My Friend, Death

by Patrick S. Smith

part 1

“I’m sorry I haven’t come to talk to you these last couple of days, Jane,” Owen Dixon said as he knelt down. “The new resident I told you was coming arrived, and the weather hasn’t been the best.” He began pulling weeds out of the ground and tossing them towards the fence.

“The new tenant, Mrs. Tanner, had a right good number of people come to see her. You know, the usual people: family and friends. A lot more friends than I would have expected. Most were respectful of the other residents.” Owen removed his gloves and with bare hands began wiping the dirt and debris from a worn, cracked stone set into the ground, revealing an inscription, “Jane Doe. Died: September 22, 1985. Case: 850924-0627.”

“I’ve only had a chance to introduce myself to her so far, but you know I’ll do what I can to make her comfortable here.” Owen turned his head to look over the cemetery. The red light from the setting sun gave the gravestones a warm glow. From “Pauper’s Corner,” the term the city used to refer to this section of Green Hills Cemetery, he could see where Mrs. Tanner now rested. Her grave was plainly visible in the center of the cemetery due to all the flowers still present. “Haven’t heard when she’ll get her headstone, probably next week.”

Owen put his hand on his knee and stood, looking down at Jane’s headstone. “It has been a long day, so I’ll be going now. I’ll come see you tomorrow. Have a good night.” Turning towards the rest of Pauper’s Corner, he nodded and said, “Good night, everyone.”

Owen walked down the walkway to his home, as the trees that stood just outside the cemetery cast their shadow over his path. He paused and tipped his straw hat towards a deeper shadow and said, “Evening. Come to visit Mrs. Tanner? The gates are closed, so no one should disturb you. You all have a good evening.” He then resumed his trek to his home.

* * *

He arrived at the storage shed attached to his white stucco house and checked the lock before walking around to the other side. He unlocked the door and took off his hat as he walked through the doorway.

Owen’s home was a small, white-walled studio apartment on the cemetery grounds. A desk, chair, dresser and a twin bed were all the furniture in the home. Across from the door was a kitchenette and the doors to his closet and bathroom. Except for a coat rack and an old clock, the walls were bare.

In the dim light from the single window, he reached out and turned on the lamp that was sitting on his desk. The clock, which showed 7:20, greeted him with its rhythmic clicking. He tossed his hat on the bed before going over to the kitchenette, where he pulled the remains of a wrapped-up sandwich and a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

After returning to his desk, he turned on his stereo. While the opening notes of “What a Wonderful World” played, Owen glanced at the computer to find no new emails. He sat down and did his daily paperwork showing where he had mowed that day and removed old flowers. Once he completed his task, he turned his chair so he could prop his feet up on his bed while he ate dinner.

After dinner, he turned back to the computer and pulled up his personal finances. A few clicks later, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Just two more payments,” he said in a whisper to the air. “I just wish I had a name.”

He took his boots off and spun back around to put his feet up again. Leaning back in his chair, he listened to Motown. While the music played, his eyelids crept shut.

Owen bolted upright when he heard a knock at the door. A quick glance at the clock showed it was almost 9:30. He got out of his chair and went to see who was there. Opening the door, he found two individuals at the door that sent a shiver through him.

The shorter one was hanging on her companion’s arm. She was in her early twenties and her stringy, matted blonde hair contrasted sharply against her bright red lips. The dress she wore was a dingy white with several places worn through. The most striking feature about her was her unnaturally white skin that seemed to glow in moon light.

The taller one wore a black robe covering it from head to toe. The hood cast a black shadow over the face, hiding its features.

“Oh, you’ve finally come to visit?” Owen asked.

The woman looked up at her companion.

“You aren’t surprised to see us?” the taller one asked in a deep, hollow voice.

The corners of Owen’s mouth pulled back into a half-smile.

“A little. You can’t be a caretaker at a cemetery for forty years and not recognize death. But I don’t know who your lady friend is. Please come in.” He stepped aside and held the door open.

“Thank you. I’m Bertha,” the short woman said as she released her companion and walked inside.

“You may call me Cerdic,” the robed figure said, following Bertha. The click of Cerdic’s footsteps on the tile floor was the only sound heard.

“Sorry, I only have the one chair, but feel free to sit on the bed. Can I get you some water to drink?”

Cerdic reached up to adjust his hood. As he did, the cuffs of his robe slipped down, uncovering his boney hands. When he moved his hood, he revealed his skeletal face just for a moment. “No, thank you. It will go right through me.”

Bertha turned on Cerdic, her eyebrows furrowed, and the corners of her mouth turned down. “Cerdic, that was bad.” She then faced Owen and said, “You’ll have to excuse him, he was trying to be funny.”

Owen’s face wrinkled into a smile. “I get it. I’ve heard worse. You here for Mrs. Tanner, or me?”

Bertha turned her head away from Owen, while Cerdic reached his arm around her. “In a way, yes,” Cerdic said.

“’In a way?’”

“Yes, we wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done and for being a friend,” Bertha said. “You’ve treated everyone here like they were still alive and made them feel welcome. It made their transitions so much easier.”

Cerdic nodded in agreement. “And you’ve been nice to us. Enough that we consider you a friend, and that’s something that beings like Bertha and myself have far too few of.”

Owen leaned back against the wall. “How did I do that?”

“Just by saying ‘hello’ and inviting us into the cemetery when you passed by us,” Cerdic said.

“I was just talking to myself. Inviting shadows just so I didn’t feel so alone here. It really didn’t mean anything.”

