the girl at the grave.

     They say that when you die, you must go somewhere. Heaven, hell, Nirvana...it's always somewhere. I used to think you'd go to an empty space, no light, just dark solitude forever. I know better now.
    I don't know how I died. Thats the first thing that tends to catch you off guard, is the not-knowing of it all. Where you were, what you were doing, who you were with...the last words you ever spoke. The memory never comes back. Or at least it hasn't for me, and I've been dead for a long, long time. It gets easier, though. At some point you stop thinking about when you died, and you start thinking about how you lived. Everything you'd do differently, and what you wouldn't ever change.
    For a long time, all I thought about was all my last times. Things like...the last time I ordered a coffee. Or went to the grocery store, or saw a movie. What movie was it? What grocery store? Most of it is fuzzy. It was hard at first, to know that I'd never be able to do those things again. I think I cried the first time I thought about ice cream. But after a few years of remembering, most things begin to lose their shine. Was going to the grocery store really that amazing? Do I really miss that? I don't know.
    There are some things I do miss, though. Like food. God, do I miss food. Did you know, even after what feels like hundreds of years, I still remember exactly what it's like to eat a french fry? I miss people too, of course. And beds.
    The thing about death, is you stay where they put you. Someone buried me in this graveyard, and unless someone happens to move whatever remains of my corpse, I have to stay within these walls. I can move freely around here, but if I try to leave the premises? I get booted right back into my little coffin. So, no comfy stay on a mattress for me. I'm doomed to spend forever in this grassy, headstone-cluttered prison.
    But hey- prison has its perks! For one, it's not always totally empty here. Sometimes there are funerals, and with funerals come families. Big groups of people, young and old, celebrating life and missing loved ones. It's sad, of course. But honestly, even sad funeral goers are better than being alone. You don't get a lot of company when you're dead. You'd think I might have a raging social life, what with all the graves here, but despite all the graves...no other ghosts. No other dead girls walking around, waiting to be befriended. It makes me wonder...if they're not here...where are all the other dead people? Is there actually an afterlife that I just...missed? Does it have to do with how I died?
    I try not to think about that. More often than not, I end up spiralling, and that's not a sight you want to see. But I digress.
    I'm here to tell you a story. Might as well make it worth your time. After all, who knows how much time you've got left?
    This story begins with little old me, minding my business as a deceased and brain crushingly bored ghost. Call that a restless spirit. I was wandering, exploring the cemetery like usual, when a girl (an alive girl) walked on to my grave. You can tell when people step on your grave because, well...they're literally standing on you. It's slightly uncomfortable. So I head back to my grave, and I see a girl who looks like she's probably an art student.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm a big supporter of the arts, but art students tend to be the disruptful type. Always going around with cameras and ouija boards and tarot cards, trying to catch a glimpse of the dead. So I was preparing for a very uncomfortable few hours, because let me tell you, this girl looked the part. Dark dyed hair, big earrings, big chunky combat boots. It was a whole thing. However, art girl didn't immediately do anything to disturb the peace. There was the issue of her sitting on my legs, but other than that...nothing. She just pulled out a book and started reading.
I guess my grave isn't a bad spot to relax. I'm right in the corner, I've got the shade of a big elm tree over me most of the time. Well. I figured, she's not bothering me, and even if she was, I wouldn't be able to do much, so...I sat down by her. Far enough so I wasn't sitting on my own grave, but close enough to feel conversational. It was kind of nice, actually. My legs fell asleep eventually, but I didn't mind. I hadn't gotten to just exist with someone in a long time. It almost felt like being alive again. But good things never last long, and art girl had to leave. She packed up her book and left. "Bye!"  I called out after her, "Hope to see you again!" Obviously, she couldn't hear me. But it felt nice.
It was only a few days only days later when I saw her again. This time, she was attending someones funeral. It was a funeral for an old person, maybe a relative she didn't know very well, because she didn't look too sad. She did look uncomfortable though. I could see her talking to some people, maybe her family. They called her Sienna. Nice name, Sienna. When the funeral ended though, instead of leaving with them, she went back to my grave. Weird. Did I know her when I was alive or something? She didn't really look familiar, and I do remember most of the people I knew. Whatever.
Sienna sat down on my grave, only this time before pulling out her book, she put on some music. It was some indie stuff that I don't know, but wow, it was a really nice change of pace to hear literally any song other than Amazing Grace. That crap really gets tiring after awhile.
She sat for a long time that day, listening to music and reading. I just hung out, watching the sky and enjoying the company. This time, when she left, she did something surprising. She reached into her bag and pulled out a single white rose. She left it on my headstone.
Is that like some art kid thing? Leaving flowers on random peoples graves? Or did she actually know me in life, and I just somehow don't remember her. I feel like I would, though, especially if I was important enough to her for her to be leaving me flowers.
I leaned my head down over the rose. Man, that smells good. Most funerals have calla lilies, so the rose was really a nice choice. Maybe she'd leave more next time.
I had to wait for that day, though. It took almost two whole months before I saw Sienna again. At that point it was already November, and the ground was getting hard and cold. Ugh. winter sucks when you're dead. Everything around you starts to look just as lifeless as you are, and you get so, so cold. I hate winter. I've actually only been dead for about six years, but every time I forget how bitterly freezing it really is. I wish I could put on a sweater.
Anyways, Sienna returned to the graveyard in November. She headed straight to my grave and sat down (yes still on my legs). I sat next to her. She looked upset.
"Okay." She said.
I was confused. There was no one else here, and she obviously wasn't talking to me.
"I know no one can hear me." Oh, okay. "But I really need to get this off my chest." Sienna took a few deep breaths. "I was sixteen. There was a deer in the road that night. I wasn't paying attention, I was changing the radio. And I looked up, and standing in front of the car...she was so beautiful. I got so caught up in knowing that she was alive, that all I wanted was not to hurt her. And it only took a fraction of a second, but I swerved. I swerved over the barrier into oncoming traffic, and I hit another car."
I gasped. At this point, I was invested, and worried for Sienna. She kept talking.
"The other driver was alone. She was on her way home from work. She was 20 years old, and her name was Emmaline Jones. She was killed on impact. And I wish, every day that instead of her it was the deer. I was I was paying attention and I could have stopped the car, or that I was just a little more unfeeling and I didn't care so much about a deer, I wish that I had stayed exactly between the lines and I hadn't swerved and I wish Emmaline Jones got to live. I wish she were alive instead of me." Sienna stopped talking.
    All of the sudden, it came rushing back. My name is Emmaline Jones. I was 20 when I died. There was nothing I could've done. It was an accident.
    All the blame I've kept inside is gone. Sometimes things happen and theres nothing we can do. And its not really anyone's fault. I'm just glad to remember. And I'm glad Sienna is okay. I hope she lives a long, long life. And when she dies, as we all must, I'll tell her that I'm so glad she's alright. And I love her. And she didn't have to go on blaming herself for so long. No one deserves to feel the pain of death while they are still living. Everyone deserves to love being alive.
    With the realization of who killed me and what it meant for her, I felt...lighter. Freer. And suddenly...warm. Like Winter just couldn't touch my soul anymore. I closed my eyes, and I was at peace.