Autumn Chill.

Autumn was setting on the city and as I drove down the gravel road leading to the cemetery I stopped to watch the sunset. The air was chilled, like opening up a freezer and feeling the blast of cold air engulf your face. She always loved autumn, so when it hits, I can’t help but feel her with me. It was October 12th, her birthday. It was one of only three times a year I left my dorm to travel the 400 miles home to visit her. Not many people would do that for someone who was not their blood relative, but she was special, too special to forget. I looked in my bag one final time, flowers? Check. Card? Check. Blanket? Check. Lysol and brush? Check.
As I stepped out of my car and began walking closer to her resting place the burnt colored grass and scrolls of dried leaves gently crunched below my feet. I arrived at her gravestone, laid my blanket on the ground, and sat down, staring at the tomb stone for a few minutes. It always amazed me just how much moss could grow in only three months. The tombstone had turned from beautiful black brick to a field of auburns and olives, climbing over the letters and filling in all of the corners. I pulled out the Lysol and brush, sprayed down the tomb, and began to scrub the moss away. The bristles of my wire brush dug into the lettering, ripping each piece of moss out of its hiding spot as I continued to scrub. The cleaner the tombstone got, the newer it felt, bringing me back to the very day she died with each movement I took. I began scrubbing harder, trying to get the memory to go away. I looked down and my knuckles had turned white.
I took a minute to calm down, closing my eyes just to see the image of her tombstone embedded into the back of my eyelids. Once I regained my composure I reached in my bag and pulled out the flowers. I brought lilacs, even though they weren’t in season. They were her favorite and even though the flowers were plastic, I knew she would have loved the gesture. I set the card next to it and lay down on my blanket. Face up, looking at the sky, just like she taught me. “Use your imagination,” she would say. One cloud was a basketball. Two more clouds, a dragon holding a sword. Three clouds, all little stars, all appearing in different positions in the same sky. I looked at my watch. 8:15, time to head back to my parent’s house and get some sleep. I packed up my blanket and as I stood up, I saw a boy and immediately knew it was him. The way he walked like he was sulking; hands in pockets, face down, baseball cap on. It gave him away.
“It’s been you all along hasn’t it; you are the one leaving my mom lilacs and cleaning her grave?” he asked me. We went from best friends to strangers in a mere minute after his mother died.
“Yes.” I answered, avoiding eye contact.
“You did always know her best; she loved lilacs.”