In The Autumn.
Autumn Graveyard
I love to come here in the fall. The leaves falling around me makes me smile. And when the wind catches them and twirls them around the tombstones, it makes me want to dance.
Yes the tombstones, I’m in a graveyard. It’s an unnamed cemetery and it’s where my parents are buried. Well, technically where my adopted parents are buried. Even though they didn’t bring me into this world, they showed me how to live in it, how to smile and how to dream.
They took me in from the nightmare that had been my life before. I didn’t take their name because it felt like they had given me enough already. My name has remained Alexia Brown, despite all the pain that they, the Brown’s, had caused.
I come here to show my mother and father that I’m still happy. Also, I come here to play for them. I play the violin, they taught me how to truly play. How to channel all my anger and hatred for those people, and make it into something of beauty. Today, after I finished a song, I sat down, to rest and to think.
Shortly after I had made my self comfortable, I heard footsteps. I looked to see a young man, perhaps in his late twenties, walking towards me from one of the other graves. I wasn’t too surprised; I had had many people come to talk to me about my playing, whether he came to scold me or praise me, I did not know.
“Hello. I um… heard you playing. It… uh… helped me, I think” He said it softly, looking over his shoulder at the grave.
“Thank you” I replied, and pointing to my parents graves, “They like to hear happy tunes”
He took a couple deep breathes, as if to steady himself. He stood there, his mind working on the next thing he would say. I was patient, I knew that feeling. When the floor was jerked out from under you, you could barely keep your head up: it took more air to fill your lungs but air didn’t seem to come to you.
His let out a sigh and my mind snapped gently back to the present.
“How long? Um.. Have they been…?”
“Gone?”, I finished for him. He nodded, looking intently at his feet, from embarrassment, I guess.
I let out my own sigh, looked at the tombstones, gathered my thoughts, and gave my answer.
“Sometimes it feels like an eternity, like they were just a good dream. Than other times, it feels so fresh, like the wounds are open still.” I looked up at him, and gave a less riddled answer. “Six years. It’s been six years.”
He looked over his shoulder, again at the grave he had been visiting.
“My sister. It’s been two.”
I nodded. He looked at me than with eyes I had seen before. Because those eyes had been my own for many years after my parents had died. Hopelessness, Loss, Sadness, and the smallest bit of blame, they were all there. But also, they reflected something more, something I hadn’t seen at first. Resolve.
“How do you live on?” he asked, tears were burning at his eyes, trying to get out and away from the mass of emotions. “How do you find any happy tunes to play? How do you find this happiness?”
I smiled at him, kindly, “Well… At first, you mourn. That’s when the world seems so dark. But one day you wake up, look out the window and find that the world still holds some beauty. You come to know that they…” I waved my hand to show the tombs “… would want you to see that beauty, and be happy.”
“I see.” He wore a still smile. The smile that a person gives when they are given the answer they don’t want to hear, but the answer they know is right, the one that they are working to accept.
He turned to leave, tossing a little “thank you” over his shoulder.
“ Oh… Hey!” I called him back over. I stood up from where I had been sitting.
“The world may not look like it’s worth being happy for yet, but she is. “ I tilted my head in the direction of his sister’s grave.
He looked at it, then back to me. And again I saw my self through his eyes. A small spark, that comes when you understand that unwanted answer.
“Thanks. I’ll remember” Then he was gone.
I was left alone once more, with the leaves and tombstones, and my violin. I was rested enough, so I stated to play once again. As the notes sang through the air, I walked softly over to the sister. I smiled.
It was a cheap tombstone, so the wind and rain of the two years had chipped away harshly at it. I could only read the smallest part of the inscription. No Name, No Date.
Beloved sister, daughter
And friend.
May your violin play true
Forever…
I played for her. … … … … …I played for her… … …… … …I played for her.
Yes the tombstones, I’m in a graveyard. It’s an unnamed cemetery and it’s where my parents are buried. Well, technically where my adopted parents are buried. Even though they didn’t bring me into this world, they showed me how to live in it, how to smile and how to dream.
They took me in from the nightmare that had been my life before. I didn’t take their name because it felt like they had given me enough already. My name has remained Alexia Brown, despite all the pain that they, the Brown’s, had caused.
I come here to show my mother and father that I’m still happy. Also, I come here to play for them. I play the violin, they taught me how to truly play. How to channel all my anger and hatred for those people, and make it into something of beauty. Today, after I finished a song, I sat down, to rest and to think.
Shortly after I had made my self comfortable, I heard footsteps. I looked to see a young man, perhaps in his late twenties, walking towards me from one of the other graves. I wasn’t too surprised; I had had many people come to talk to me about my playing, whether he came to scold me or praise me, I did not know.
“Hello. I um… heard you playing. It… uh… helped me, I think” He said it softly, looking over his shoulder at the grave.
“Thank you” I replied, and pointing to my parents graves, “They like to hear happy tunes”
He took a couple deep breathes, as if to steady himself. He stood there, his mind working on the next thing he would say. I was patient, I knew that feeling. When the floor was jerked out from under you, you could barely keep your head up: it took more air to fill your lungs but air didn’t seem to come to you.
His let out a sigh and my mind snapped gently back to the present.
“How long? Um.. Have they been…?”
“Gone?”, I finished for him. He nodded, looking intently at his feet, from embarrassment, I guess.
I let out my own sigh, looked at the tombstones, gathered my thoughts, and gave my answer.
“Sometimes it feels like an eternity, like they were just a good dream. Than other times, it feels so fresh, like the wounds are open still.” I looked up at him, and gave a less riddled answer. “Six years. It’s been six years.”
He looked over his shoulder, again at the grave he had been visiting.
“My sister. It’s been two.”
I nodded. He looked at me than with eyes I had seen before. Because those eyes had been my own for many years after my parents had died. Hopelessness, Loss, Sadness, and the smallest bit of blame, they were all there. But also, they reflected something more, something I hadn’t seen at first. Resolve.
“How do you live on?” he asked, tears were burning at his eyes, trying to get out and away from the mass of emotions. “How do you find any happy tunes to play? How do you find this happiness?”
I smiled at him, kindly, “Well… At first, you mourn. That’s when the world seems so dark. But one day you wake up, look out the window and find that the world still holds some beauty. You come to know that they…” I waved my hand to show the tombs “… would want you to see that beauty, and be happy.”
“I see.” He wore a still smile. The smile that a person gives when they are given the answer they don’t want to hear, but the answer they know is right, the one that they are working to accept.
He turned to leave, tossing a little “thank you” over his shoulder.
“ Oh… Hey!” I called him back over. I stood up from where I had been sitting.
“The world may not look like it’s worth being happy for yet, but she is. “ I tilted my head in the direction of his sister’s grave.
He looked at it, then back to me. And again I saw my self through his eyes. A small spark, that comes when you understand that unwanted answer.
“Thanks. I’ll remember” Then he was gone.
I was left alone once more, with the leaves and tombstones, and my violin. I was rested enough, so I stated to play once again. As the notes sang through the air, I walked softly over to the sister. I smiled.
It was a cheap tombstone, so the wind and rain of the two years had chipped away harshly at it. I could only read the smallest part of the inscription. No Name, No Date.
Beloved sister, daughter
And friend.
May your violin play true
Forever…
I played for her. … … … … …I played for her… … …… … …I played for her.
♠ ♠ ♠
please comment, or at least smile a little after you read this.