I was wandering around a cemetery on a Saturday because I had nothing better to do. My aunt asked me if I wanted go on her frequent graveyard excursion with her. I agreed out of boredom. “There’s nothing better do to, why not go to a cemetery?” I thought. My aunt is eternally heartbroken over her boyfriend’s sudden death three years ago. She collects pinecones from a tree nearby his plot and keeps them neatly placed in bowl on her coffee table. The pinecones serve no purpose up against the light green color scheme in her living room, yet somehow they bring the room together, making it whole.

Lines and lines of tombstones ride out in all directions before being stopped by a barrier of trees. The graveyard felt not frightening, but sad. I could almost hear the pitter-patter of tears falling onto the tombstones. Deer innocently grazed out along the edges of the cemetery, often picking their heads up to stare at mourning visitors. I wanted to leave my aunt so she could have some time alone with her “ex”-boyfriend. I was kicking rocks and picking wildflowers as I grazed past rows of tombstones, feeling grief for the bodies lying beneath me. I didn’t know a thing about them, yet I could still feel the despair emanating from the ground.

I looked out on the endless headstones and my eyes focused in on something. It was a slab of rock blackened by the grime that collected over years of abandonment. I tip-toed over to it, trying not to make a sound, fearing that if I was too loud maybe someone would wake-up. I kneeled down to inspect this disgrace of what should be a headstone. I shuddered at the thought of nobody ever visiting this grave.

I was compelled by sympathy to clean this grave for whoever lied there. The letters were not understandable due to the layers of grime piled onto the stone. I sauntered over to my aunt and asked for the cleaning supplies that I knew she kept in her trunk. She stared at me before saying anything.

“Sure, but what for?” she inquired.


“Umm, nothing. I just wanted to clean some grave over there,” I said shyly.

“Here are the keys, have fun,” she said as she reached out with the key in hand.

I dashed to the trunk and grabbed the cleaning supplies. I dropped the keys at my aunt’s side and lugged the cleaning supplies over to the grave. I kneeled in front of the stone and began to clean vigorously. After a minute or two, the name Carmela was revealed. Carmela could have been a sweet, kind person, or even a cruel, evil person. It didn’t matter. “A person is a person, alive or lifeless,” I thought to myself. Carmela deserved to have her grave cleaned. So in the end, I was lying next to a perfectly clean grave and surrounded by an array of dirty paper towels, yet I couldn’t help but feel happy.