Running Barefoot
Page 59
I needed to get out. I crept around the house and out the front, snagging a book and my bicycle on the way out. I couldn’t ride the baby blue bike of my childhood anymore, but I had a big goofy bike with large round wheels, handlebars like a Texas Longhorn, and a basket on the front. It made me laugh because it looked like something an English lady would ride through the countryside. It suited me. I breathed as I made my escape and pedaled quickly down the road, winding my way down and over to the cemetery. The sun was dipping low in the west, and the breeze was just light enough to be pleasant.
I went to my mom’s grave first, pulling the long grass around the stone and brushing off the stray leaves and debris. I liked the feel of her name beneath my fingers. I talked to her a minute, told her how I was, that I missed her, and then made my way over to Kasey’s headstone. His parents had purchased the biggest marker they could afford - it was glossy and ornate with ‘Our Beloved Son’ centered across the top. They’d had a picture of Kasey embossed in the stone, so that everyone who visited the grave could see the handsome youthfulness smiling from his happy face. You would have to be made of granite not to feel something when you saw him, not to feel the enormous tragedy of our loss. He had been so alive and bright and beautiful . . . and his picture only captured a tiny piece of his magic. It hurt to look at him, and I brushed my hand in regret over his image before walking to the other side where I wouldn’t have to see his face as I read.
I had only been lost in Baroness Orczy’s The Elusive Pimpernel for mere minutes when I saw him approaching. Samuel made his way respectfully through the headstones, never stepping over, walking around and down as he made his way to me. I remembered what his grandmother had taught him about anything associated with the dead being somewhat feared among the Navajo. I didn’t know if that was true so much anymore, but wondered at Samuel coming here all the same.
He stopped when he was a few feet away. I sat on the east side of Kasey’s marker, sheltered from the sun. Samuel was facing the setting sun and had to turn his face a little to look at me. He squatted down and found relief in the shade of the monument. I thought he would ask me if I were okay or one of those things that people usually say when nothing else seems appropriate. Instead he just sat with me, not speaking, looking around at the stones, embracing the quiet. It was I who finally spoke.
“That was a little strange back at the house.” I struggled to find words to explain without assuming an interest he may not feel. “I was engaged to Lorraine and Brent’s son Kasey. He was killed in a car accident three weeks before our wedding. It’s been over four years, but for them, and sometimes for me, it seems like yesterday.”
“My grandmother told me.” He didn’t expound further, and I wondered what exactly Nettie had told him and when. I decided it didn’t matter.
“My father’s buried here. Right over there.” He pointed back in the direction he had come. “My grandparents brought me to see his grave when I first came here eleven years ago. I’d never seen it before. I’ve never been back until today.” The silence was heavy around us.
“Does it make you feel better to come here?” He asked solemnly, his black eyes bottomless as they trained in on my own.
I started to answer in the affirmative, and then couldn’t. I didn’t know if I felt better when I came here. Often I felt fresh pain and a sense of timelessness that kept me rooted in the past. My mother’s grave had once been a quiet place for comfort and reflection. I didn’t know if Kasey’s resting place provided the same solace. Guilt had my stomach churning, and I wished Samuel had not come here.
“What do you mean?” My voice was a little sharp, and I bit my lower lip in censure.
Samuel stood and walked around Kasey’s grave. He looked into Kasey’s smiling visage without reaction. “Do you feel better when you come here?” He questioned me again.
No. “Yes,” I lied. “I like the quiet.” That was true, at least.
“There is quiet, and there is too much quiet,” Samuel said cryptically.
I waited for him to continue, but he stood still, looking again at Kasey’s picture.
I climbed to my feet, grumpily brushing the grass and twigs from the colorful skirt Tara had brought me back from her vacation to Mexico earlier in the summer.
“Did you love him very much?”
Okay, now I was irritated. Samuel regarded me openly, unmoving. The way he held himself was so still, so contained. He never seemed to breath, his only movement was the blink of his ebony eyes. He had always had that stillness. I wondered if his training had made it even more pronounced. He definitely didn’t have any scruples about asking very pointed questions. I don’t think that had anything to do with the training. That was just Samuel.
I picked up my book and started making my way towards where I had left my bike. He followed me; I could see him peripherally. He moved so quietly that if I didn’t know he was there, I never would have heard him. I wondered how he had gotten to the cemetery. I couldn’t exactly give him a ride back home on my bike. Memories of him pedaling the two of us home all those years ago when I’d sprained my ankle rose unbidden to my mind. I quickly replaced the image with one of Samuel stuffed in my flowered bicycle basket. It made me feel a little better.
