Cemetery Gates
The sun shines brightly, sparkling on the river and reflecting off of the gates. I clutch the orange dutch tulips firmly in my fist, my oxygen tank in the other. The cold wisps of air tickle my face as I walk through, the shade of the trees protecting me from the early morning sun. It is early, there is no one here and that's the way I like it. Just me and Gus, no interruptions. As I walk through the endless stream of graves I am struck by the enormity of life, and of its counterpart; death. Every stone represents a person, every person had a family, had friends, had a story and every story can be told in great detail, just like the story of me and Gus. Every person had something they hated, something they loved, a favourite tv show or book, something to live for and something to die for; if I think about it too hard my head starts to hurt.
Some day, I too will be here, the remains of my body buried among the worms, my soul, if such a thing exists, god knows where. Maybe that's someday's soon, or maybe not, but I do know one thing, death lives neither in the past or future. Death is now, and she is coming.
Sometimes I wonder why I still bother to come here. It's not like Gus is here, it's not like any of the people who once lived remain here, and why would they? If there was some kind of after life, if we all become ghosts in the end, why on earth would you spend your time in a grave yard, driven sick by the yearning of the people you can no longer have? But then I think about where did they go? Did they rot with their bodies in the ground? Did they float up to a heavenly and unknown place? Did their souls get sucked into another being, ready to go through life once more? And as cynical and doubting as I am, I find myself convincing myself more and more that there is an after life, that I will see Gus again, and even though I know it's hopeless, I still cling to the idea, like a toddler would on their first day of preschool.
But what does happen after death? No one will ever know, for the people who do are way past the point of divulging that information. The unknown sends a shiver down my spine, I am trying not to fear death, to be brave about the ordeal of the inevitable but the truth is that it scares me, I wish it didn't, but it does.
I finally reach Gus' grave after a slow and painful walk, my lungs grappling for what little oxygen my cannulae can supply. I kneel down, onto the hem of my dress, Gus always liked it when I wore a dress. With tears stinging my eyes, I lie the tulips down on the grave, next to the fateful words of remembrance. Crossing my legs, I talk, catching Gus up on the adventures of Isaac and his new gaming addict, on my miracle treatment, on Peter Van Houten's new book, on Patrick's degree, On his sister's announcement, anything I can think of. As I talk, more salty tears spill onto the grey rock, turning it almost a black colour. Eventually, people start flocking into the graveyard like mourning sheep, for the sun has risen now. Not wanting to think of this place as anywhere but mine and Augustus', I end the monologue the same way I do every time, "I love you, okay?" I say, and the same as every other time, I almost expect to hear a faint "okay" whispered through the dirt.