I don't know when I started to have the ability to look and walk around the earth. Somehow, I am this mysterious miscalculation of the universe that popped up randomly. When I first gained consciousness, the first person I met was the old Chinese groundkeeper. He swept the leaves of the new shed willow tree with his slow movement. He didn't seem to be bothered by my presence. He just looked at me and gave me smile that caused his wrinkles to show and his eyes to disappear.
We grew closer over time. He didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that I'd been wearing the same white dress for weeks, nor the fact that I walk barefooted. Every night he'd retreat to his creaky wheelchair placed on the porch of his small cabin, light a cigarette, and then slowly rock it back and forth.
One interesting fact I learned one night is that every single day, at least one human returns to the ground. I learned this after following the groundskeeper for two weeks. Interestingly. it's always the same -- grieving people, white balloons, and black clothing. But today was different, it wasn't the living that grieved.
I peeked from behind the willow tree and saw a girl with her hands covering her face. I hear the muffled sobs that slowly grew louder as she lowers her hand.
"I don't understand," I hear her say.
"I don't understand," she repeats.
"I don't understand," she cries defeated.
"I want to understand," She pleads.
I don't move from where I am. I continue to watch the girl as her cries go from loud ones to ones that sound almost like a whisper. I watch as she lays her body slowly on the ground, curling herself into a ball.
"I don't understand," This time her voice is hoarse.
I turned away to let her get the space that she needs but I was stopped by the snapping sound of the twig I just stepped on. I close my eyes, internally praying that she didn't hear it.
"Who's there?!" her voice echoed through the whole graveyard.
I slowly emerge from behind the tree with both of my hands behind my back. "Hi," I manage to say.
"Who are you?" She asks as she stands up from the grave. The woman had soft features in her; narrow eyes, a small nose, and a small mouth. She's smaller than me but it seems like she's the same age as a 'high school senior' as the groundkeeper would say.
I don't respond but it's because of the weird feeling in my chest. I don't have a name or at least-- I don't remember it. Maybe that's one of my punishment as a mistake.
What difference does being unnamed and unknown have?
I gave her silence and she replies with a questioning look. She stares at me for quite some time and it started to weird me out. I try to fish out a conversation but my mouth fails to produce a single word.
"Rhydian," she says. "I'll call you that. I think its Welsh for unknown."
"Rhydian" I repeat in my head. She signals for me to sit on the ground next to her. Most of the time, the sky cries with people whenever they weep but today, the sun shined brightly.
"No one came," She says, staring at the tombstone in front of her.
Her tombstone is different. It wasn't made out of stone like the others nor was it made of marble, which are the ones that rich people have. Hers was made out of nailed-together old wooden planks; like the ones in the groundskeeper's house. She didn't have an epitaph and it seemed like a wood burner was used to write her name.
"Olei" I read. "That's a unique name.
She didn't move for a good amount of time. She just kneeled in front of her own tombstone. "How did you..." I finally managed to ask.
"Die?" She says in a bitter tone. "I don't remember how died nor how life was when I lived."
I don't answer in disbelief. The groundkeeper said one time that ghosts have the ability to remember how they died and lived. If a human returns as a ghost, it holds its memories so that it knows what its purpose is. Those who died a tragic death, however, don't attain them.
I don't tell her this but instead, I open my mouth and say, "it's okay."
We stayed on her grave for hours even until midnight started to come. Ghosts don't sleep. Neither do spirits like me. But she laid down her 'grave' and for reason, I laid beside her.
We lay there facing the night sky, she was counting stars and I was counting the seconds that passed by. Unfortunately, I lost count. As time passed, I grew envy of humans.
There is something about two people talking that binds them together perfectly. I couldn't decipher whether it was pure interest or an attempt of two people (well, dead people) to fend off the loneliness.
"A warm pretzel," I say, half-laughing. "or I think that's what they call it."
"You mean that knot thingy?" she answers.
I give her a confident nod that makes her burst into laughter again. I never figured out why pretzels tickled her funny bone so much. But her laugh was infectious, I ended up laughing with her. We reached our spot once again-- a roadside in the mountains that overlooks a cliff and an overview of the illuminated city. For two weeks we would come here to watch the sunset before I wake up in the graveyard once again. The sun started to paint the sky orange and the birds started to chase it again.
I breath out deeply as I close my eyes.
When I open them again Rhydian isn't beside me. My head started to look around in panic until I saw her familiar figure on the same spot I first met her. Only this time she wasn't alone. As I walk closer to her, I realize that she's actually watching the kneeling old groundkeeper in front of her.
She stood there frozen. When I realized why, I too, fell frozen.
The old groundkeeper whose feet never walked a meter far from his rocking chair sobbed quietly as he clutched a small picture in a wooden frame. A picture of her. Beside him is a piece of pretzel that now has crumbs of dirt.
Seeing both the pretzel and the frame were enough to drive into a pit of flashbacks. I see white specs of snow, falling on my palm as I count my coins. I see a tall Mexican man with a metal cart that is shaded by a big umbrella. I approach it and immediately hand my coins to the man. He hands me the warm, brown knot and I take a bite.
I remember that I was an orphan begging for coins in the streets so I can earn money to buy one piece of pretzel on Christmas night and she was there, Rhydian. She was across the street. I remember grabbing her arm and dropping my bread before everything went black.
"My granddaughter," the man sobs as he places the picture on top of Rhydian's grave.
"My granddaughter's hero" he says in between sobs and places the pretzel on top of the lump of dirt beside Rhydian. "Forgive me for burying you beside my granddaughter. It was hard for me to find your family. I hope you and my granddaughter find each other because life was selfish when it forbid you to meet."
When I turned to look at Rhydian, she wasn't there anymore. I don't have to question myself to know what happened to her and I know for sure I have the same fate. It was my hands that first started to glow and then it slowly crept into my body until I am engulfed by the light for the last time. And in the last moment of my conscience hallowed out existence I whisper a wish of meeting Rhydian for one more lifetime.
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