Desperation

He was in the cemetery. The moon was half full and not providing much light. She had asked to be buried away from the city so he couldn’t count on the light pollution. He didn’t remember how he got here. He had taken off his headphones when he got out of the car and shoved them into his back pocket. He had blared her song and openly sobbed, occasionally wiping away the tears and snot. 


He definitely should not have driven. He probably shouldn’t be walking. The world was on a slight curve. He opened and shut his eyes a few times and when the world continued its rolling tilt, he shrugged and stumbled backward. He caught himself on something that felt like stone, rough and cold to the touch. When he was mostly upright, he looked down to see what saved him. It was a headstone. He jerked his hand back as though it had been burned. This caused him to stutter step backwards and with nothing to save him this time he fell into the dirt. 

The grass beneath him felt wet and made his hands itch. He swore and pulled himself up,  stumbling again once his feet were back under him.  He caught himself on the headstone again. He didn’t want to touch it but quickly made peace with this idea so he didn’t end up face down in the wet grass. He leaned against the gravestone. He wasn’t sure what the exact time was only that it was definitely night-time. Possibly early morning. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone. His eyes winced at the brightness. He moved it away from his face and the numbers on the lock screen swam in and out of focus. He knew how to fix this. He put his phone on top of the headstone. He reached into his cargo pants pocket. These were his favorite pair of pants for this exact reason. They had two large rectangular pockets a couple of inches above his knees. He reached down to the left and pulled up on the velcro flap that sealed the pocket. Inside his hand closed around a plastic bottle top. He lifted the pint bottle up and out. He held the bottle in the moonlight. Brown liquid lined the bottom. He turned the bottle sideways and watched the liquid pool in the corner. Maybe a half a shot. Maybe. 

He twisted off the cap and emptied the contents into this mouth. The whiskey was warm and sour. It made him gag a little. He instinctively tucked his right thumb into his hand and squeezed it. He had read somewhere that this would help with nausea. He was able to keep the shot down. He tucked the empty bottle back into his pocket without closing either. He felt around for his phone and found it, nearly knocking it off the headstone. He brought it up to his face and gazed dumbly at the image blazing out at him. He had set her picture as the lock screen. She stared at him from behind numbers he didn’t bother to read. After a minute or so his eyes caught what he was looking for, the flashlight icon. He pressed it and light spilled down the front of the headstone and illuminated the grass.

He steadied himself and brought the phone up. He clicked off the lock screen so the only light was shining in front of him. After steadying himself he made his way uneasily forward. He had not been here since the service. That was a few months ago. The day had been nothing but sad faces and forgettable words. It had been a day filled only with the pain of loss. It created a hole in his heart. He had filled that hole time and again. Some days with sadness. Some days with anger. Most days with whiskey. This was one of those days. Using his phone, he swept across the tombstones and random flowers. He tried to walk between the graves, making an invisible path. There was something about walking directly over the bodies that unnerved him. Even in the state he was in.

He walked this way for some time, trying to stay in his path, failing a few times. He felt a tinge of unease wash over him when his foot landed on a grave plot. Finally, he found what he was looking for. 

He didn’t need to read the headstone. In fact he refused to. That was too much. The gathering of marigolds around the grave was all he needed to know he was in the right place. There were no other flowers. No roses, tulips, or even baby’s breath in between. It was a small sea of marigolds that covered the bottom of the headstone and most of the grave itself. These were his mother’s favorite flowers. He shined his flashlight and looked them over. Some looked brand new while others were withering. He had noticed some had died. He reached down to pick up the dead flowers and then toppled forward striking the ground face first.

