Small Lies
I needed to think. That meant finding a cemetery. I think better in the quiet of a graveyard. And I know I will be alone with my thoughts, as folks are more respectful of your brooding there. Luckily for me, Mobile has a glut of cemeteries…most of them old and filled with history. Exactly what the doctor ordered, if there were a doctor and he or she had orders for me.
I knew my father was dying, though I wasn’t sure he’d come to that conclusion yet or whether he was just putting on a brave front for us all. I knew as surely as I know my own face in the mirror. I knew the way I always know, and yet this time I also knew that the rest of the family did not know and because of my ‘gift’ they expected me to tell them what I saw coming. But should I? As always, my ‘gift’ felt heavy and more like a ‘curse’.
Eight minutes south and east from the treatment center, driving on autopilot, I came to the Mobile National Cemetery. It was huge, my phone search said it was a little over five acres. Perfect for wandering and thinking, and if I spoke with anyone — it would be the dead — they gave the best advice.
It was hot and muggy, typical for June in Mobile. And when I parked and stepped out of the car, my glasses fogged for a moment. As I stood waiting to become accustomed to the wet heat, the smell of horses wafted over me, from the mounted police stables nearby. The combination made…
