He was worried about his country. Something was rotting from the inside—a slow decay of what was right and wrong. It was as if hundreds of cynical little rats were chewing at its very fiber, gnawing away year by year, until it was collapsing into a vat of gray slime and self-loathing. It had oozed under the doors of the classrooms, the newscasts, and in the movies and television shows and had slowly changed the national dialogue until it was now a travesty to be proud of your country, foolish to be patriotic, and insensitive to even suggest that people take care of themselves.
History was being rewritten by the hour, heroes pulled down to please the political correctors. We were living in a country where there was freedom of speech for some, but not all. What was it going to take to get America back on track? Would everything they had fought for be forgotten? He was so glad he and Norma had grown up when they had. They had come of age in such an innocent time, when people wanted to work and better themselves. Now the land of the free meant an entirely different thing. Each generation had become a weaker version of the last, until we were fast becoming a nation of whiners and people looking for a free ride—even expecting it. Hell, kids wouldn’t even leave home anymore. He felt like everything was going downhill.
Up at Still Meadows, not everyone felt that way. Mrs. Lindquist’s great-granddaughter had just arrived and was saying something else about her generation. “Oh,” she said. “So many wonderful things are happening now. They are finding new cures for things every day. And people are so much more tolerant and accepting of everything now: different races, different religions, different lifestyles. Life is so much easier than when you were growing up, and women are just doing everything, and now with the Internet, well…the whole world has changed. Honestly, I have to say I grew up in the very best time possible.”
When Macky Warren finally went to his reward, as they say, and landed up on the hill, the first voice he heard was Norma’s shouting, “Surprise!”
“Good God, woman, you nearly scared me half to death.”
Norma laughed. “Think again, Macky. You are dead, silly. Oh, Macky, I’m so glad you’re here. I have so much to tell you. Aunt Elner was right. She told me I’d be glad you bought us these plots, and am I ever. You are going to just love it out here, honey.”
—
LATER, AFTER MACKY HAD recovered from the state of shock of Norma shouting at him, he began to realize that this new state of being was a relief. He had always been casting about in his mind: What was life all about? What the hell was his purpose? What was he supposed to be doing?
But now, everything made sense. He had lived and died; it was as simple as that. He hadn’t needed a purpose. The fact that he was born was all the purpose he had ever needed. He was meant to be his parents’ child, his wife’s husband, his daughter’s father, and on and on. Despite all his grand schemes and ambitions to set the world on fire, to be someone special, he was just another little link in the chain of life, inching forward from generation to generation. The only thing he had to do was relax and enjoy where he was. This was exactly where he was meant to be right now. He had to agree with Norma. He didn’t think he had ever been happier in his entire life.
—
AS THE YEARS WENT BY, all the old gang—Tot, Ruby, Verbena, and Merle—had all disappeared. One by one. And it seemed they were all leaving much sooner than they used to. And people were talking.
Dwayne Jr. said to Gene Nordstrom, “Hey, did you hear? We lost three more people last night.”
“Damn, that’s not good,” replied Gene.
“You don’t think those people are going to hell, do you?”
“No, I don’t think so. If that were the case, I think they would have gone there right away.”
“Yeah,” said Dwayne Jr. “You’re probably right, and for all we know, they could be headed off into another dimension or to some real cool parallel universe.”
“To where?”
“A parallel universe. Didn’t you ever see Star Trek on TV?”
“No, I died in 1945. We didn’t have television.”
“Oh, man. What a bummer. But hey, listen…the way people have been disappearing lately? If I’m not here tomorrow, it’s been real nice knowing you.”
“Likewise, pal,” said Gene.
2016
Macky Warren was the last person to be laid to rest at Still Meadows, and since there weren’t any more new people coming in, almost nobody came to visit anymore.
As the years went by, it seemed that Still Meadows had just become a place for people to jog, ride their bike, walk the dog, teach their kids how to drive, drink beer, smoke pot, or make out with your girlfriend.
One morning, Old Man Hendersen woke up furious. The day before, some kid had knocked over his headstone, along with four others, when he’d put his car in reverse instead of drive. “And they won’t fix it,” he said. “This place is going to hell in a handbasket—weeds everywhere—and has anybody noticed that we have an infestation of gophers out here? All night, I hear them digging. Scratch, scratch, scratch.”
Ida Jenkins turned to her husband. “He’s right. The way they have let this place go is disgraceful. I don’t understand where the Garden Club is. This would not have happened on my watch, I can tell you.”
Three days later, Eustus Percy Hendersen was gone. And as odd as it sounds, people missed him. As Gene said, “He was crabby as hell…but I liked the old goat.”
—
BY THE YEAR 2020, the town of Elmwood Springs was almost non-existent. The old mall had shut down, and a factory outlet mall with an IMAX theater had been built on the other side of the dairy, where a new community had formed. The WELCOME TO ELMWOOD SPRINGS sign put up by the Lions Club that once stood on the turnoff had fallen down. There was almost nothing left but a few of the old houses, a trailer park, and a row of storage units. Linda used to send flowers to her parents on Easter, but she eventually stopped. She didn’t really believe her parents were there, anyway. She was right, of course. By then, both were gone.
As the years went by, there would be nobody left at Still Meadows. Nothing remained but a lonely hill full of overgrown weeds and grass covering broken headstones.
In the grand scheme of things, their time at Still Meadows had been a short time, but it had been a good time.
2021
It was getting late, and the sound of the traffic was growing fainter by the moment.
The old crow in the tree lifted herself up, shuffled her shiny black feathers in place with one long iridescent ripple, then hunched back down for the night. She watched the last of the couples scurrying home through the park. After a moment, the old crow blinked her eyes and sighed. “I just loved being a human being, didn’t you?”
The gray mourning dove that sat beside her shook her head. “I couldn’t say, Elner. Never been one.”
“Ahh…well, you have a lot to look forward to. It’s a lot of fun,” said the old crow. “But then, I enjoy being a crow, too. I know a lot of people don’t care for crows, but personally, I always got a big kick out of them. Every morning, my husband, Will, and I used to sit on our back porch and watch them flying around way up in the sky. And now, I’m one of them, doing the same thing, and it’s just glorious to be able to fly.”
A gray squirrel who was curled up in his nest above chimed in. “I was a turtle for over sixty-four years.”
“Oh my, what was that like?”