“You aren’t scared, are you?” Jen
asked.
“No, of course not,” was the dismissive and
slightly offended reply.
“Are you sure?” Jen persisted. “Graveyards
at midnight aren’t the safest place, you know.”
An echoing wind whistled throught he dark cemetery, sounding
almost like ethereal moans.
“I’m not scared,” was the answer that
came again, though this time half-a-beat too fast.
Jen snickered.
Jenna Michaels was one of the only two living people sitting
under a huge oak tree in a chilly cemetery awash in moonlight.
The boy beside her, Andrew Sinclair, was scowling, wishing
he could be anywhere but that graveyard. He’d be happy
even if it was another graveyard. He just didn’t like
this one.
“This is stupid,” he spat. “Why did
you dare me to come here?”
He glared at the person who was little more than a stranger
to him, who he had made only a half-hearted attempt to
know. He remember when she first moved here to his little
home town. It was just her and her mother, no father in
sight, and anyone who asked about the missing parent was
given a vague, unspecific answer. Soon nearly all the
school kids were laughing at her missing father and teasing
her mercilessly. She had done nothing herself to help
her reputation, being overly tough, nearly a bully. There
wasn't a single person who wanted her around, so she was
left to stay off by herself during breaks and to sit partially
isolated in the class. Andrew had felt some pity for her,
actually stopping to say ‘hi’ to her when
he walked by. He asked her to play with him and the other
kids at lunch; and he didn’t, like the others, pretend
that she was an invisible person who wouldn’t mind
being ignored. And how did she pay him back? By daring
him to an eerily silent graveyard that he never wanted
to enter again? Served him right for going out of his
way to be helpful.
Jen tilted her head, her auburn hair falling loose from
behind her ear, and she turned her grey-eyed gaze directly
at Andrew. In response to his question, she said, “You
know, just because the kids at school pretend I’m
invisible, doesn’t mean that I never notice things.
You used to be such a great person. Then your dad died
saving that kid, and now it’s like you have a grudge
against the world. Everyone thinks it’s ‘cuz
you’re scared of his ghost.”
Andrew knew he shouldn’t lose his temper; he never
used to before. But he did.
“Acting strange?! How would you be able to tell if
I’m acting strange? You barely know me!” he
burst out, anger colouring his pale face. “And, there’s
not such thing as ghosts either. People who are dead stay
dead!” Then, more quietly, “They don’t
ever come back.”
A soft rain began to fall, somber clouds masked the
bright moon. Throughout the graveyard was the sound of
spattering water on the hundreds of tombstones and the
leaves of the lone oak.
Andrew didn’t hear Jen say anything, and if she
did, he didn’t care. All he could do was stare out
into the drumming rain as painful memories washed over
him, like they had so many times before. How, three months
ago, his dad was awakened in the middle of the night by
a call from some unknown district about a fire two towns
over, started by vandals. The man on the other end of
the line explained that the building ablaze was massive,
and that all available firefighters were needed to stop
it.
So Constable Richard Sinclair of the Mellowbrook Fire
Department rushed out with barely a kiss to his wife and
son, off to do his duty. By the time Andrew had opened
his mouth to say goodbye, his father was already out the
door; the sedan in the driveway was already starting up.
With his mother, Andrew stayed up the rest of the night,
anxiously watching the TV for any news of the fire. Though
he tried to ignore it, he was eaten away inside by the
fact that, unlike every other time his father left to
battle a fire, this time Andrew didn’t say goodbye.
The next day, in the late afternoon, after an awful
day of impatient waiting and mind numbing nervousness,
Andrew finally heard the sedan pull into the driveway.
He rushed out of the door, running to meet his dad - and
stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that it wasn’t
his father coming out of the car. Instead, it was a man
he hadn’t seen before, a man with a sad, weary look
on his face.
Right then, Andrew knew.
He knew, with a certainty that terrified him, that his
father wasn’t coming home. He knew he was never
going to see his dad again. Never, ever again, except
in a coffin.
The man, the stranger, was saying something to his mother.
“Richard was a great man...a hero...went back and
saved a little baby girl’s life...didn’t make
it himself.”
Andrew didn’t listen. One thing, and only one thing,
was going through his mind:
He didn’t say goodbye.
The one time where it really counted, he didn’t
say goodbye.
And now his dad was in this cemetery, surrounded by hundreds
of dead people just like him.
