Tired Holiday Decorations

(Kayla, 1984)

{Look, i know Tom's mama didn't die in 1984. And i feel sort of dumb for writing a story about his mother this way, but i had this idea and by-god, i'm going threw with it.}

By mid-December, Birch Falls store owners had trotted out their tired holiday decorations and the weather cooled to an average of twenty degrees.

"Kayla."

The voice was male, familiar. I wheeled around, and there he was.

"Hey," Tom said.

I just stared at him, my heart thudding, unable to think of a word to say.

"I've been a jerk," he said.

Even more speechless, my mouth hung open.

"Can you come with me?" he asked. "I want to show you something."

I nodded. Truth was, after everything, i'd still follow Tom anywhere.

We left the coffee shop, walked down the hill, and continued across the iron bridge.

Eventually, my heart stopped racing, and a blanket of calm engulfed me. Maybe i'd been through too much to feel tense anymore, or maybe it was something else. Something about Tom relaxed me. I let him take me where he wanted me to go. I let life flow.

We turned left after Big Moe and walked up a dusty road. There weren't many houses around, just dried fields and scrub. Until we came to a clearing. A small, metal arch marked the entrance to a cemetery. The wrought-iron gate was open. It was tiny, nothing like Oakwood Cemetery, and old. Some of the gravestones were so wind whipped you couldn't read who was buried there. Others were brand-new. Tom took my hand. A surge of electricity shot through my whole arm.

He said, "I want you to meet my mom."

Tom led me to a small headstone at the far end of the cemetery.

Squeezing my hand, Tom said, "My mother had cancer."

Bending down to shake the snow off the dried flowers decorating his mother's grave, Tom said, "Mom didn't like fresh flowers. She hated to watch things die."