Marie traced her name on the bronze plaque affixed to the concrete and marble tomb. Her fingertip stung as it followed each letter on the blistering memorial. The New Orleans sun blazed on her bare mahogany shoulders and the humid air caressed her elegantly outstretched arm.
How strange to see your own name on a grave, she thought. St. Louis Cemetery #1 was opened in 1789 and her great-great-great grandmother was buried there almost 100 years later, long before the red-brick pathways were taken over by clover and dandelions, long before rust blossomed on the wrought-iron railings. All this faith. She marveled at the mementos left at the foot of the tomb. Bouquets of flowers, once vibrant, but now dehydrated by constant, fierce sunshine. Yellowed photos, cracked around the edges. And everywhere, the "XXX" left as a sign of hope that their wishes and prayers would be answered. Marie glanced around.
Nobody here but me and the mosquitoes. She trailed the glass shard across her index finger and drew her own red X's on the tomb. "Dearest Marie...since I was a baby, my mama always told me I had your gift. Help me use it well. Help me stay true." She kissed the scorched stone, and turned away.
"Mom! Come see this one!"
"Oh, honey, get the camera, would you?"
"And if you read the sign on this memorial..."
"Daaaaaaddddd...I'm hooootttttt..."
Sharon tried her hardest to block out the guide and the rest of her babbling group. They clucked like a flock of hens. She trained her ears on the wisp of improvised lonely jazz notes, floating to her from the saxophonist across the street. She really had no desire to take the whole cemetery tour with her church group, but when she discovered that this particular tomb was included, she signed up. The bare, pale skin on her scalp was tingling beneath the red bandana she wore. St. Joseph Ladies' Auxiliary had been wonderful over the last few years, bringing tuna casseroles, shuttling Brian and Tracy to games and rehearsals, holding prayer circles...the church was conservative and traditional, and that was her comfort. But how many prayers do Jesus, God, Mary, St. Jude, and all the others does it take to hear the magic word?
Remission. Three tiny syllables.
"Sharon! Come on, lady! Catch up!"
"On my way!"
She watched the ladies of St. Joseph turn the corner and disappear into the maze of cracked and ancient mausoleums. She unwrapped the red bandana, relishing the direct sunlight on her naked skin. She folded it and nestled it with the other offerings of candles, baseballs, and Mardi Gras beads. She took her red Clinique lipstick from her purse and drew three red X's. "Marie. It's come back four times. Please say a prayer that it stays away for good this time." A tear fell and disappeared into the steamy bricks at her feet as she pressed her forehead to the tomb.
The police sirens wailed past the weathered, red-brick wall, which didn't do anything to muffle the shrill sound. Lamar's head was bowed, eyes closed, hands clasped so tight that his ebony knuckles looked almost pink. "Marie, God ain't listenin'. He never did." A tear slid down his cheek, leaving a shimmering trail in the moonlight. A balmy, swamp-scented breeze cooled his skin. He clutched his hands tighter, and the muscles in his wiry, tattooed arms bunched. "I don't know what to do no more. T-Paul won't mind me. Not now that he think he growed up." The sirens continued, waves of sound rising and washing over him. "Please, please don't let those be for him." Lamar knelt. The phone in his pocket buzzed, but he ignored it. "I ain't seen him in three days now, mama's sick from cryin', an I done look everywhere." Lamar gazed at the cool marble, his heart as cold as the stone itself. His eyes traced the markings left by so many others in prayer and knew it was time to leave his own. He lit a stick of incense and watched the glowing ember for a moment. "Marie, I know I'm done for. Ain't nothin' gon' save me now." He scraped the red-orange tip along the stone. X. "My little bro don't need to end up like me." He scratched again. X. "Watch over 'im. Keep 'im straight. I'll do anything." One more motion. X. Lamar vaguely noticed that the sirens had stopped. His phone buzzed again. He tapped the screen. "Found him. Come home." Lamar kissed the tomb, jumped the wall, and headed down to the Lower 9.
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