2019-11-09 - Gifts at the Garden

Afternoon in the cemetary is typically quiet. Mowing is done in the morning, and not at all this time of year - grass is going to sleep. So it's raking, and cleaning the stones, removing brush. Most would have music, a portable speaker, headphones, something. Not Thew. You can't hear people coming with music. He doesn't hum, he doesn't whistle. He works. Tossing yard bags into the trailer hooked to the caretaker ATV.

He's by the boy's grave again. Brandon's. He's been there daily, when he can - just staring. He's at almost a pack a day and another smoke is lit without his hands leaving his pockets.

Lyric had come. Oh she had promised she would but there's nothing that could have kept her from it either. So much still weighed so heavy on her mind and in her heart and here she was, walking up the lonely driveway. She had never driven a day in her life, going from Foster Care to being turned out on the street just for having an 18th birthday didn't really allow time to earn a license or even enough to save for a car. She'd had to worry about living. Her story was probably common knowledge in this town. At least to the locals. Not because she talks about it, but she was always walking somewhere in town.

This time she's pulling a wagon. It's a Radio Flyer, an old metal one, rusted so badly it's no longer red. Just silver and dark brown. The wheels turn fine though and there are a few bags in it as well as a couple of plants. As she walks, there's a jingling sound of what sounds like dog tags. Certainly that's new. She's wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt as she walks down the gravel path like road that will take her to the grave, the map of which she had been given prior by the caretaker himself. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. The tires make little sounds to announce her presence. Then the noise stops as she does and she watches the caretaker a moment before she plods on. Closer.

The sound almost sent him scuttling elsewhere, but the sight of the woman out of the corner of his eye, and then a better glance once he'd turned his head simply had him hunched, brow knitting as he tenses. When she's within earshot he lets out of slow breath, exhaling a cloud away from her.
"He's... he. There." he points, hands shaky. "Hi... I'm. Hello..." turning his head away for a moment, lips pursing, flinching as if expecting to be struck. He then turns towards the wagon, cigarette dangling. "Do... yuh-yuh... Fix... you wan'..." his head drops for a moment. "Fix it... can... want?"

Recognizing the caretaker, Lyric gives him a bright and patient smile. She seems in no real hurry for him to get through what he wants to say, just a little tilt of her head before she smiles with more warmth at the mention of the boy. Her eyes drop from the caretaker to the gravestone and as soon as she sees the engraved name, she squats down and touches it, tracing her finger over each letter of his name. There's a sound of a sniffle, a sure sign she was still affected, but she only looks up at Thew when he asks her about fixing the wagon. "If you want to, I would like that very much, please." She swipes a tear away before her hand finds some dog tags around her neck. They aren't military issue in the least, but something a machine at Safeway printed. Just names. No birthdays. "Thank you for taking care of him."

Spying the tags, momentarily curious but then he realizes he's staring and he looks away sharply, moving towards the wagon with his hand on the back of his neck. "Suppose... you saw... don't... Not surpri-..." he sighs and hunkers down, looking over the wagon. "Prefer... fix." head hanging, "Prefer. Fixing. Things." he admits, eyes on the wagon, hands trailing over it, the rust being replaced by clean metal as the breaks and damage are restored to new.
"Too young. Not." Thewlis sighs, 'washing' away the rust with his fingers. "Not fa-fa..." he twitches and looks around himself, "Fair." his voice is softer than normal and he sounds tired. "Better if... paint... tr... paint it..." chewing his lower lip, "House. Paint it at... Better to paint..." he sighs as steps back, the 'tub' of the wagon pristine. "House, better... paint at my house."
He looks back to her, frustration clear on his face - eyes looing like he could cry with shame and frustration before his head drops, and his gaze, looking down and to the side.

Noticing him looking at the tags, Lyric shows them to him, two are Brandon Campbell and two are Molly Bates. She even explains them in a soft voice. "I got a friend who was a Marine. He said they are given dog tags so that no matter where they go in the world, no matter what, no one ever forgets them. So I made one for my mom and I made one for Brandon. I'll leave one here and I'll wear one and no one will ever forget them." She takes one of Brandon's off and has second thoughts of leaving it on the grave, Instead, she holds it in her hand as she watches him fixing the wagon. "You want to paint it at your house? I can come over with you. But here," she reaches for his hand, slowly, cause she doesn't wanna scare him. And if he lets her take it eventually, she will place the tag in his hand and close his fingers over it. "For you." If he doesn't, she'll only offer it over to him with the same words and a gentle smile, trying to soothe his frustrations. If she's holding his hand, she doesn't immediately let go.

Slow movements work, though his entire body goes rigid when he's touched. Breath coming in short burst, the cigarette bobs up and down, but he doesn't pull away. He looks absolutely terrified, until the tag is in his hand. Nostrils flaring as his eyes become red rimmed, blinking rapidly.
"Thank..." sniff, "I... Th." he looks down, eyes closed, "Thank you." he looks back to her hand holding his hand, and after a moment he tries to pull free, giving an apologetic look as his body starts to tense again and the twitches start. His shoulders hunch and his body panic starts to ramp up.

Lyric doesn't hold him any longer than he is comfortable with and at the first sign of him pulling free, she lets go with a smile. "You're welcome," she says simply. The next thing she pulls out is a flying light up Superman on a stick. It's got a sensor for solar. "So he doesn't gotta be scared of the dark at night. It won't be dark now for him." Next is the flowers, the kind of flowers, that he had said to get for her mom. She had two, one for each place. "So they keep growing." And that's it for now, even if there's more things in the wagon.