The day of my grandfather’s funeral was supposed to be the worst day ever. But it turned out to be a good one. Isn’t it silly how that works?

My morning had been unusual and it took me a long time to realize why. I was going about my routine normally and trying to help everyone else out because they were sad, but no one would talk. My mommy and daddy drifted around the house like shadows, stirring the dust and creating layers of darkness. I felt a bit scared and wondered if maybe they had turned into ghosts or something. I didn’t want that to happen to my parents.

But they weren’t ghosts at all. Thinking back, it’s kind of funny that I thought that at the time. My daddy is an English professor and he would call it “ironic.”

It was ironic to me that we were driving in such a fancy car to see a dead body. Maybe it was because Grandpa could see the black car from heaven and he had always liked cool-looking cars. I remember playing with his collection of old toy cars. That was my strongest memory of my grandfather; he had not visited very much but he always brought the cars to show me (and would forget every time that he had already brought them over the last time).

That’s why I did not cry. I felt sad for Mommy and Daddy and I would miss how Grandpa forgot everything, but I did not know him well enough to feel the same sadness my parents suffered. At first, my mommy was upset that I was not crying. A horrible stream of tears was flowing from her and dampening everything in the room—her clothes, the carpet, the table, me—and she had asked Daddy what was wrong with me.

“Why isn’t she crying, Dave?” she sobbed. “Your father just died and our daughter isn’t even crying about it?!”

Nothing she said that day had made much sense, so I figured that this was true for those questions too. But since then, things have happened that have made me think more about death and see it differently. The thing that started it all happened that day in the cemetery.

The funeral took place at an old, cemetery that Daddy called “gothic.” He was telling me how he loved when books had scenes that took place in cemeteries that had existed for many generations. That might be why I had both a fear and attraction of those places.

When we were walking into the cemetery I noticed the spindly gates stretching up from the ground like bony hands. Beyond this, nothing looked scary to me in the least. But something about those gates sent a chill up my spine, especially when they were creaked open by my daddy’s hand. I held my breath and hugged my mommy’s black skirt as we floated in like a sluggish black cloud. The old cemetery smelled of faint flowers and ancient dust.

My parents led me to my grandfather’s grave, where an old man in robes was holding a heavily bound Bible and speaking. I tried to listen—I really did—but I just couldn’t. Instead, I glanced around the tombstones, old and new, reading a few names and dates and feeling an inexplicable awe. Something about the place in which the dead slept made it seem like a captivating mystery that was quickly pulling me in.

After the funeral ended, my parents became lost in the black mass of huddling people. I slipped away from the family members and old folks and walked among the graves listlessly. There were so many names and so many time periods. Something about the way the moss crawled about the tombstones and how time had weathered the words and made some obscure fascinated me. And that’s when I saw the boy.

He was stark against the dreary shadows of the cemetery. His blond hair floated about his head angelically and looked almost as pale as his skin. I watched his sitting form from behind a withering birch tree. The outfit he wore was unusual: an old-fashioned, collared shirt the color of pearls, faded trousers, and dull gray dress shoes.

I gasped when he looked at me suddenly. I felt the blood draining from my face, which must have been as pale as his. As he stared at me with his gray eyes I could not move or breathe, even. My heart raced and a coldness seemed to be trapped inside me. Slowly, he rose up from the dark grass and stood, giving the appearance of the moon against the night sky. The strange boy was walking closer and closer and I was hopelessly frozen with fright.

My eyes widened when he stopped about two feet away from me. His round, wistful gray eyes seemed to hold all of the ancient sorrows of the world. I could see that he was not dangerous and even appeared gentle from his dream-like movements. He looked surprised and I could see the mild curiosity in his gaze rising. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke at last.

“You can see,” was what he said.

I nearly laughed, but he looked so solemn that I caught myself. What a silly thing to say!

I answered, “Of course I can!” 

His eyes brightened immediately and the pallor of his skin seemed to lessen for a moment. His thin lips curled up ever so slightly and I wondered if the boy ever smiled.

“What is your name?” he asked. His voice was soft and came to me like a serene breeze. He was so different from anyone I had ever met.

“Cassie,” I said, thinking he was actually pretty friendly.

The boy’s mouth tightened and he narrowed his eyes in concentration. I watched as he reached for my hand gracefully, but unsurely. I almost asked him what he was doing, but something held me back when I saw the small smile on his face again. He had my hand in his icy cold clutch. I shivered and he pulled it back.

I thought he was a bit odd, but I didn’t really mind it. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Boo,” he answered.

“That’s it? Just Boo?” What a weird name!

He nodded, looking serious again, but his gray eyes shone with hope. He asked, “Cassie, do you think we could be acquaintances?”

I snickered and couldn’t hide it. Boo talked funny. But I thought he was nice and I didn’t really have any friends, so I agreed. It would be nice to talk to someone other than my annoying neighbor, Sarah. She had never been a nice friend.

He seemed much happier than before and looked less strange standing there in front of me in the cemetery.

“Now that you are my friend, can you please promise that you will come back and play with me?” Boo sounded awfully sad when he said that, like all he had ever wanted was one friend to play with.

I didn’t know much about him yet, but I felt really bad and I wanted to make him happy. The little smile appeared after I promised that I would. I wasn’t sure how exactly I could convince my mommy and daddy to let me play in the graveyard with a strange boy, but then I realized that they would probably want to visit Grandpa once in a while.

Suddenly, I heard my daddy shouting my name. I jumped and looked back at Boo.

“I have to go now,” I said. “I’m happy to be your friend, though!” His eyes sparkled in a mixture of joy and sorrow at this.

“Why can’t we just play at your house?” I asked him.

Boo frowned and stared at the shady grass by his feet. I could see my shadow, but not his.

“Cassie!” my daddy shouted again. I sighed.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “I’ll be back, so don’t be sad!”

Boo stared at me for a while with a grim frown. Finally, he gave me an odd little bow and then straightened, his pale hair only shifting slightly when he moved.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Cassie,” he said.

I smiled and watched his gloomy face for a moment longer before running off towards my daddy’s voice. My parents scolded me a bit for wandering off without them, but they were too tired to yell or anything and stopped after a little while.

As I left the cemetery, I didn’t even notice the scary gates. I walked in a dreamy state, knowing that what just happened was real, but feeling that there was something unnatural about it all. I pictured Boo’s sad, gray eyes and I kept thinking that I had to keep my promise to him; I had to go back to the cemetery to play with my new friend.