Churchyard

  “He can be quite persuasive”, Robert was still trying to smile, “and yet polite at the same time.”

  “Some call that manipulative”, Jay was reaching into her purse, “but I’m sure he has the best of intentions” she said, somewhat distracted by her search. She continued to root around in her bag for a second or two and then, presumably having found what she was looking for, looked at Robert with a face full of wonder. Like a child who just found a forbidden stash of candy. Slowly, she produced a small, clear plastic bag from deep inside her bag and began to wave it front of her face with a grin that stretched from where they were standing to the ocean.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Robert was looking around for those around them who might disapprove.

  “I don’t know,” Jay clenched the bag in her the palm of her hand, as if to tease, “what do you think it is?”

Robert began to chuckle again, the back of his hand about his gaping mouth, “where on earth…”

  “It’s legal,” Jay interrupted his question with the answer she thought Robert wanted, “I can assure you I have all the necessary paperwork.”

Jay straightened her summer dress, pulled her purse from about her side so that it was in front of her body and stood up straight, as if the cane was no longer employed.

  “Shall we?” she motioned towards a path that run down the north side of the church. Not the main path to the parking lot, but a smaller, less well-kept path that ran between the other side of the church and a fence (that a crow had been sitting on moments before).

Robert picked up his empty cup and the two of them began to move towards the secret path. No-one saw them head that way, no-one saw them leave the lawn and the party and the sausages and the vol-au-vents. No-one saw the gleeful look about their faces, like children (with candy) trapped in the bodies of adults. Embattled bodies, scarred. No, no-one saw them at all. They passed through the parishioners like water between stones. Like sound over your eardrum, their presence on the lawn was volatile, uneventful and transient. They disappeared into memory, not missed and not forgotten. Like the way you and I would remember a sunny day, the way shadows move across a yard, or perhaps, almost perfectly, the way track remembers train.