The second greatest lesson I’ve ever learned is that everybody dies. The first is that they don’t always stay dead, at least not here.
When you drive into Last Chance Falls, Oregon, the first thing you see is the graveyard. Sometimes, macabre tourists will go out of their way to stop and see the oldest cemetery on the west coast. I don’t see the draw.
It’s a colorless place made up of a thousand shades of grey. Tombstones, old and crumbling, fade back to sharply cut new stones. Richer families put up monuments like crying cherubs and regal angels with blank expressions and empty eyes that look right through you while following your every movement.
I let my hand trail against the wrought iron fence that guards the dead. It’s cool against my fingers. The graveyard is badly lit at night- the streetlights don’t seem to be able to reach past the fence