Cemetery

The sun was at its peak in the mid-December sky, with only a few white, thin clouds drifting lazily across the sky. The air was still gripped with a bitter cold from the previous night’s snowfall however, and the heat from the sun was welcome. Farran squinted and glanced up towards the sky, shielding his eyes from the light given off by the sun. He blinked twice to refocus his vision, and along with the ring that cut across the sky like a knife, the words on the gate he had stopped to read came into focus.

“Arkala Cemetery.” 

Wet salt crunched behind him as Aspen paused, presumably to look at the iron gate as well, though she let out a brief curse of frustration as she seemed to slip on the icy sidewalk. The gate curved upwards into an ornate arch to serve as an entrance to the cemetery. Someone had taken the time to decorate it with a wreath woven out of pine needles. Two bright red ribbons flanked the wreath, though they seemed frayed. Farran let out a small breath of amusement. It looked like the winter birds thought the fabric from the ribbons to be fit for their nests.

“We should do something else.” Aspen said abruptly, but Farran wasn’t surprised by her brusque statement. He took a breath and released it, the smell of the pine from the wreath surprisingly strong.

“We don’t have much else to do,” he replied evenly, lowering his hand from his face. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at her.

He trusted that Mr. Carter would have Thundra fit for the roads soon. It had been nearly a decade since Farran’s beloved pet project had seen a road, and she was most definitely due for more than a little maintenance. Farran toyed with the keys in his pocket in slight anticipation, the metal clicking softly together as he did so. It wouldn’t take his old mentor too long to assess anything wrong with Thundra and then make the necessary repairs, but Farran still wondered if he could demand any more of the older man’s hospitality. The days were getting progressively shorter as winter moved in, and he wasn’t quite sure of how much more energy he had in him for the day, nevermind Aspen or Rena.

Speaking of Rena, Farran didn’t want to intrude on Carter’s hospitality more because Farran got the impression that it would be hard to convince Rena to give up her newfound discoveries of couches and central heating. He trusted Carter with the knowledge of Rena’s very existence (and he was quite shocked that the old man had taken this information in stride) but that didn’t mean he was ready to just hand Rena over to him. He had a small feeling that Carter wouldn’t appreciate having to feed and shelter a nearly two-hundred pound predator.

“Yes, we do.” Aspen said right back, ever reliant with having something to say in return.

“Like what?” Farran asked. He wasn’t watching where he was putting his feet and stepped in the same patch of ice that Aspen had a moment prior. He flung his arms out to catch his balance and righted himself, planting his feet on a part of the sidewalk that wasn’t covered in ice. Aspen briefly snickered, but he knew her well enough that it was just a front to cover the fact that she didn’t have any better ideas for activities.

“We could…get ice cream.” She eventually decided.

“In the middle of winter.” He shot her an odd look for that, not so much because of the fact that it was strange to have ice cream in winter, but more of the connotations of them getting ice cream together

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound so sure of yourself,”

Farran pushed the gate open with one hand, his eyes immediately tracking towards the rows of black, gold and white colored flags that dotted one part of the cemetery. He heard Aspen make a growling noise in her throat, but the sound of her footsteps told him that she was more keen to tag along with him than get lost in Arkala. Which would be a feat in and of itself considering his hometown wasn’t exactly a major metropolitan area.

“You know,” Aspen started, twisting a strand of her hair in her fingers. “Normal people don’t look for their own graves.”

“You know,” he said without thinking. “Normal people don’t wear sunglasses in the dead of winter.”

He stopped in his tracks before she could respond however. He glanced at the ground for a moment, studying the toes of his boots. “That was uncalled for, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Aspen drew out the i-syllable in that last word. “You’re forgiven. I’m sorry too.” She patted his shoulder with her hand and drew ahead of him. “Let’s go find your headstone.”

Perhaps it was his surroundings but he found himself dwelling on it. Hardly an argument from her. It wasn’t exactly strange since they’d spent more and more time together. Seen things together that would rattle anyone. Farran let out a breath and watched as it swirled and crystallized before his eyes. He knew someone else that wouldn’t have dropped the topic so quickly--and would keep holding onto it for months on end.

He quickened his pace to catch up to Aspen. She was standing waiting for him at the beginning of the rows marked by the little Ashyan colors.

“Lots of firefighters here,” Aspen commented idly. They drifted along at a tortoise’s crawl, taking the time to read each name on each headstone on the ground.

Farran recognized one of the first ones they saw. “Jacob Lewis” A distant memory of standing straight and stiff-backed at his father’s side as he watched the funeral parade for the same man march past drifted to the front of his mind. 

“Arkala works with three other battalions from three neighboring towns to cover a larger area.” Farran answered her. “All of them are buried here.”

“Oh,” Aspen’s voice trailed off at his explanation. She shifted her weight from one leg to another uneasily. “How do you know that?” She questioned, glancing at him. Her hand took her sunglasses from her face and he watched as she folded them and put them in the pocket of her coat.

“Dad was a battalion chief for a long time.”

“Was?” She sounded timid. That strange tone of voice from her made his skin prickle.

“He isn't dead. At least…I don’t think so. He had to retire early due to an injury.” 

“Oh,” Aspen said, voice noticeably brighter. “Well, I hope he isn’t dead either.” She fiddled with her hair again, and with that they kept moving.

The snow crunched under their boots as they continued along. As Farran thought, most of the first few headstones they saw belonged to firefighters, police and other emergency personnel, but as the dates on the right side of the plaques began to creep upwards, and entered the years where Ashya began to deploy soldiers to fight in active combat--

Farran swallowed as he recognized another name. “Sammy Burns” He remembered him fondly. Even though they’d only met once, the soldier had gifted Farran with his beloved pet. A desert tortoise from some distant country. Looking back, he realized that Sam had most likely either swiped, or had the reptile given to him in turn, but knew he couldn’t keep it. So he had pawned it off to the first kid eager for a new pet.