His head felt woozy and he pushed himself back, landing on his backside. His legs extended in front of him. He reached to his right this time and into the other large pocket. He pulled out a second pint bottle. He felt the sealed top and grinned. He enjoys the weight of the full bottle and its promise to keep his buzz going strong. He unscrewed the top and took a swig. More warm whiskey and this time he squeezed his left thumb hard. He felt his throat lock but he powered it down. He let out a gasp which made him cough. The whiskey burned his throat and tears sprung to his eyes. Nausea threatened to ruin all his hard work to keep the whiskey down, which a rising sense of panic made worse. His mouth flooded with watery whiskey. His cheeks bulged and he swallowed hard. His mouth emptied and all the burning fluid retreated down his throat. He felt the contents of the bottle slosh over his fingers. A jolt of anger ripped through him. His stupid body was fighting him but he needed this. He looked into the sky, coughing still, trying to quiet his entire body. The burn of the liquor seared his throat. His eyes freely shed tears. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat that way, coughing, his eyes turning to focus on the pint bottle. He willed his hand not to spill any. As the coughing ceased and the burn gave way to a raw feeling in his throat, he searched around in the flowers for the bottle cap. He had dropped it during his fit and felt relief when he found it. He placed the cap back on the top and a sense of relief filled him as the bottle slid back into his pocket. It was safe now. No more worrying about wasting any more. Truth be told he still had a couple of airplane bottles on him. He thought. He also had the very last of a handle of rum in his trunk. This all brought a smile to his face. Now he could return to the matter at hand.  He had enough liquor in him for the next part. He was also out of shame after taking a header on the grave. 

He crawled backward and made his way uneasily to his feet. When he was standing at the base of the grave; he pulled out his phone and opened the web page he had saved. This is what motivated him to make a midnight run the cemetery. His brow furrowed as he tried to read the words in front of him. He had never spoken latin in his life. Which made sense, it was a dead tongue. He chuckled a little at that given what this spell was supposed to do. He licked his lips and ran down the page, reading deliberately and pronouncing every word. He said them slowly and they felt like gibberish leaving his mouth. He wasn’t sure how he sounded and he did not care. He was going to get to the end of this and see what happened. He was so tired of feeling the pain and loss everyday. Seeing her number in his phone on the birthdays and holidays that rang hollow. He was tired of grief ruling his emotions. He would will this to work. 

He reached the end of the spell and lowered his phone to his side. He looked intently at the patch of flowers in front of him. He glared at the bottom of the headstone, at the spot just below her name but above the empty places he had dug when he stood up earlier. Tears began to flow and misery forced his eyes shut. A whimper escaped his lips. He had to tried to fight against the feelings of despair and stupidity that seized him then. He looked down at the phone is his hand, his desperate mind considering another attempt. He illuminated the lock screen again and her face was before him once more. The picture was a couple of years before she passed. Her brown eyes were bright and full of life. Her head was titled slightly with her raven hair flowing down to her shoulders. Her bright smile lit up the entire photo. She was the not the sad, sallow person she became before she passed. In sudden anger he flicked open the settings and punched the flashlight icon that then thrust him back into darkness. Tears again and this time, he sobbed violently. 

“I….miss you…so….much” he managed the words jagged and rasped. 

He closed his eyes and let his body go limp. His collapse felt slow. It didn’t hurt when it finally hit the ground. He lay there, weeping, feeling the wet grass and rough dirt beneath him. In time, his sobs slowed as did his breathing. His tears dried and he was laying on his back looking at the moon. And then he was suddenly bathed in light. 

He sat up quickly and saw a that bright light pierced the darkness and was heading toward him. His heart raced and the smallest of hope rose in his chest. Did it work? Was it her? All that he wished to say and everything that had happened since her passing came rushing to him. The light drew closer and he tried to make his way back up to his feet. 

Then he heard the footsteps that accompanied the light and his heart sank again. 

“Hey Buddy! What the Hell are you doing out there?” Came a gruff voice came from behind the light. 

He could say nothing. The voice came again, this time softer, the words filled with pity. 

“Hey pal, let me call you an Uber or something.”

He could see a uniform, the officer’s pants and shoes below the brightness of his flashlight. The beam lowered and he could make out a kind face beneath what looked like a large beard. 

“I know it’s hard, buddy but you can’t be here. C’mon, let’s get you home.” 


He said nothing, merely nodded. He could feel the hole in his heart again, gaping and hungry for whatever he felt next. He had nothing. He simply walked, one foot in front of the other. That is how it had been and how it was going to be. When he reached the entrance of the cemetery he watched the officer walk back to his cruiser. He felt neither relief nor disappointment. He didn’t feel fear or gratitude. He felt nothing. Which he was glad for in that moment because who knows what the grief would make him feel tomorrow.