The Cemetery - A true encounter

My mother, Shirley, grew up in a middle class neighborhood in a simpler day. In the 1940’s and 50’s children still went outside to play, and found companionship in each other instead of a computer generated killing spree game. She was lucky enough to have good and loyal friends and a bicycle on which to explore her universe.

Around the corner from the duplex where she lived was a cemetery. A perfect place for her and her mates to ride their bikes without fear of being run over by cars, or chased by dogs. One day she and her friend Marge discovered an open grave; a hole dug for an upcoming burial…surrounded by gravel and mounds of dirt. As an adult, the sight of an open grave brings about a weary sense of our own mortality, but to children, it is just another opportunity to play and explore.

As dusk set, Marge and Mom sat on the edge of the hole, tossing small rocks down inside, and around the nearby monuments. Laughing and pushing each other they gathered handfuls of tiny stones and tossed them gleefully until they realized the sun was low and they had to return home.

Hopping onto their bikes they made their way through the deserted cemetery roads towards the gated entrance. They glanced at each other questioningly as they heard tiny “pinging noises around them. They slowed their bikes and turned their heads just in time to see pieces of gravel, many pieces, zooming towards them from out of nowhere! Turning back toward the road ahead they dodged as unseen assailants tossed fistfuls of rocks and dirt, pelting their backs and arms! They yelled to each other and looked around for the culprits… but none were seen. As they finally pedaled out onto the main street, the stones dropped in the air, and were no more.

As Mom would tell this story, she would always end it by saying that we should always respect the dead… as they demand it.