Farran didn’t realize that he had died nearly five months after Farran had met him.

The further along they got into the rows, the more spaced out the headstones became. The younger each person lying underneath their feet had been. More space so that family could be buried alongside them.

Farran swallowed thickly, trying weakly to prevent his throat from clogging up. He became dimly aware that Aspen had both looped her arm around his and was now leaning against him. She looked similarly lost in her own thoughts. He wasn’t sure if the comforting gestures were conscious or not, but he appreciated them just the same.

He stopped short as yet another name caught his attention. Aspen stumbled at his sudden stop.

“What is it? You found it?” She asked. She stepped around to be at his side, since he had turned to look down at the headstone.

His tongue was too thick in his mouth to tell her no.

“Jesse Waters.”

He took his hand from where he’d stuffed it in his pocket to try and stave off the cold. Why he hadn’t brought gloves along to wear was beyond him at this point. The bitter air rushed in to stamp out any warmth his pocket had brought to his hand. He noticed it was shaking, though he doubted it was from the chill. Farran brought his hand up to his chest, gently grasping the tags dangling from the line of cord he had slipped around his neck. The metal was cold against his bare hands. The tags clinked together as they brushed against each other.

The heat of the jungle was muggy and humid. The heat of the explosion was fiery and dry. His hands were cracked, bruised, bleeding from when he had tried and failed to shatter the windows of the truck with his fists.

Aspen shook his shoulder again, this time more firmly.

“Are you alright?” she asked again. He realized faintly she had asked him this question already.

“Yes.” Farran found he could speak again. The lie was evident.

“Okay,” Aspen muttered. She leaned in close to him again, this time her head settling against his shoulder. He snorted softly, she had to have been standing on her toes to do that.

They continued on a few more paces. The next headstone was what they were looking for.

“Farran Allain”

It was funny, how seeing his own name inscribed upon the reflective surface of the plaque didn’t shake him as much as the one before had.

A bundle of poppies was lying across the top of the headstone. By the looks of them, they had been placed there just recently. The four flowers were knotted together at the stems by a piece of twine. A candle was next to the poppies, recently lit. It couldn’t have been more than a week ago that someone was here last. Farran could think of at least four people who were standing vigil at this place just a week ago, like he was now.

Beside him, Aspen shifted her weight again. Her fingers drummed against his arm.

He wasn’t quite sure how long they’d stood there. However, the sound of someone clearing their throat snapped Farran out of his trance. He shook his head and glanced at his right to see another person there.

The kid couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He was leaning against his bicycle, staring at the two of them with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

“That’s my brother's grave.” the kid said with the delicacy of a boulder falling into a lake.

Farran blinked at him--Cal.

“Wow, really?” Aspen said, laughing a little bit. “That’s crazy.”

Now that Farran was looking closer at Cal (Cal, Cal, his little brother was standing right in front of him--) he could see that Cal’s free hand was clutching something. A bundle of poppies. Cal’s other hand held his bicycle up, to keep it from falling over.

“Did you know him?” Cal asked, glancing at Farran and Aspen. Aspen made a sound similar to a squeak and Farran saw her hastily put her sunglasses back on her face.

“Yeah, I served with him.” Farran said automatically. “I didn’t know him very well, though.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” Cal answered. He briefly turned his attention to his bicycle, kicking at the kickstand for a moment before he deployed it and let the bicycle’s weight fall against it. The kid moved towards the headstone and Farran quickly moved out of his way. He watched as Cal took the old flowers and replaced them with the new ones.

“You come here every week?” Aspen said in a poor attempt at conversation.

“Yeah,” Cal shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. I didn’t really know him too well either. He was always off…somewhere.” Cal waved his hand in the air, gesturing at something.

A small part of Farran shattered inside him. Aspen didn’t help matters, briefly shooting him a glare.

“Well, that’s nice.” Aspen said cheerily. Cal shrugged in response.

“Are you two like…dating or something?”

Aspen made an affronted noise in her throat and Farran nearly doubled over, having developed a sudden cough.

“What? No…” Aspen dragged out the o-syllable in the word no. In spite of everything else he was feeling, Farran felt a little pinprick of hurt at her statement.

Why was he so hurt by that…they weren’t.

“Could’ve fooled me, you’re like hanging off of him.” Cal said blandly. Farran wondered how his brother could’ve gotten so sarcastic in the past eight years.

“Yeah, well.” Aspen said, immediately removing her arm from around Farran’s. He deflated a little at that. “Don’t you have, like, lunch to go eat or something?” Not her best, in his opinion.

“Okay, crazy lady who wears sunglasses in December.” Cal said, giving Farran a look that read something like: “Your girlfriend is insane.”

Aspen squawked in alarm and Farran knew that sound well enough.

“Alright!” he declared, the first thing he’d said in a while. “Let’s get going.” he placed a hand on Aspen’s shoulder and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the exit.

“Bye,” Cal said. He moved his bicycle out of their way and watched them go.

When they were a fair distance away from his brother, Farran took his hand off Aspen’s shoulder and put it back in his pocket. Aspen glanced at him, though he couldn’t read much from her look. He was about to question her, but she huffed and turned her gaze away.

As they drew closer to the arched, iron gateway, Farran stole a glance over his shoulder. Cal was kneeling at the headstone, his back to the both of them so that Farran couldn’t see his expression.

Farran turned his eyes forward before his brother could notice that the stranger he had just met was staring at them, and maybe so that he wouldn’t notice that he knew the stranger more intimately than he thought.