It's early morning, the time of day where dew still cleans to the grass, barely visible in the pale sunlight. My shoes squeak as I walk quietly through the graveyard, trying not to disturb the utter silence that envelopes me. The earth is still sleepy and moon has not yet relinquished its place in the sky, but the grave markers are clearly visible. They solid rock and stone shines with a light all its own, strong and timeless.

I come here to look at the names. I let my hands brush ever so slightly on the tops of the headstones as I walk past them, one by one. They are old, so very old, yet untainted by the ravages of time. Sure they're a little worn down by ages of rain and endless winds, but nothing could damper their splendor. They serve as reminders of what was, what is and what will yet become.

Some are big, carved into intricate shapes. On them are names written in bold script, sunken deep into the stone. Names of people I never knew. Dates that are vivid to someone, somewhere, but that mean little to me.

I am just an observer.

I like to imagine the people whose names I read. I imagine what they would have looked like, what kind of life they might have lived. The Martha's and Arleen's live quiet lives in my mind, peaceful. The James' and Violets live grand lives as secret kings and lost adventures. They have people who love them, they have families. Other times they are solitary. Each name brings about a new scenario to mind.

One name inspires a tragic tale of love. I can picture the grieving woman leaning her hands against the cold, wet stone in front of me. Tears fall from her face, and fresh flowers hang limply in her hand. She falls to her knees, and gently places the flowers at the base of the rounded marker. She brushes her fingers against the name, the date, the one line of explanation. She stands, and looks behind at me, then vanishes. Sometimes I wonder if what I'm seeing is entirely fictional.

Some graves have flowers, or flags. Others are covered with moss and look as though they have not been touched in far too long. Forgotten, perhaps like the decaying bodies they house. Time carries on, claiming one life after another, filling its soil with their spent shells.

But even as decades come and go, cemeteries endure. People constantly feel the need to mark the losses of each other. A reminder left for anyone, really. One page, cement diaries. Sure family and friend visit, but the headstones seem to me like a testament to lives when those who remember them are gone. They stand, crooked and immovable, telling whoever wanders in here that this name is worth something, it's worth remembering.

It makes me wonder why people come to these places. A poem springs to mind; "Do not stand at my grave and weep/I am not there/I do not sleep". There is nothing here of the person known in life, yet we come here and talk to them, cry to them.

There is nothing here but bones and bits of flesh in decorated boxes covered by the dirt.

Yet here I stand. Alone in a cemetery, imagining the lives of those who live no more. Perhaps that's what cemeteries are for. To allow you to live on the minds of the fanciful wandering. Maybe their a chance to escape the bonds of monotony that enslaved you in life.

Tessa.

Her name is Tessa. She comes every Tuesday morning, I am told, at precisly five past eight. Armed with a roll of trash bags and a can of red bull she begins her routine. She was sick last week, and since I hadn't started work until last week, I am meeting her for the first time.

Her enthusiasm arrives before she does in the form of a off-key version of "Love Song". A bright, yet aged, face bursts through the door in a current of energy. She's dressed in stained khaki shorts and too short tan shirt. Compared to my own black pants and button down shirt, she doesn't look very proffessional, but there is something about her that speaks of authority.

"Good morning ladies. Oh!" She paused, focusing her eyes in on me. They softened instantly.

"You must be the new one. Well aren't you just adorable. Look at your hair- I love it! Good God honey, you look bored. It's this place, it will bore you to tears. Sometimes I think I might just drop dead from it all. But that's why I don't work at a desk, no way. Can't focus on nothing for that long. Got to keep moving. You're working in a good place though, better than the others. These ladies here are fabulous." She paused only to throw a smile towards my two coworkers.

"I tell you what, this place is filthy. You'd think the college could spring the few bucks to have me come in here more than once a week. Ain't you ladies' fault of course. You don't say much, do you?" She paused again, grinning down at me where I sat in my chair. She smelled of menthol cough drops and cheap perfume.

To be honest, I wasn't sure how to respond. I wasn't uncomfortable, if it was even possible to be around her; she way she spoke made me feel like we'd been friends for years. I smiled up at her, the only reaction I could muster at the moment. She beamed in response, her face crinkling around her ancient, knowing eyes.

As she set to work emptying the various trash cans located around the small room, she chatted with the other two. They talked of children and grandchildren, and of husbands, but I noticed that Tessa mentioned none of her own. They exchanged bits of gossip about other employees on the campus, and traded comments on the condition of the world in general. I caught Tessa's mention of rising healthcare costs, followed by the subtle admittence that her sickness last week was due to the end of her remission from cancer.

"They tell me I need to see the doctor three times a week, as if I have time for that. Hell, as if I have money for that. I've had to take up a second job just to feed my energy drink habit, which they want me to kick by the way. I'm not about to do that," she chuckled. "You I got hooked because of those coupons. I told you about that didn't I?" She didn't wait for a response. "I sent in a cartoon to Reader's Digest, a picture of a little guy drinking the stuff. You know, I'm an artist, when I get the free time. Course, I couldn't go to college for it or nothin', life's funny that way. But anyway, I won the contest, and they send me a thousand dollars in free coupons. I got hooked on the damn stuff, excuse my language, and now here I am, drinking it even though I've used up the coupons!" The ladies laughed along with her, though Christine made a subtle comment about engergy drinks not being healthy. If Tessa heard her she chose not to respond.

Before long she had finished the trash cans, and was now starting on the vaccuming. The vaccum tank was strapped to her back, with the wand and cord wrapping around her. She looked odd, standing there in her shorts and ill-fitting beige shirt. Her black headband gave her a youthful appearence, espcially paired with her tennis shoes. She looked almost like child pretending to be a super hero.

She hummed as she worked, sometimes full out singing. Her songs had no particular order, and covered everything from folk songs to current pop music. I enjoyed listening to her.

"Excuse me dear," she said, swiping the vaccum under my desk and feet. I scooted out of her way, feeling oddly useless.

Sooner than I would have thought, Tessa was finished with vaccuming. The clock above my head read 8:25.

"Well lovelies, I have to get moving. Got another doctor's appointment today. They want to poke some more needles in me or something. God only knows what. I have to be there at 8:45. What time is it now?" She looked over at Christine for an answer.

"8:26. Is it here in town?" Christine asked in response.

Tessa laughed.

"God no. Wouldn't that be nice if it was. It's in the city. I have to meet a friend of mine, she's giving me a ride. Aint't that far from here though, is it? I still have another room to do. Time off doesn't come easily around here." Tessa wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something bad. Branshing her energy drink and monster of a vaccum she headed for the door.

"You all have a nice day, don't work too hard. Especially you Honey," she said looking at me. "I'm off to grand adventures. See you all next week!" She called behind her cheerfully.

Christine turned to Rebecca, the other of the three employees including myself. "My, she is strange as ever. Nice enough though." Rebecca nodded in solid agreement, then turned to me.

"Now, don't you get me wrong, because she's a hard worker and all, but we've got to watch her. She's real nice, but she's one of the cleaning crew, you get what I mean? She's a sweet lady, but you know. I just don't want you getting the wrong idea."

I just looked at her, my eyes giving away nothing.

"No. I don't know what you mean." I said.

She ruffled her shirt a bit before answering.

"Well nevermind, I was just saying is all. Nevermind. It's not important."

(unfinished)