Ghosts ✔

067 • Fye/Juice

A year after Dana's funeral

Fye felt ashamed of the butterflies occupying her stomach. A cemetery was no place to fall in love – and nevertheless it had happened. She had never spoken to him. She however knew he sat down at the grave of a young woman every Wednesday night. Whether it was his sister or his girlfriend, she didn't know. 

It felt wrong to keep coming here. Her father's grave was no longer the only reason she visited this place; each week she caught herself hoping to get a glimpse of the biker. She even walked along the grave on purpose. 

Not that he ever looked up. He was always staring forward, sometimes drinking, sometimes getting high. Always with a heartbreaking, lost expression on his face. It made her want to sit down next to him, to cuddle him. 

She however never dared to come closer. 

Today it was raining. With an umbrella above her head she was standing at her father's grave, staring at the letters carved into the stone. The flowers she had laid down a week ago, were the only ones decorating his final resting place. Nobody else came around. Her sister didn't want to visit the grave, neither did her mother. 

After some time, the cold crept into her body and she turned away from the grave. She took her usual detour towards the exit. Despite the rain he was sitting there. His head bent, giving a clear sight on the tattoos on his scalp. Drops of water ran down his face, his clothes soaked. He didn't seem to care, as if being chased away by the rain was a way to dishonor the one he was mourning. 

Fye took a deep breath. Come on. Go to him. It's only getting creepier if you wait. The gravel grind underneath her shoes as she started to move again. In silence, she sat down next to him, holding the umbrella above their heads. 

He turned his head to the side, then he stared forward again. 

Fye listened to the raindrops falling on the umbrella. His cramped hands told her how cold he felt and she took a bottle of vodka from her bag. After unscrewing the cap, she held out the bottle. 

At first she thought he was going to ignore her, then he hesitantly took the bottle and took a gulp. 

They didn't speak to each other. She thought he liked the quiet – as did she. 

. . .

The next week she took flowers for the girl he was mourning. Again she sat down next to him – just because she hoped it would comfort him. 

"Why are you doin' this?" he asked after at least ten minutes. His voice sounded rough, like he hadn't spoken in days. 

Fye bent her head. It had just been a matter of time before he would ask that question. "I often feel lonely when I visit my father's grave, making me wish someone was with me. Not necessarily to have someone to talk to – just... someone's presence."

He was silent again, twisting one of his many rings. 

"Who is she?" she carefully asked a little later. "Your girlfriend?"

"My fiance." He didn't look at her, but nodded to the side. "And my daughter's lyin' there."

Fye looked to the side and saw the small grave. The dates of death weren't the same. She wondered if the mother hadn't been able to deal with the loss of her child, but she didn't dare to ask. 

Next time she would bring flowers for the little girl too. 

. . .

Juice felt his heart beat faster at the sound of the crunching gravel. It confused him. Their contact was simply bizarre – although she had kept him company at Dana's grave for at least four weeks now, they hadn't said much to each other. He didn't even know her name.