“Did you walk?” I questioned him now.
“I rode.” He indicated with his head towards the grassy shoulder of the dirt road where a chestnut mare nibbled contentedly.
I went to my mom’s grave first, pulling the long grass around the stone and brushing off the stray leaves and debris. I liked the feel of her name beneath my fingers. I talked to her a minute, told her how I was, that I missed her, and then made my way over to Kasey’s headstone. His parents had purchased the biggest marker they could afford - it was glossy and ornate with ‘Our Beloved Son’ centered across the top. They’d had a picture of Kasey embossed in the stone, so that everyone who visited the grave could see the handsome youthfulness smiling from his happy face. You would have to be made of granite not to feel something when you saw him, not to feel the enormous tragedy of our loss. He had been so alive and bright and beautiful . . . and his picture only captured a tiny piece of his magic. It hurt to look at him, and I brushed my hand in regret over his image before walking to the other side where I wouldn’t have to see his face as I read.
I had only been lost in Baroness Orczy’s The Elusive Pimpernel for mere minutes when I saw him approaching. Samuel made his way respectfully through the headstones, never stepping over, walking around and down as he made his way to me. I remembered what his grandmother had taught him about anything associated with the dead being somewhat feared among the Navajo. I didn’t know if that was true so much anymore, but wondered at Samuel coming here all the same.
He stopped when he was a few feet away. I sat on the east side of Kasey’s marker, sheltered from the sun. Samuel was facing the setting sun and had to turn his face a little to look at me. He squatted down and found relief in the shade of the monument. I thought he would ask me if I were okay or one of those things that people usually say when nothing else seems appropriate. Instead he just sat with me, not speaking, looking around at the stones, embracing the quiet. It was I who finally spoke.
“That was a little strange back at the house.” I struggled to find words to explain without assuming an interest he may not feel. “I was engaged to Lorraine and Brent’s son Kasey. He was killed in a car accident three weeks before our wedding. It’s been over four years, but for them, and sometimes for me, it seems like yesterday.”
“My grandmother told me.” He didn’t expound further, and I wondered what exactly Nettie had told him and when. I decided it didn’t matter.
“My father’s buried here. Right over there.” He pointed back in the direction he had come. “My grandparents brought me to see his grave when I first came here eleven years ago. I’d never seen it before. I’ve never been back until today.” The silence was heavy around us.
“Does it make you feel better to come here?” He asked solemnly, his black eyes bottomless as they trained in on my own.
I started to answer in the affirmative, and then couldn’t. I didn’t know if I felt better when I came here. Often I felt fresh pain and a sense of timelessness that kept me rooted in the past. My mother’s grave had once been a quiet place for comfort and reflection. I didn’t know if Kasey’s resting place provided the same solace. Guilt had my stomach churning, and I wished Samuel had not come here.
“What do you mean?” My voice was a little sharp, and I bit my lower lip in censure.
Samuel stood and walked around Kasey’s grave. He looked into Kasey’s smiling visage without reaction. “Do you feel better when you come here?” He questioned me again.
No. “Yes,” I lied. “I like the quiet.” That was true, at least.
“There is quiet, and there is too much quiet,” Samuel said cryptically.
I waited for him to continue, but he stood still, looking again at Kasey’s picture.
I climbed to my feet, grumpily brushing the grass and twigs from the colorful skirt Tara had brought me back from her vacation to Mexico earlier in the summer.
“Did you love him very much?”
Okay, now I was irritated. Samuel regarded me openly, unmoving. The way he held himself was so still, so contained. He never seemed to breath, his only movement was the blink of his ebony eyes. He had always had that stillness. I wondered if his training had made it even more pronounced. He definitely didn’t have any scruples about asking very pointed questions. I don’t think that had anything to do with the training. That was just Samuel.
I picked up my book and started making my way towards where I had left my bike. He followed me; I could see him peripherally. He moved so quietly that if I didn’t know he was there, I never would have heard him. I wondered how he had gotten to the cemetery. I couldn’t exactly give him a ride back home on my bike. Memories of him pedaling the two of us home all those years ago when I’d sprained my ankle rose unbidden to my mind. I quickly replaced the image with one of Samuel stuffed in my flowered bicycle basket. It made me feel a little better.
“Did you walk?” I questioned him now.
“I rode.” He indicated with his head towards the grassy shoulder of the dirt road where a chestnut mare nibbled contentedly.
