Cemetery (By Julie)

Cemetery (by Julie)

I walked through the darkness, the dew-covered grass soaking the hems of my baggy black pants. Dead leaves rustled as the tips of my steel-toed boots brushed them out of my path. With two bags of Iron Kids white bread dangling from one fist, a bag of plain popcorn in the other and a fleece blanket draped over my shoulder, I made my way down the grassy slope just near the entrance of Pine Hill Cemetery in Des Moines, Iowa. This strange escape had become somewhat of a ritual for me. Des Moines honestly doesn’t offer much in the way of nightlife, which is bad when you’re a depressed, insomniatic young college student with too much time to think and not enough friends. On nights like this, when my mind simply wouldn’t let me sleep, I drove the few lonely miles down Merle Hay Avenue to the cemetery, parked my old blue Pontiac in the empty lot, and went to bring a meal to my good friend Jasper.
Jasper was a pet of sorts- of all the waterfowl residing in the pond at Pine Hill Cemetery, he was by far the friendliest. While all the other geese would snatch the bread from your hand and run, Jasper would slowly waddle up to you, an inquisitive look in his tiny reptile-like eyes. The first time I met Jasper was when I was in the cemetery with my boyfriend, Justin. I had a certain love for cemeteries, and we had decided to go exploring in this one since it was so close to my dorm. After wandering the graveyard’s wide expanse and marveling at the dates on some of the older headstones, we had decided to head to the pond at the mouth of the cemetery to sit and rest. The pond itself was quite large, and it was surrounded on three sides by a half-circle of trees. The side facing the cemetery entrance was open, giving both mourners and casual visitors a grand view of the arch of water that spewed from the middle of the pond’s glassy surface. There was a gravel path from the parking lot that forked in two directions: one branch of it veered to the right and became paved, leading through the graveyard’s various sections, while the portion to the right gently sloped down into a grassy valley that cradled the pond in its center.
Justin and I had come up the path from the graveyard and headed toward the pond, both squeezing onto a single large boulder by the water’s edge when we got there. The sun was starting to set, and the warm spring evening had attracted many families and couples to come to the pond and feed the ducks. We sat in silence for a moment, admiring the amber rays thrown across the pond’s surface by the setting sun and watching small children run around, holding slices of bread in their eager little hands. All of the sudden, from our right, came a large grayish-brown goose with a black bill. He was making very soft, almost plaintive honking sounds, as if asking us a question, and tilting his head with curiosity. A neon orange marker band was fastened around one of his black, scaly ankles, but he didn’t seem to notice it one bit. He approached me first, and pecked delicately at my exposed toes, which poked through my sandals. I drew my foot back in apprehension, but I quickly realized that this bird meant no harm. I stuck out my hand, and he took one of my fingers in his bill and softly nibbled on it. Once he had checked us out, he let us both stroke the downy feathers of his neck and chest, all the while making the same cooing honks that he had greeted us with. When we got up to leave, the goose seemed distressed. He walked in front of us, as if trying to block our path, and his soft voice became loud and mournful, emanating in deafening honks. He even tried to climb into Justin’s rusted Camarro, in the hopes that we would take him home with us. I immediately fell in love with this creature.
I decided on the name Jasper for our newfound friend, thinking it was unique and whimsical. After this initial visit, we returned many times, always taking long strolls through the cemetery before paying Jasper a visit. He would always come waddling as fast as possible toward us, whether we had food or not, greeting us with loud, excited honks. We saw the way that Jasper interacted with people, and how happy his friendliness made them feel. Once, as we were sitting on the same boulder sharing our lunches with Jasper, and old bearded man in ratty clothes approached us. Without saying a word, the man scooped up Jasper in his arms, gave him a long hug, set him back down and walked away. I was amazed at this peculiar goose’s ability to put a smile on people’s faces.
This night was very different from that lighthearted afternoon when Justin and I had first visited the cemetery. It was now mid February, and Justin had long been out of the picture. I had continued my nightly visits because Jasper was the one being who I felt I could relate to in this town. He was a misfit as well- all the other geese shunned him, and often gouged him with their beaks to get him away from any morsel that was tossed his way. They all congregated on the far end of the pond while he wandered by himself, looking for someone to make friends with. I felt the same way as I stumbled through school, not truly connecting to anyone and not getting anything from my classes. I had just made the heavy decision to leave school and return home to Illinois. I knew this was the last time I would get to see Jasper, and even though I felt slightly silly getting sentimental over a common farm animal, I had to at least give him one last farewell.
I approached the left bank of the pond, listening to the water slowly lap the rocky edges. Right on cue, Jasper’s ear-splitting honk let me know that I wasn’t the only one still awake. I could barely make out the rest of the geese sleeping in the darkness, their huddled bodies clumped together for warmth under the tree cover on the far side of the pond. I ripped open the popcorn, feeding a handful to Jasper. He eagerly gobbled it up, and then followed me as I walked to a spot in the middle of the lawn facing the lake. I opened one loaf of bread and tossed the whole thing a couple yards away so that the other birds would not bother Jasper while he was eating. Then I laid my blanket down over the cold ground and sat on it, opening the other bag of bread for Jasper and I to share. The small bag of popcorn was gone quickly, and between the two of us the white bread didn’t stand a chance. I laid back on the grass and looked up at the stars as Jasper nestled down beside me and tucked his head under one wing.
This unlikely place had become so familiar to me over the months that it was beginning to seem comfortable and almost homey. When I thought about leaving Des Moines, the only thing that made me want to stay was this graveyard. I had walked its roads and explored its different sections so many times that I knew it like the back of my hand. I even felt safe drifting off to sleep, because I knew if anyone approached that Jasper would warn me. I woke up, cold and covered in dew an hour later. I sighed, knowing that I should probably leave before the cops came by and became suspicious of the lone car sitting in the parking lot at 4AM. I sat up slowly, not wanting to rouse the sleeping animal beside me. I gently stroked his neck, and he cooed a bit, opening one eye to look at me. “Bye Jasper,” I whispered, easing myself to my feet. As soon as I had taken a step away, he started calling loudly, seeming to know that I would not be coming back. I smoothed the feathers on his chest, and bent down to give him a hug. I could still hear his call trailing off behind me as I made my way up the hill into the parking lot and got into my car. To this day I think of that cemetery when I am lonely, and I wonder what happened to Jasper, that wonderful creature who kept me sane in those trying times.