It was a sunny day, warm and bright. America stood over an old head stone with a bouquet of daisies in one hand. The happy day a stark contrast to his depressed mood. No matter how many years passed, he would never forget or get over Davie. It was because he was so slow that Davie died before Alfred could give him the flowers. It was his fault, but he had no control over his old friend being human. It was still his fault though, if only he had gotten a daisy sooner, Davie could have enjoyed them in life.
America sighed. He lifted the bouquet of flowers and picked a single flower from the bundle. He was about to put the flowers on the grave marker when he heard a voice calling out and running feet. The voice was youthful, so he guessed it was a child calling out to his parents. America looked around and saw he was right. There was a boy and a woman approaching. The woman was his mother, America guessed.
America had intended on watching them pass by, but he noticed they were coming towards him. They had not noticed him yet, caught in their own world. When they got within a few paces to the grave, the woman looked up and noticed him, the boy as well looked up. A smile never leaving his face. America looked at the little boy's face and froze in astonishment. The boy look exactly like Davie when they first met. America could do nothing but stare in sad wonder. It had to be an illusion.
"Oh, excuse us!" The woman said with a smile, snapping America from his trance.
America smiled and said, "No, It's nothing, I was just visiting," he motioned to the grave and flowers.
"Really? What a coincidence, so we're we. My son is doing a project at school, they are tracking down their ancestors and presenting some of their family history. We decided to do research on his many-great grandfather. That," she pointed to the plot, "Is apparently where he is buried."
America understood, painfully. These people were Davies descendants. "Is that so? That must be fun." America looked down at the child who looked so much like his great-great, and then some, grandfather. "So what's your name?"
The child looked up at him, the face with an expression so familiar, and with a smile, the child said, "I'm Davie!"
America froze, the nostalgia almost to much to bare. The mother looked at her child lovingly and said, "I apparently unintentionally named him after his however many great grandfather. Quite the coincidence isn't it?"
"Yes. . . That's very funny," America pretended to look at his watch. "Oh, looks like I have to leave." America began to walk away but then stopped after a few steps. He turned around and apporaoched the young Davie. He bent down and handed him the Daisy he had taken from the bouquet earlier. "I'm Alfred," America looked at the grave sadly once more, then back to the child. "Daisies were his favorite flowers." America began walking away again, not waiting for the questions that would come with the given information.
America wondered as he walked away from the graveyard. Would he meet Davie again?