Dust Thou Art

There's a lady by the tall oak, past the wire fence in the backyard. I tilt my head, looking at the woman.

She's wearing a waist-high skirt with a floral design and a cream blouse. On her short teased hair is a straw summer hat. She's even wearing sandels, though it's late October.

Putting my crayons down, I ventured out into the backyard. Daddy's chopping wood for the fireplace come winter and Mommy's attending to the garden, picking out the in-season veggies and fruits.

"Mommy, Daddy, can I go talk to the lady?" I ask, pointing towards the lady.

The follow my gaze but don't seem alarmed by a stranger on our property. Daddy looked at Mommy and called to her, "Is 'The Lady' one of her imaginary friends?"

Her mother nodded back. "Yes, yes. I believe there's also 'The Man', 'The Little Boy', and 'The little girl'. You'd think if she had imaginary friends she'd at least give them imaginary names, right?"

I frowned. I didn't have imaginary friends. I decided I'd talk to her then. When I walked up to her, she didn't look at me. She was wearing large sunglasses too, ones that were tinted golden brown. "Miss?"

When she didn't respond, I tugged on her dress. "Miss?"

She smiled sadly but still wouldn't look at me. "How old are you?"

"Seven and a half," I said proudly.

"Thomas was your age when..."

I blinked. "Miss, what are you doing here?"

"My son's burried here."

I followed her gaze to a moss-covered stone-looking shape. "Are you going to clear it?" I asked.

She didn't respond, so I went on my knees and cleared the moss and weeds from the tombstone. Thomas Erikk Matte, beloved son.

"Thank you little girl," the woman said. "Thomas was your age when..." she repeated, then frowned, "And I was thirty two."

"Thirty two when what?" Then I saw another shape. Another grave? "Miss what's your name?"

"Abby," came a thin whisper, so faint I strained to hear it.

When I turned, the lady was gone. So I cleared the other grave. Abbigail Jane Forrest-Matte, beloved wife and mother.

Then I got it.