“Then why do you spend so much time here? Why so much time with Jane? And why are you ordering a new headstone for her?” Bertha asked. She stared at Owen as if trying to look at his soul.

“I have my reasons,” Owen said, looking straight back at Bertha. He pushed himself off the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

“Still, we appreciate the gesture,” Cerdic said. “It is nice to have someone who listens sympathetically, even if they don’t hear. Come, Bertha, we shouldn’t keep Mrs. Tanner waiting.” He began ushering her out.

When they reached the door, Bertha turned to face Owen. “It was nice to finally talk to you.”

Cerdic and Bertha exited Owen’s home and closed the door behind them. Owen lifted himself off the wall and snatched the water bottle off the desk. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you two,” he said before he downed the remaining contents. When he was done, he threw the bottle in the recycle bin and lay down on the bed.

* * *

He had just closed his eyes when there was another knock at the door. Owen rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the door to open it.

This time, it was a young redheaded woman wearing ill-fitting jeans and a t-shirt that was thirty years out of style.

“I’m sorry,” Owen greeted the visitor, “the cemetery is closed. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, are you Mr. Dixon?” she asked as she wrung her hands in front of her.

“I am.”

“My name is Laura Preston,” she said. There was an uneasiness in her voice, like she was summoning all of her courage to speak. “Can... Can I talk to you about Jane?”

Owen shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t know any Jane.”

“Jane Doe, up on the hill. Case number 850924-0627.” As she spoke, Owen could see her lips quiver.

“I see. Come back in the morning. I don’t know much about her, but I will tell you what little I know.”

“Please, I don’t have much time. Can you at least tell me why you visit her every day? What is she to you?”

After a heavy sigh, Owen looked over her head into the darkness. All he could see were the headstones on the other side of the gravel road. He relented. “Please, come in.”

She crossed the threshold, and “Unforgettable” started playing on the stereo. Laura closed her eyes and smiled. “If I had to describe you in a song, this is it.”

Owen made a sidelong glance at Laura, watching her sway to the music. “Excuse me?”

Laura turned and faced Owen. Her face looked like she was thinking of something pleasant. “Sorry, I lost myself for a moment. It’s just that in forty years, you are the only living person who has ever come to talk to me and to visit me. I wasn’t a number to you. I was a person, even if you didn’t know my name. Because of you, in all this time, I didn’t feel alone.”

Owen looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “I think I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

“Cerdic and Bertha said I should come and talk to you. They made it so you could see and hear me so we can talk. Nearly every day since they buried me, you’ve come to talk to me, and keep my grave looking nice.”

“Listen, Laura, it’s late, and I’m not up for games.”

“They buried me on the 11th of December, 1985. The next day, you came and told me you didn’t like the fact that there was no one here for me. That night, it snowed, and you cleared my headstone in the morning. Nearly every day since then, you’ve come by and talked to me, to let me know what was going on here.” Her eyes glazed over as she talked. “Every June 27th, you put a cupcake on my grave and sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me.”

Owen stared at Laura with his mouth partially open. When she bit her bottom lip, he rubbed his face in his hands. “It’s turning into a night, Laura. It is good to finally have your real name. Excuse me for one second.” He stepped over to his desk and sat down at his computer.

Laura moved over to his side and looked at the screen. “What is that and what are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m updating your new headstone. Even though I now know your real name, unless I can get documentation to prove it, I have to leave it as ‘Jane Doe.’ But I can add ‘Forever, Laura Preston,’ to it. Do you like it?”

Owen stared at the screen, waiting for a response from Laura. Not hearing anything, he turned and looked at her.

Her entire face had reddened and tears streamed from her eyes.

“What’s wrong, Laura? Don’t you like it?”

“It’s wonderful. But why?”

Owen adjusted himself in his seat and shrugged. “Well, your current stone has seen better days. So I thought I’d get you a replacement. Something that would last longer.”

“No. Why me? Out of all the others in Pauper’s Corner, why me?”

Resting his chin on his chest, Owen said, “Have a seat on the bed, please.” When Laura had done so, Owen reached out and picked up his water bottle. After taking a sip, he put the bottle down and leaned forward to take Laura’s hand.

“I had just started working here when they brought you in. Yours was the first grave I ever cut. There was no one here to say goodbye to you. Just four guys from the morgue and a priest. I felt sorry for you being there that way. I hated it, actually,” he said with a grimace. “So I started talking to you, just to let you know someone was thinking of you. Even if it was a total stranger.”

He let go of her hand and leaned back. “You know what is funny? Talking to you all these years helped me go see Deborah one last time.”

“I heard you mention her a few times. Who is she?”

Owen picked up the water bottle and downed it before continuing. “Deborah was my girlfriend back in the day. We had been at this party by the river with a bunch of people we’d gone to high school with. Things started getting out of hand, so we left early. On the way back to her place, we got into an accident. A drunk driver slammed into us.” As he spoke, his voice started cracking.

Owen leaned his head back and a shudder ran through his body. When he leaned forward, tears were running down his face. “She didn’t want to go to that stupid party. I can still hear her screams when they were cutting her out of the car.” He leaned forward and buried his fists into his eyes.

“She didn’t make it, did she?”

“No.” His body convulsed with his sobs.

Laura slid off the bed and cradled Owen’s head. “I wish we could have talked sooner. Or that you told me this before.”

He looked up at Laura with his tear-streaked face. “What difference would it have made?”

“Your pain wouldn’t have eaten you for so long. Something I learned from you.”

“What do you mean?”

Proceed to part 2...