My finger embraces the trigger as the barrel
presses firmly beneath my chin. The hammer begins to click in preparation to strike the firing pin.
straight black hair and light brown complexion. Mexican or Indian, I’m not quite sure. There’s
a glare in her eyes and it’s clear she’s been crying.
She’s probably been here since the afternoon because it’s cold, yet she only has a t-shirt on.
“Excuse me,” says a voice from behind.
Sudden chill envelopes my body as a sense
of panic sets in.
Who’s behind me?
Does she have any idea my brains were
about to be splattered in her general direction?
Her voice is like… like…
Beethoven, on the piano.
Michelangelo, in the Sistine Chapel.
A Spartan, on the battlefield.
Perfect.
Flawless.
I slide the pistol into the front pocket of my
hoody and try to figure out who this woman is and
why she interrupted my final act. Before I can mutter a syllable--her voice takes over.
“…always had answers for me and told me
what I should do. I always listen and on the most
peaceful of nights I can hear her voice. Whispering
and guiding me in the right direction, telling me
there is rarely a right and wrong decision. ‘There is
no right or wrong,’ she would say. ‘There is just
what you do and you do your best.’ I always thought
that was silly, but…”
“I had no idea anyone else came here at
night. I mean, who decides to spend their Friday
night at a cemetery, right? I don’t come here often,
but when I do I always find peace. Do you come
here often? My Grandma is buried right over there.
She died years ago, but I like talking to her. She
always has the answers I need. When times are
tough and…”
I’m not sure what she’s talking about. She
could be reciting the multiplication table and I
wouldn’t care. I just want to hear her voice.
Does she stop talking?
Who is she?
Where did she come from?
I’ve been here for hours and haven’t noticed
a soul coming or going.
Tears flow from her dark brown eyes. She
crosses her arms and shivers as her body reacts to
the cold.
“Do you have any idea what it feels like to
be so alone? To walk among people and to be in a
crowd of your family and friends, yet you feel so
alone?”
“…for some reason being here allows me to
clear my mind. Maybe it’s the music of the crickets
or the howls of the coyotes. Such amazing animals.
Anyway, so I told my sister he was going to be
problems and…”
Her voice is shaky now. I nod my head ever
so slightly, but can’t bring myself to speak. I move
the cold steel to my jeans pocket and without looking her way, remove my hoody and set it on her lap.
She doesn’t hesitate to put it on, letting the sleeves
drape past her hands, keeping them warm. She sniffles and uses the cuff to wipe some tears away.
Is this woman for real? Is this just another
joke from God?
Real funny.
I reach for my bottle but she finds it first.
Oblivious I was also reaching, she takes in a mouthful of whiskey and sets it back down.
“…family doesn’t understand. Friends don’t
understand. Only Grandma understands.”
“Oh wow that burns. Then I was like, just
drop the loser and focus on school…”
A moment of awkward silence begins.
She sniffles.
Crickets chirp.
Coyotes howl.
I pick at a scab on my hand.
Minutes pass and I break the silence.
What else is she oblivious to? It doesn’t
seem she has any idea about my plan. She definitely
isn’t showing concern for my lack of participation in
her rambling.
“What’s your name?”
“Chamille,”
“I was thinking about getting some pie.”
I decide to glance her way and look at what
I’m dealing with. The moonlight displays her
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