Clouds hung over the sun, darkening the sky as a whole. Bettie wished she could thank a god for this, but her lack of faith in one kept her from doing so. She had the philosophical revelations of the 1960’s to thank for that. Instead, she tightened the ponytail in her hair and checked her reflection in one of the car’s rearview mirrors one last time before stepping onto the moist green of the cemetery’s lawn. Each black pump’s 3-inch heel sunk into the soil as she walked through the grass, but she managed. She was a woman on a mission.
The place was Old Saint Mary’s National Cemetery in New York City. An obituary in The New York Times had said an 87-year-old veteran by the name of Skip Morris would be buried there today. To most people, that name would have meant nothing. It would have just been another name that belonged to another brave soul that passed into the unknown. To a few others, the name would have belonged to someone loved. It would have belonged to a husband, a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather, a friend, a comrade, and a hero. Bettie, however, saw this name and was reminded of a past life as well as a past love. An emotion of longing followed this name for Bettie. A feeling of grief followed this feeling of longing.
It was in this grief that Bettie had decided to pay her respects to her former (and everlasting) soul mate. In her heart, she wished she could have seen him one last time to tell him how she truly did love him. She would tell him that she wanted to marry him and be his ‘Morning Glory’ (as he had always called her). Bettie would tell him of how she wanted to spend the rest of their days together, growing old in the twilight as other couples did. If Bettie could have, she would have gone back in time and never had an affair with the vampire Thomas in the first place. Skip was worth more than that. He was worth more than Bettie. He could’ve done better than Bettie, yet Bettie still loved him with all of herself. But the past was just that: the past. While the past had led Bettie to this cemetery on this day, it was still permanent and gone.
Skip Morris’ grave wasn’t all too hard to spot. Most head stones littering the lush green field were a dark, lonely shade of gray. Their only company was a single rose that the cemetery seemed to have put out as a respect to all of the passed veterans whose bodies now inhabited the land. A few of the head stones had a colorful bouquet near them as a signal of a loved one’s recent visit, but none of them screamed of a same day burial. None of them had the array of bouquets and decorations that would have come from a funeral precession. None had the small crowd of mourning family members that wanted a final goodbye before resuming to their now darker lives. None of the headstones had these things, except one. This head stone was not a dark, lonely gray, but instead was a brighter shade of gray. It didn’t have the small clump of mourning loved ones, but everything else seemed to fit. The dirt in front of this head stone was fresh and the grass on it had not yet begun to grow. Bettie got near enough to it to make out the word ‘SKIP’ engraved on its surface, but still kept her distance.
One steady gloved hand reached Bettie’s chest where a gold locket sat. She twirled it for a moment as her memories flooded back to her. Inside the locket, she knew there would be a photograph of a smiling Skip on the right half with the engraving of ‘My Morning Glory’ mirroring it on the left. He had given it to her on that Valentine’s Day in 1946. Exactly three hours before she dumped Thomas, that son of a bitch. Skip had made dinner that evening in the twilight. It was a Southern meal, just like his momma used to make or so he had said. Bettie had to admit it was delicious, but it wasn’t the food that brought the biggest smile to Bettie’s face. Just having him home from fighting overseas was enough to make Bettie’s toes curl in joy. After the meal, Skip had been a gentleman to ask Bettie to dance. The song had been Blue Moon by Ella Fitzgerald. With her hand in his and her head on his shoulder, they swayed to the music. In that moment, they weren’t two people. They were one and they were ready for life.
Bettie had to wipe tears from her cheeks as she stared at Skip’s gravestone. Her hands fell to the locket once again after she had. So much of her didn’t want to say goodbye to Skip again. They had only just reunited, even if it wasn’t in a truly living sense. She hated the idea of living on without him being alive as well, but even Bettie knew it was time. Taking a deep breath, Bettie moved her hands along her dress’ neckline to the back of her own neck. She found the locket’s small clasp there and undid it. Her gray eyes watched it fall to the ground before she picked it up.
