Dancing with Ghosts-Part 2

Here is the last 6 pages of my story....so if you haven't read the first part, scroll down and read that first!

***

Charlotte sat near a grave a week later running her fingers over the engraved name and concocted the story of the life of the young woman buried here. She could feel Death watching her, knew he was close but she wanted to prove to him that he hadn’t won. He may have taken this woman, and millions more, but she wanted to show him that she still remembered them. She stared at the grave and thought of this victim of Death.

Cecelia Jane Moretti
September 16, 1962-November 8, 1977
Loved Daughter, remembered forever

She imagined Cece with long dark hair and a mouth that got her in trouble more often than not. She imagined that she was outspoken about civil rights and fought for equality for all. She died defending the rights of others as she got trampled during a riot. Her death silenced the town and they all mourned her in peace because she was loved by all. Her death was the crux that brought forth many changes that she fought for during her last moments of life. It was at this part in the story that Charlotte saw the girl once again.
This time she was dressed in a light pink tutu and twirled a handful of flowing ribbons in her hand above her head. She leaped and spun and laughed, blatantly ignoring all the unwritten rules of etiquette in a cemetery. She bubbled over with life and Charlotte watched her with envy at how unafraid of death she was. She was mocking death, daring him and Charlotte watched with wide-eyed fascination. Charlotte stood and walked towards the little girl, slowly, quietly so as not to disturb her. One step, two steps. Three. Her cell phone chimed and she sighed. Not wanting to go, but knowing it wasn’t a choice, she turned and left the cemetery.

***

A week later, Charlotte walked slowly through the cemetery. She was tired to day and wasn’t really feeling well, but she had to soldier on with her ritual. It was vital for her to show Death that she could conquer him. She stopped at a grave she had not visited yet and kneeled on the grass in front of it, preparing her paper and charcoal.

Madeline Claire Baker
January 20, 1980-April 2008
Wife, mother and daughter
Gone but not forgotten

Madeline was twenty eight years old, the same age as Charlotte now. She shivered and rubbed her arms; Death was close and was breathing his icy breath. She pushed him away and started rubbing the charcoal across the paper. As she rubbed, she invented a story for Madeline. She was beautiful and full of life. She was a dancer and loved life. She never wasted a moment and cared deeply for her perfect children and doting husband. She lived like to the fullest and when she breathed her last breath she knew that she hadn’t wasted a single moment. Her children would grow up to live happy, full lives like their mother. Her husband would eventually find love again, but would always know that Madeline was his one true love. Her family would never go a day without thinking of her and loving her.
Charlotte breathed deeply as a wave of nausea overcame her. She shook and stood up weakly. She regained her composure just as a she felt a gentle tug at her skirt. She jumped, startled, and turned to look into the bright smiling face of the dancing girl.
She grinned widely and waved before giggling and running off to the grave near the large oak tree. Charlotte watched her as she curtsied over a grave and began dancing gracefully in her ballerina slippers and tutu. Charlotte stood and walked towards her hesitantly, abandoning the grave of Madeline Claire Baker that had affected her so badly. When she rounded the big oak tree she noticed a young woman sitting at the base of the tree. She was watching the little girl dancing with a sad smile on her face. Charlotte approached the woman slowly and sat next to her; the woman looked up at her and smiled.
“Is that your daughter?” Charlotte asked softly.
The woman brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and chuckled quietly. “Yes, I guess she is my daughter.” She smiled widely and looked up at the girl dancing proudly. She turned to Charlotte, “I’m Linda, by the way, is she bothering you? We can come back later.”
“Oh no, not at all, she’s beautiful.” Charlotte smiled.
“You know, I thought it might be a tad bit inappropriate, bringing her here to dance, but usually there aren’t too many people here. You must be visiting…” she left the question hanging waiting for Charlotte to fill in the blank.
“Friends, just visiting old friends.” Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at the grave she had abandoned.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman frowned.
The two women sat in silence for several minutes, watching the little girl twirl and giggle. The swans glided on the smooth surface of the pond as if they were the little girl’s back-up dancers. There was no music playing but Charlotte could almost sense a tragic melody that only the little girl could hear.
“You know,” Linda said, breaking the silence, “Today was the first time I have called her my daughter. It feels nice. I thought it would feel wrong, like a betrayal. But it doesn’t at all.” Charlotte stared at the women quizzically. The women half-smiled as her eyes rimmed with tears. She brushed them away hastily.
“Her mother named her Astrid. I hated that name, but I never told her. It just sounded so harsh for a little girl. She wanted her daughter to grow up to be fearless and strong. Astrid means “God’s Strength”. There couldn’t be a more fitting name for such a brave little girl. Her mother was my sister, she died with her husband in a car accident a month ago, and I got custody.” She pulled at the blades of grass near the tree and threw them in the air.
“She cried a lot at the beginning. We both did. But then one morning she woke up and was dressed and ready to go to school. I told her she didn’t have to go if she didn’t want to. She looked at me and told me that she wanted to go. I started to cry because I wasn’t ready to go on; I didn’t want her to go anywhere. I wasn’t ready. She looked up at me and she said ‘I am still sad that they died. But I can still feel them. They live in me and you and everywhere they touched,’ this coming form an eight year old. Can you imagine?” Linda lifted her head to the sky and laughed. “After that she insisted that we come every day to see them. She wanted to dance for them because they loved it when she danced. When she dances, somehow, I can almost feel them here, too.”
Charlotte stared at the little girl who paused a moment in her dancing to wave happily to her aunt. Suddenly Charlotte’s cell phone chimed its weekly reminder. She glanced at her watch and sighed.
“I am so sorry, but I have to be going.”
“Oh, no problem. Sorry, I didn’t get your name,”
“It’s Charlotte.”
“Charlotte. Thanks for listening to me ramble on. I didn’t mean to burden you with all that.” She stood up offering her hand.
Charlotte held her hand lightly, “No, thank you for sharing that beautiful story. I think it may have changed my life.” Charlotte smiled and walked away.

***

An hour later Charlotte sat in a tidy, sterile hospital room thinking of Astrid and dances with the ghost. Charlotte had been trying to fight Death, to prove to him that he couldn’t always win, and all along Astrid embraced him and accepted him.
Charlotte was going to die. It was inevitable. She was going to die soon and all the superstitious rituals in the world were not going to prevent it. For months she had done everything to deny this and today was the first day that she accepted Death. She had quit school, quit her job, distanced herself from friends and family because she could see the pain and truth in their eyes and she didn’t want to believe it. They begged her to spend time with them, warning her that she didn’t have much time to spare and she eventually changed her phone number. She truly believed that if she ran far enough away from cancer, it would never take her away.
Seeing Astrid in the cemetery had changed her. She didn’t want to waste her life getting to know the dead; she wanted to live life loving the living. She no longer wanted to deny what she knew was going to happen. She wanted to hold Death’s hand, who would smile kindly at her as he walked her through her last days. She wanted to live with love, not fear.
Her doctor entered the room, “So Charlotte,” he smiled, but she could see the cold indifference in his eyes, “You ready for this week’s treatment?”
She stared at him for a long moment then shook her head and stood up, “No, not today. It just makes me sick. I just want to live. I want to dance. I won’t be back again.” And she walked out the door.