ground until the raven is no more. In its place stands a man. His muscles flex as he rises to his full stature. The glow of the moonlight shines off his russet skin as he stands, like a Greek god amidst the grey stones and statues of the cemetery.

         "Hello, Ty."

        "Hello, Nora," replies Ty.

        "You don't have to follow me every time I come to visit my husband," replies Nora.