Slowly, painfully, Andrew pulled himself back to reality,
back to the rain-soaked cemetery, to realise Jen was waiting
for him to say something. So he asked what he had been
wondering about for some time.
“Why do you care so much?” he asked. “Of
all the people who noticed, how come you alone cared enough
to actually do something?”
Jen looked away. In a quiet voice, she said, “Because
you used to be a really great person. When I moved here,
you were the only person who actually talked to me. Then
your dad died, and you stopped caring about everything.
You stopped talking to me, too, and I didn’t like
that. So I dared you to come here to visit your dad's
grave, so you can move on with your life."
As quietly as it had come, the rain stopped, leaving
a faint, tangy, mildewy smell in the air. The clouds thinned,
and moonlight shone again. Andrew spoke, almost whispering,
and Jen had to lean in to hear him.
“I never wanted to come back here. I don’t even
know why I took this bet. Dead things scare me. Really scare
me.”
“So you’re not going to visit his grave?”
Jen asked, incredulous.
“What’s the point?” Andrew retorted.
Another cloud shifted, and moonlight shone from a new
angle, illuminating the faces of the two kids.
“To give him the respect a guy like him deserved,”
was her explanation, “and to say goodbye. I bet
you never really got a chance for that.”
Andrew brought his knees up and rested his chin on them.
Did Jen know how hard that had hit home?
“I’ll think about it,” he said. With
his face seen more clearly in the moonlight, Jen caught
a glimpse of a tear running down his cheek.
They sat for twenty minutes, then suddenly, decisively,
Andrew stood up. He began moving his thin, worn frame
in the direction of his father’s grave.
Jen caught up with him and asked, “So, you are
going to see it?”
Andrew kept looking ahead with sad determination. The
soft, pale moonlight outlined exactly where he was going,
right down to the rise and fall of the ground beneath
him. But it also gave his face a gaunt, bony cast, making
him look like skeleton walking in the graveyard.
“I have to,” he said. “After I leave
this place tonight, I’m never, ever coming back.
But, you’re right. I need closure. I need to get
past this. The only way I can is to go now.”
He stole a glance at Jen. Was she proud, impressed? Or
scornful? Bemused, maybe? And why did he care what she
thought?
Halfway up the many rows of somber grave markers, Andrew
stopped, so suddenly that Jen took a few more steps before
she realised she was walking alone.
“We’re here,” he whispered. Jen moved
back to stand beside him. They were facing a large, grey
tombstone that looked no different from the multitude
surrounding it. Andrew thought it has been darker before.
But that could have been the light from the full moon
resting on it now, painting it silvery, almost whitish
tone, that made it seem so pale now.
Etched into the stone in dark black were the words that
identified the man resting forever at this spot:
RICHARD SINCLAIR
1968 - 2001
AN HONOURABLE AND OUTSTANDING MAN
WHO DIED IN SERVICE TO HIS COMMUNITY
BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER
MAY HE REST IN PEACE
Andrew shook his head as he read those words. They weren’t
nearly enough to describe the greatness of his father.
He realised there were hot tears running down his cheeks,
cooled only by a whispering breeze winding through the
cemetery.
“Why did he have to die?” Andrew choked
out, feeling as if his chest was ripping apart.
“Everything happens for a reason,” Jen said
quietly. “Who knows? Maybe the kid your dad saved
will change the world someday.”
Andrew nodded, tears blurring the sight of his father’s
tombstone. He took a breath and into the quiet of the
night, he whispered, “Goodbye, Dad.”
Then, “I love you.”
The words, full of emotion and choked with heartache,
hung in the air. The cemetery, air thick with the stale
odour of death, held its breath for an eternity; then
it exhaled in a sigh of relief.
After a while, Andrew exhaled, too. He straightened what
he thought would be his permanently hunched back, making
him seem taller, more approachable than before. For the
first time in a long time, a small smile cracked on his
thin face.
“Jenna, thank you,” he said. “If you
hadn’t dared me to come here, I never would have
been able to get over Dad’s death. I think I can
maybe move on, now.”
Jen gave a shy smile, and Andrew saw the moonlight accent
her high cheek bones and grey eyes.
“You’re welcome,” she said simply.
“Can we please leave, now?” Andrew asked. “This
place really creeps me out!”
Jenna gave a small laugh, and the two kids walked back
down the cemetery path, in the shining moonlight.
