Forgotten

Summer was dead, finally slain by the chill north winds that blew across Lake Superior, taking with it the rich green that painted the forests.  In many places, tourists would flood in from Illinois and Indiana, racing to pitch their camping gear and watch the colorful leaves, but not where Joe lived.  His little town was remote even by Wisconsin standards, the tourists never ventured quite this far.

Joe was fine with that.

It was about seven in the morning, which meant he needed to start his walk to school.  His path took him along the forested road, the canopy still thick enough to blot out the sun if the clouds hadn’t already done so.  It was rare to see a passing car, nice and quiet just like the rest of his life. 

Joe was fine with that.

The walk led him past an old cemetary, more than two hundred years old.  It wasn’t large, and if it weren’t for the weathered and broken fence, would barely be visable as all.  About a dozen old tombstones stuck out of the ground, a couple still stood straight, but most sat at haphazard angles as the nearby trees extended their roots.

Today he spotted a girl standing in front of one of the tombstones, amidst the leaves of countless Autumns.  Joe stopped at this curious sight, he had never seen anyone in the graveyard, especially so early in the morning.  “Hey!” he called to her, “You lost?”

The girl turned towards him, she was cute in her blue jeans and green sweatshirt, but her nose was a little too sharp, it reminded Joe of his old third grade teacher who liked yelling at him.  She studied him for a moment, then turned back towards the headstone.

Joe walked past the old fence, “If you’re looking for the school, it’s down this road a bit, I’m heading there now if you wanna follow.”  Again, she didn’t answer him.  He leaned over and looked at the tombstone, it’s inscription barely legible:

Maria Rose Ernheim

1845-1898

“You related to her?” he ventured again.

“No,” the girl replied, “Just thought I would pay my respects.”

“But you didn’t know her?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I found her name in the library.  She was the mother of four children, wife to a logger.  She worked her whole life for the happiness of her family, before she died of pneumonia.”

“Ah…” Joe began, feeling a little uncomfortable.

“And now… there is not a person alive who knew her.  With the exception of a few lines in a dusty book, her memory is dead in this world.”

Joe had never thought about it before, that each eroded stone represented a life.  He turned and looked over the area, considering it for a moment, then turned back.

“I can see…” he dropped off as he looked back at Maria’s grave.  There was no sign of the girl.  The wind blew, and it suddenly felt much colder.  Joe buttoned up his jacket and took a last look at the stone.  He walked quickly from the graveyard, feeling a little creeped out.

Joe was not fine with that.