Friends (a short story inspired by Beth Marshall's photo)

"This is the kind of place that they build houses on without removing the bones." Harold said. "They wouldn't care about the history. The stories. They wouldn't even care if any ancestors had any complaint." 

Frank laughed,  "You don't have any ancestors."

"I could have! I had plenty of fun back in the war days. Different gal in every town, I had."

"No you didn't. And whores don't count!"

Harold frowned, "I was a handsome fellow back then, you know. All the ladies said so. I didn't need to pay."

"Fellow? You were never a fellow! And if the women were in a bar and you bought them a drink, you paid."

Harold lent back against the cold of the gravestone, a piece of grass bobbing up and down as he chewed one end. The view here was beautiful. The green fields of Ohio spread out before him, forests of oak and hickory behind. "This here graveyard ain't a bad spot to be buried. It's peaceful here."

Frank jumped down off another gravestone and patted the dust off his backside. "It's too damn quiet here. Nothing happens."

"That's the whole point. A nice peaceful place to see out eternity."

"Eternity is a damned long time. All kinds of stuff could happen here in eternity. They might build a new city, or something."

Harold rubbed the growth on his chin and spat out the grass. "Eve would have liked it here. She'd have wanted a farm with some chickens. The woman had a thing about keeping chickens."

"Eve died a very long time ago, Harold." Frank was sympathetic, but always a realist.

"I know she did."

"Its just you and me now. Two old crumpled up men with nothing better to do than chew grass and sit on cold stone."

Harold smiled, "Couldn't think of anyone better to do nothing with, my friend."

The two old friends fell silent, watching a single black bird circle the field before coming to land very close to them. It cocked it's head as it took in the two old men and then, unperturbed by their presence, began to forage through the grass. Frank asked, "is it noon yet?"

Harold looked back up to the sky. "No. Not yet. Another few minutes." He took a few steps toward the bird, which instantly took flight from his path. "Did I ever tell you about the day I met Eve?"

Frank planted himself on the ground, lent back against a stone, and tipped his hat to shade his eyes. He'd heard this story before, but was willing to listen to it again.

"She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. Chicken under one arm and a shotgun in the other. She wasn't going to shot it. She'd just managed to save the poor thing from the clutches of young Hank Willis who was trying to steal it. The gun was merely to frighten the hell of him. She said he'd pissed his pants, but I'm not sure that was true." Harold smiled at the memory. "A piece of her blond hair had fallen out of it's bun, and the sunlight made it shimmer next to her cheek." He bent down to pick up a stone a threw it far into the field. "I fell in love at first sight. I would have done anything for her. I asked her to marry me before I went off to the war. She said yes," he grinned. "I used to bring her here. Away from everything. We made love under the oak yonder." He pointed to the huge tree at the edge of the forest.

Frank frowned, "Remind me never to sit there."

But Harold hadn't heard him. He was too busy swimming in the memories of his mind, remembering the curve of her body and the sunlight on her skin. "I loved her completely." he said.

Another period of silence. Eventually, "I signed up for the war. Joined the army and went off to fight. When I came back, she was different somehow. Like she was tired. The war had effected everything, even those that didn't fight."

Frank nodded his agreement.

"But we were together again, and it was all good. I'd been unfaithful to her while I was away, but she understood and didn't seem to care. She knew that I loved her, and only her. She told me that we would always be together, and that she would never leave me."

"She didn't have a choice when she did go, Harold. The sickness didn't let her stay."

"I know."

"You know, and yet every time I hear this story, you say it like she let you down by dying."

Harold sighed, "I just thought she'd come and find me."

Frank stood up as the sun edged up toward midday. "They'll be here again soon. Any time now."

Harold nodded, and looked away, but Frank saw the tear that had fallen down his friends cheek. "You can't wait for her forever."

And as if by cue, the light came for them, shining its magic and singing it's beautiful music. Frank couldn't help but smile at it's beauty. "They come for us every day, Harold. Every day, they want us to go with them. It's time."

Harold turned to his friend, the tears falling freely now, "I think perhaps I'll wait for just one more day for her. She'll come and find me. I know she will."

"She may already be over there, Harold."

"But what if she isn't?"

Frank looked to the light, to the warmth and the love and peace. Then, placing his arm around the shoulder of his dearest friend, he said, "Then if it's okay, friend, I'll wait another day with you." How many thousands of days had he already said that?

Harold wiped away his tears and smiled, "I'd like that, Frank. Thank you."

And as the light faded away and the sun moved past midday, the ghosts of two friends faded into the grey of the gravestones.