Gone Isn't Forever

Chapter 1

Nice to Meet You

“Ouch!” I complained as my cousin Jo Spencer pushed me forward through the gates of the Orange County Cemetery. I ended up colliding with the solid black mid-evil bars and falling flat on my face. Literally, I was kissing the ground! “What the hell guys?!” I griped as I watched an ant crawl over a mound of dirt.
“Sorry!” My four best friends and band mates piped out in unison. Kirsten Kreeps, (my “older sister” from Wisconsin) grasped my left arm and Maggy Jaspers, (my best friend since we were 14) grabbed my right to hoist me back up on my feet.
“you should still go first though Mell.” Jo insisted as she shoved me forward once again, but this time more gently and with less force.
“All right, All right! Johnny Christ!” I cursed the legendary bassist from Avenged Sevenfold, the rock band that all five of us had grown so close to through their music. We were in their home town, at the cemetery where they laid their fallen drumming hero at rest. He had died on December 28, 2009. I was the most attached to Jimmy (The Rev) Sullivan. He spoke to me in more ways than one, unlike any other. However, silencing him now and forever was the shadow of death. That's why we were there. None of us ever really got to meet him in person, so I guess now would be our last and only chance. Especially for me. It was a dream come true that morphed into a nightmare.
Approaching his grave now, it felt like fiction. The sky was gray and the atmosphere was turning the air dark. I could just barely read the carvings of the tombstones, the names of the past engraved in limestone. As I searched for the 'S's, I found that some of the graves dated back to the mid 17-1800s. A few were older. Finally I reached the Sullivans, all arranged by family and alphabetical order. What hit me hard was seeing a small headstone with the carvings faded and barely legible. I could hardly make out the date, and the name was too eroded. It said from 1797-1801. Whoever the child was, was only four years old when they died. Now that was just insane. Didn't even get a chance to live their life. Maybe for the best. I hear heaven's a much better place to spend one's eternity.
Shaking it off, I moved on the continued my search. Soon thereafter, I came upon a relatively newly cut slab of limestone. The statue next to it was a angel, and on the other side, a cross. The center slab towered over even me. I hit my knees immediately after skimming over the heading, my legs no longer able to support me. This was it! It read:

James Owen (The Rev[rend]) Sullivan
Beloved son, brother, friend, husband, band mate, and musician
R.I. a little P. of heaven
From Feb. 9, 1981 to Dec. 28, 2009

I stared at it, my mouth agape. The rest of the gang filed over behind me and I heard Harper Peters (my best friend since the 6th grade) chimed in, “Oh...My...It's – it's the Rev! Holy Shitface!” She full blown cussed. How lady like. We all stood/ knelt there I awe. It didn't seem real. Until now, it never felt like Jimmy had ever parted form the the world of the living. Although I never net him, I knew him well. My band mates and I had always listened to the music he and his band wrote, and we'd watch the videos about them. They'd always involved Jimmy, and since that was the only way I knew him, I suppose my mind chose to keep him alive. But kneeling there before my fallen hero's grave, with my idol's name written in full was simply too much to bear. I felt the reality of it all tugging at my heart strings as what I already knew finally set in after two long years. Jimmy the Rev Sullivan's name carved in stone. There it was. There's something about seeing your life long hero's name engraved on a tombstone in a cemetery in the very town that he grew up in the just devastates you all over again. It was truly like reliving his death. Only this time, it was much worse.
One by one, each one of us, too devastated for words, placed their bouquets at the foot of the tombstone with Jimmy's name etched into it. My flowers consisted of pale blue roses entangled with baby's breath. I went last of course. In addition I also left a poem encased in a silver frame. My favorite poem in which I'd always admired as a child growing up. It read:

The Broken Chain:
We little knew that morning that God was going to call your name.
In life we loved you dearly. In death we do the same.
It broke our hearts to lose you. You did not go alone.
For part of us went with you, the day God called you home.
You left us peaceful memories, your love is still our guide.
And though we cannot see you, you are always at our side.
Our family chain is broken, and nothing seems the same.
But as God calls us one by one, the chain will link again.

“We love you Jimmy. I wish you were still with me...” I whispered as I stood up and ran my hand over the limestone and could feel the phrase “Jimmy jumped into life and never touched bottom” carved into the headstone as well. I closed my eyes and felt my fingertips glide over the carvings of Jimmy's name. And suddenly I felt a strange sensation. My mind went blank and I experienced an odd sense of bliss. The sorrow that squeezed my heart released me and I fell into a freaky meditation.
“Melinda! Are you coming or not?” I could hear Kirsten calling from the far off gates of the cemetery. This snapped me out of my weird trance and the hurt took hold again. This time it was different though. The force of the reassurance I had experienced that the headstone had given me was so powerful that my knees gave out and buckled under me. Gasping, I dropped to my knees once more. “Mell?!” Kirsten's concerned voice called out again.
“Uh...Yeah! Just a sec!” I yelled back to her as I felt a sudden chill. It was weirder because it was almost 90 degrees out and the wind remained at a stand still. Besides, I'm usually the one complaining about how hot it is in 60 degree weather back at home in the wolverine state. It wasn't just one of those weird spinal shivers that travel down your back for a second and then its gone either. No. This chilling factor stayed. It lingered. Why was I suddenly so cold? I didn't understand it. But then, I didn't understand a lot of things.
Shaking it off, I stood and began to exit the cemetery. Then I got on of those creepy feelings like someone was watching me. The strange part was that it wasn't threatening. It was more soothing than anything. That freaked me out even more, so I started to run. But I couldn't escape the soothing viewer that I knew followed me. I can't explain how. I just knew it. I could feel it. Suffice to say, in my panicked frenzy, I ended up slipping on a patch of mud. I fumbled to the ground, just barely catching myself. My comforting visitor consumed me. But it was oven colder now than before.
Now slathered in mud, I forced myself to gain my strength and I booked it back to the gates of the Orange County Cemetery. I was out of breath and exhausted. Yet the peaceful sereneness still captivated me. By then, it had grown comfortable. I suddenly found myself not wanting to lose it. I don't know how I knew. I just did. I wasn't going to escape quite yet.
“What happened to you?'' Harper questioned as I made my way towards our pure white 2008 ford van. Yeah, we had one of those creeper vans that one would think a giant sign would be blinking in neon red 'Candy for Children' on the side of window or something.
“I...I just. Nothing. I fell is all. Let's just get out of here, okay?” I replied, my mind scrambled and my logic lost.
“Okay.” Kirsten stated reluctantly and with question in her laced into her voice.
I climbed up into the back seat of the van and my silent comrade followed me as I suspected it would. I didn't know what to think anymore. The feeling had attached itself to me when I touched Jimmy's headstone. I lingered, and now it followed in my shadow, urging and eager to become part of me. A stranger in my own structure. Like a parasite who needed a host, this sensation licded onto me and lived inside of me.
We were all silent, in mournful and distracted spirits, as Kirsten turned around and stepped on the gas.