My Sanctuary

I walked straight with my head down, keeping to myself. I looked like I just came out from a garbage bin. My jacket’s tattered, the color of my shirt faded, the shoes on my feet devoid of the rubber strength, and I’m wearing my only pair of pants in years. I just kept my hood down and stayed away from the parts of the park that had people. Despite my mood, it was a lovely day. A cool breeze was in the air and the grass was at its greenest. I didn’t wanna ruin the scenery with my dirty self so I decided to head for the southern exit and go someplace else, maybe the cemetery. I didn’t know what to do today so might as well hang with the eternally silent. I’ve been there a million times and it already felt like home but I didn’t leave any signs of my presence. If I did, I would be self obliged to maintain and keep up the place and maybe go home to it. No, I wouldn’t want that. Freedom was the aim of my emancipation and I don’t want to claim any territory.
As I pushed open the rusty wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, I instantly felt a sort of calm and peace. Others would describe it as an eerie sensation you feel because of the misconception that the souls of the dead wander here. It’s just because of the silence and solitude that this place gives you. In here, where a lot of emotional energy is stored, I find my sanctuary. I pass through the tombs and gravestones and head towards the southeast part of the cemetery where there is a big old oak tree. I’ve been there before but not all of the time when I come here. I make it a point to go to different areas. It’s also the easiest tree to climb with the best view. There are a few gravestones beneath the tree but no one ever visits in that part of the cemetery. As I came nearer, I could see that the oak is in its best shape as it should during this early spring time. I became excited to climb my old friend. I quickened my pace and when I reached the foot of the tree, I began assessing the best place to wedge my foot in so I could hoist myself up. After I reached the first level of branches, I began climbing carefully up until I could see the whole scenery before me. I found a part where I could relax, put my foot up and not fall over. I closed my eyes, feeling so calm and listened to the sounds around me. Birds are singing, leaves and branches swaying to the rhythm of the soft breeze and a few slightly noisy critters that hide among the greenery. Listening to the sound of my breathing I began to drift into a relaxed state, the place right before you go into your nap. I hate time and memories but I’m here, at a place of history and emotions, not knowing who was buried down there and what they meant to the persons they left behind. Beneath, in all those graves and tombs, lie the remains of people, of persons who used to have lives, dreams, and feelings. I’m quite sure that the tombs in these part get a very few visitors. It’s already crowded here that no one gets buried here anymore and that everywhere you step there’s bound to be bones six feet under. Unlike the western part, where there are burials almost every day, you barely see flowers or candles on the tombs. No one famous is buried here, maybe a few former soldiers and there’s a poet. The oldest buried here, as far I as I know, are those who are buried underneath the shadow of this tree. They were one of the first settlers of the city, obviously foreign and the most neglected.
A few minutes into my silent reverie the gates creaked. I opened my eyes and sat up, looked around. I listened to any sign or noise. Then there it was, sounded like someone was coming this way. You couldn’t here the footfalls because of the soft grass and ground but I could here what this person was carrying, plastic. The sound seemed to be coming closer so I decided to stay very still and see where this visitor was heading. At first, I couldn’t see clearly because the person was crisscrossing through the tombstones. All I could see was a backpack, a plastic indeed, red t-shirt, and a cap. After a few seconds, I saw that it was a woman. She has short hair and was covered by her cap. When she saw the oak tree from a distance, a look of relief was on her face. She looked down on a piece of paper on her hand. It looked like a map or something. She began making her way to where the tree was. I was more than halfway up so it wasn’t probable she would see me right away but still I kept very still. She stopped a few feet from the tree and scanned the graves in front of her. She read the engravings on the tombstones and stopped at the third grave in the row. She knelt down, brushed off the dust and dirt and read the inscriptions more carefully. Satisfied with what she saw, she pulled out two candles and a flower bouquet. She lighted the candle, placed them on either side of the tombstone and placed the flowers in the middle. She was silent the whole time. Then slowly, she bowed her head and seemed to be saying a silent prayer. She was oblivious to the two pairs of eyes observing her from above.