Going Home

Liam finally found me, lying on the gravesite I had bought for myself two years ago. I had everything ready, the gravestone in a light grey, engraved and decorated. The only thing that was missing was the year of my death and, well, me. 

I lay on the small bit of land, staring up at the sky, the clouds gently wafting past, the leaves rustling in the light breeze. The day was beautiful, but I couldn’t help think about the day I would rest here forever. It was a beautiful place, with many interesting neighbors. I knew instantly that I was going to like it here. About three years ago I came to this cemetery for a funeral of a co-worker. I didn’t know her that well, but I went to pay my respects along with Sue and Julie from the office. I ended up going for a walk in the gravestone garden and felt so at ease; so at home. I found an open space in an older part of the cemetery and it took a lot of saving and sacrifice, a lot of coupons, a lot of going without, and a lot of financial planning just to own my very own 8x5 foot spot of land. I truly believe that it was worth it. The gravestone was just added, a sort of birthday present to myself. 

“Hey there!” he called to me as he passed Victoria Hunt, 1932-1967. I smiled at him. He is so handsome. Brown hair, fashionably styled in the “I don’t care how I look” look, wide smile, bright blue eyes. I sighed. And he’s all mine, I thought to myself. He carefully stepped around Ben Harbinger, 1929-1984, and sat down by my feet. 

“You OK?” he asked. 

I tried not to tear up, but squeaked out a pathetic, “Yes.” 

He patted my bare feet and gave me sympathetic smile. He didn’t say anything. I took a hard swallow and slowly sat up. I curled my feet under my legs and started to pick at the grass. Liam didn’t move. He has been so sweet to me, trying to be understanding of my situation, but he has no idea what I am feeling right now.