NO SHARING. IN EDITS.
I didn’t come into the blessings of owning a graveyard right away. That doesn’t happen quickly or easily, I’d imagine. At least not when it’s the family business. Everybody has death looming over their lives, but when it does so in the form of a business, it’s exceptionally morbid. It was a strange notion as a child, then when early adulthood hit, it merged into irony. And then that fateful day happened, sooner rather than later. The death business knocked on my life’s door and handed me the papers and the keys to five hundred and counting graves and I said goodbye to the irony and hello to the terror.
What better place to end your life? Not literally, of course.
Thankfully, it only took me five months to get through the dying process. I attribute my speedy success to my condition. With my brain gravitating to morbidity of various sorts, the entire event was like dancing to a familiar, yet unnamed tune. I didn’t realize it at first, but when I inherited the business of burying people, I inherited the key to my own personal healing. Who knew there would be a visceral satisfaction with putting people in the ground without ever laying a hand on them? Indeed it was. If I allowed it– which I did–it fed the hunger without the messy business of having to hurt people. Not that I ever did or would, God forbid, but the cravings were there. Cravings that I took equal pain and pride in denying. Education and wisdom taught me early on that just because one has monster urges didn’t mean they had to give into them.
Which brings me to my next little miracle. At first, I thought my aspirations to study psychology would be buried in the graveyard business, pun intended of course, but on the contrary, it turns out one can have their cake and eat it too in the digital age. College courses would resume. Online. Online and away from the temptations that came with living among the living, striving among the thriving.
The magnitude of this blessing wouldn’t hit me immediately of course. But it did come. And when it did, that’s when I had the awakening of sorts. A mental break through of stupendous proportions. The untimely death of my parents along with the insidious graveyard inheritance was just the beginning of my healing. If I stepped back and studied the playing board of my life, I would easily see that the pieces had been moved into the perfect position to make passage for my dreams. To become a doctor and heal myself. Be normal and have a family. A wife. To forever eradicate the dire hunger to dismember living things at any given moment for any given reason. I never shared the doctor slash healing dream with many people. Really, nobody knew about my condition but my mother even though I never told her. Perhaps she knew because she had the same sort of sickness. But I was not like her. And I do believe the sole difference between her sickness and mine was one of want. I didn’t want what I had or was. I didn’t want it so much that I refused to ever want it. Like I refused to like liver or peas even though I was made to eat both as a child. As an educated man, I attribute my dire dislike for my condition the very reason I’m able to deny it and pursue healing. I certainly could discover why I had the unnatural urges that so often burned inside my brain and blood and muscles. I could and should and would.
It was logic of course. That was my strength, my shield. I even nicknamed it my other half, that better part of me that talked me into doing the proper things. But right now, my other half was being unusually paranoid.
I maintain that the cameras were a necessity and I won’t regret them. It was the raccoons that prompted me to get them in order to discern how or when or why the fresh flowers placed on the graves were disappearing. The petunias were their downfall and proved me right, and it was my other half, I will kindly remind, that said there was no harm in leaving the cameras up because an all seeing eye on the grounds was prudent. And with the graveyard robberies that Halloween often prompted, the timing proved said point.
There shouldn’t be even a morsel of shame or fear or any sort of negativity, really. The cameras were still a good idea despite the new variable. And of course by the same token of flawless logic, I understood my other half’s concern. And disagreed.
The cameras were in fact a brilliant idea. Are a brilliant idea. It’s not like I”m hiding behind why I want them. I know full well why I want them, I also think it’s the latest and greatest miracle in my life that would allow me to study safely. Which of course I was currently doing with meticulous accuracy and equal caution.
But this is different.
Why? Why does it have to be different?
You know why. You like her.
And is that really a crime? Isn’t that normal? Isn’t normal what I’m aspiring to?
Yes. But you’re not normal yet, hence this conversation we’re having.
I put up the metal plate in my mind, ignoring my other half’s warning stare. He was right but so was I. I know the risks, I’m far from unlearned in the matter and he knows this. I know my condition clearly and bitterly and I would continue taking extra care. Getting to study up close and yet from a distance was exactly what I needed. I would have the groundskeeper speak in my behalf if the need arose. Business wise, I didn’t need to speak to her. Not ever.
I just needed to study. That’s all. Study, discern, and learn. That’s what doctors did. That’s what I would do.