Yours Truly 2017 / Cascadia College / Bothell, WA 2017 YT Online Book | Page 26

Today, though, as I walk through the wrought
iron gates, there is a line of cars parked in the
turn-around and a clot of black-clad figures
huddled on the hilltop. My Spot is on the other
side of the rise, so I pull my hat down and my
eyes with it before heading toward them. As I
pass, I hear the appropriately somber voice of
the priest as he reads a supposedly comforting
passage, and his small audience is silent but
for scattered sniffles. The shoes are all black,
black, black . . . but then amusingly punctuated
by a single pair of small white ones. They are
matched with white socks folded over, ruffles
at the ends. This little girl is the only soul here
(besides me, perhaps) with fidgety feet and I
can’t quite keep my chuckle to myself as I leave
them behind me.

Once over the hill, I can raise my head
and it’s great to again be walking down into
mossy headstones and shady understory. I begin
to whistle as I wind between the graves, headed
for My Spot behind the weeping angel, but the
whistle trails off as I round a corner and see a
young woman sitting on my bench. She wears
a long summer dress, even in this October chill.
She’s smiling as she contemplatively reads a
book in her lap.

As you can imagine, I’m not usually much
of a bench-sharer, but I’ve only got a 35-minute
lunch and as a creature of strict habit, I’m
paralyzed at the thought of having to find myself
another spot. Holding my sack lunch before me
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like a barrier, I walk to the bench and clear my
throat impatiently. She turns a page an