Once again, tears clouded her eyes. It took a lot of strength for her to walk up to Skip’s grave the way she did and set the locket gently against the decorations that had already taken residence there, but she did it anyway. She stepped back slowly once she had only to whisper a small and broken ‘Goodbye Skip’ into the air followed by what sounded to be a 'I will always love you'.
The place was Old Saint Mary’s National Cemetery in New York City. An obituary in The New York Times had said an 87-year-old veteran by the name of Skip Morris would be buried there today. To most people, that name would have meant nothing. It would have just been another name that belonged to another brave soul that passed into the unknown. To a few others, the name would have belonged to someone loved. It would have belonged to a husband, a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather, a friend, a comrade, and a hero. Bettie, however, saw this name and was reminded of a past life as well as a past love. An emotion of longing followed this name for Bettie. A feeling of grief followed this feeling of longing.
It was in this grief that Bettie had decided to pay her respects to her former (and everlasting) soul mate. In her heart, she wished she could have seen him one last time to tell him how she truly did love him. She would tell him that she wanted to marry him and be his ‘Morning Glory’ (as he had always called her). Bettie would tell him of how she wanted to spend the rest of their days together, growing old in the twilight as other couples did. If Bettie could have, she would have gone back in time and never had an affair with the vampire Thomas in the first place. Skip was worth more than that. He was worth more than Bettie. He could’ve done better than Bettie, yet Bettie still loved him with all of herself. But the past was just that: the past. While the past had led Bettie to this cemetery on this day, it was still permanent and gone.
Skip Morris’ grave wasn’t all too hard to spot. Most head stones littering the lush green field were a dark, lonely shade of gray. Their only company was a single rose that the cemetery seemed to have put out as a respect to all of the passed veterans whose bodies now inhabited the land. A few of the head stones had a colorful bouquet near them as a signal of a loved one’s recent visit, but none of them screamed of a same day burial. None of them had the array of bouquets and decorations that would have come from a funeral precession. None had the small crowd of mourning family members that wanted a final goodbye before resuming to their now darker lives. None of the headstones had these things, except one. This head stone was not a dark, lonely gray, but instead was a brighter shade of gray. It didn’t have the small clump of mourning loved ones, but everything else seemed to fit. The dirt in front of this head stone was fresh and the grass on it had not yet begun to grow. Bettie got near enough to it to make out the word ‘SKIP’ engraved on its surface, but still kept her distance.
One steady gloved hand reached Bettie’s chest where a gold locket sat. She twirled it for a moment as her memories flooded back to her. Inside the locket, she knew there would be a photograph of a smiling Skip on the right half with the engraving of ‘My Morning Glory’ mirroring it on the left. He had given it to her on that Valentine’s Day in 1946. Exactly three hours before she dumped Thomas, that son of a bitch. Skip had made dinner that evening in the twilight. It was a Southern meal, just like his momma used to make or so he had said. Bettie had to admit it was delicious, but it wasn’t the food that brought the biggest smile to Bettie’s face. Just having him home from fighting overseas was enough to make Bettie’s toes curl in joy. After the meal, Skip had been a gentleman to ask Bettie to dance. The song had been Blue Moon by Ella Fitzgerald. With her hand in his and her head on his shoulder, they swayed to the music. In that moment, they weren’t two people. They were one and they were ready for life.
Bettie had to wipe tears from her cheeks as she stared at Skip’s gravestone. Her hands fell to the locket once again after she had. So much of her didn’t want to say goodbye to Skip again. They had only just reunited, even if it wasn’t in a truly living sense. She hated the idea of living on without him being alive as well, but even Bettie knew it was time. Taking a deep breath, Bettie moved her hands along her dress’ neckline to the back of her own neck. She found the locket’s small clasp there and undid it. Her gray eyes watched it fall to the ground before she picked it up.
Once again, tears clouded her eyes. It took a lot of strength for her to walk up to Skip’s grave the way she did and set the locket gently against the decorations that had already taken residence there, but she did it anyway. She stepped back slowly once she had only to whisper a small and broken ‘Goodbye Skip’ into the air followed by what sounded to be a 'I will always love you'.
