Patchwork 23

She is like a dot in the distance. A tiny figure amidst the gray vertical stones, rows and rows of memories and forgotten journeys, stories that were told once and only once. The figure shifted position, dropping to its knees, her back to him. The grass was bright, almost blinding, as far as the eye could see, in the distance more stones, lined up neatly row after row.

His sunglasses blocked out much of the sun. They were an expensive brand. Such a ridiculous purchase, really. He would only lose them in a few days, finding them months later wedged between the front seat and the back door of the car, or left behind in a restaurant or men’s restroom. But, it didn’t matter. He would buy more. And more after that. A vicious cycle.

The sun was blazing, the black exterior color of the sport’s car absorbing all the heat, his back ablaze, stinging from the increasing temperature of the metal. He considered moving, but remained. Sweat beads drizzled down his neck and the backs of his legs, forming large darken stains on his suit pants and jacket. He insisted that he would wear the suit. She said it was too hot, just wear shorts; it didn’t matter anyways.

His head shook no and her eyes just stared. Black into black, two pools of an abyss threatening to swallow the other up, forming one massive entity, god help any creature that encountered its tangible pain and insurmountable undertow.

The figure stood; then removed something from a bag and sat down again. The car engine gurgled and wheezed, liquids and solids shifting and transitioning in the overbearing heat, desperate for a moment’s peace, where it could regroup and think, however never given enough time to grasp its purpose. The tease of an epiphany, almost full grown, the engine rumbling smoothly to life, any chance of understanding lost out to the intelligent mind of a German mechanic.

Another car followed the narrow path towards the east end of the cemetery, stopping near a crowd of plush trees that provided much desired shade. An elderly couple emerged from behind side doors, a bouquet of flowers in hand. The woman seemed to be looking his way. Perhaps she was staring at him, wondering whom he had come to see, if he cared, who he loved, what he wanted out of life.