Talking Heads

The cemetery is less eerie during daylight. A cool breeze flaps at the tails of my raincoat. I walk on a once manicured lawn through headstones in search of Elena and Josef, my parents, who lay side-by-side as they always planned in old age.

Autumn leaves crunch under my footsteps. I spy the ragged red geraniums I left a couple months ago and make my way through the last row of graves with a fresh pot of white mums. I brush the leaves away from their names and I can feel the roughness of the porous cold stone, tracing my finger into the carved letters that identify them. I rest on a black metal bench under a leafless ash tree. It’s quiet and peaceful here and, as far as I know, I’m all alone, and then it came out of nowhere.

“Long time, no see.”

Looking around I don’t see anyone. “What the…”

“Over here, girlie.”

I turn left and right. “Who’s there?”

“Geezus, ya gonna make me get up?” A head pokes through the grave of where my parents rest in peace.

“I’m Delilah.”

“Where’s my…” I can’t believe I’m talking to a head. A ghost head.

“We like to mix it up here. I like it quiet and old Joe here doesn’t say much, but Elena…yak yak yak. She’s probably yakking away right now with my old man in the O’Malley plot.”

“You’re dead though.”

“We live in spirit. I know it looks bad, but honestly we’re comfortable this way. By the way, your dad says hello. Thanks for coming, but I don’t like mums.” The head disappears.

I remove the white mums and locate the O’Malley grave. “Mom? I brought some flowers. Mom, are you there?”

“Hi, honey. It’s so good to see you. Let’s talk.”

Word Count: 300