Storybook Corner: John and I

Copyright Adam Ickes

The voices led me there. They prodded and poked until I finally gave in, never told me where I was going, only gave me directions. Turn left, turn right, go straight, faster… that sort of thing. I’m not certain how many voices there were, but I know it was at least three working in unison. Once I’d made up my mind to listen I heeded their directions without hesitation…that is until I came upon the graveyard. I didn’t even know it was there-tucked away on Wallace Street between a Lutheran church and a deli I’d never heard of.

I stood at the open gate and wondered why the voices led me there. My feet planted firmly in place, the voices tried to urge me onward. To be honest, I was scared. There’s this fear I have of graveyards. I feel like something is going to reach through the ground and grab my ankle. I’ve never cared to venture a guess as to what goes on after it’s grabbed me. I’d rather not think about things like that. It’s an irrational fear, I know, but it creeps in every time I see a cemetery.

After enough urging from the voices and enough positive thoughts to block the image of a hand breaking through the ground to get me, I finally continued forward again. Why they led me to the grave of Pvt John Weakley I’m still trying to figure out, but the voices stopped immediately upon arrival. I haven’t heard them since. I never told anyone about the voices until they were gone. Even then I only told my girl, Karrie.

I’ve been back to visit John every Tuesday since those strange voices first led me there. I feel a strange draw pulling me there, like we’re connected somehow. I have so many questions and very few answers. Karrie has this theory that I was John in a past life. See… I have these dreams of fighting in the Civil War, usually on Monday nights. That’s why I visit him on Tuesdays. Karrie thinks they might be memories rather than dreams. It’s hard to wrap my head around such a concept, but the more time I spend with John the more I wonder if she might be right. I mean, really, who visits a dead guy they never even heard of on a weekly basis?

Let’s say for the sake of argument that I am John… I mean was… was John. What exactly does that mean? Why does it even matter?

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