James took the job almost without thinking. It just clicked in his head - the man asked over the phone, "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" An automatic "yes" from James' mouth came out, and later he realized how strange it had been of him. It didn't matter much anyway. He had no obligations, nowhere to be, no one to see. Now he had a job, and even though he still felt the same - empty, uncommitted, unrestrained - at least now he could pay for it.

It was really the perfect job for him at this stage in his life, he thought. He wasn't necessarily a security guard, because they'd given him no flashlight or baton or anything, and he wasn't really a night clerk, because they'd given him no desk, no paperwork duties. James didn't really understand his duties. He thought it best just to show up, and to see what would happen. Worst came to worst he would be fired - "Your services are no longer needed, Mr. Decker." Then he'd be back on his own supply of money - that bank account - which was more than ample to pay for years of living. He didn't need this job, he didn't even want it. He took it just the same.

At 7 pm Monday night he showed up at the cemetary gates. It was very early summer, and the sun was still up. There were clouds in the sky - off white, and illuminated like a canvas with a great bulb shining through. They drifted slowly - the wind pushed them along, but there was no breeze of any significance down below with James and company. There must have been an air stream up there, he thought.

No one showed when he rang the bell. He leaned into the little speaker - "Hello? This is James, James Decker." There was no response. James wasn't sure what to do. This was the correct time, and he was always PUNCTUAL. He felt nothing for being here - he didn't care either way, this was as good as television or a book. He yawned, and looked at his watch. The sun was going down. It would be dark in a matter of minutes. The place looked so otherworldly now - so many shadows, spots of sunlight, shafts of filtered dust from the road leading in to the graveyard. Inside it was green and lush - vines grew over the tiny mausoleums, the grey of the tombstones contrasted with the emerald surroundings - some may have seen this as ugly, but it was really quite beautiful - like the Forum in Rome. Old buildings, ancient ruins, the feeling of people once standing there before you - the living had ghosts as well as the dead. James could feel it. The wind picked up, and it was scented with a fragrance of some kind. Right now, it seemed as though James had never seen anything like this before, this place, this 'aura'. He approached it all with the same placid expression and apathetic sense of wonder he always had - as if he were shopping at the grocery store - even if he was witnessing a volcano erupt.

A few minutes passed. Now, the sun had set so well it seemed the entire world wore a pair of sunglasses. James sighed, and saw the moon emerge in the sky out of thin air. The wind blew through him once more - gently sighing - he thought he heard a soft lilting voice whisper "James" . . . and started. He turned around, and leafs landed around him. He thought he heard someone say his name again, but this time it sounded different.

"James!" a cackle came from the speaker.

His face looked as if he meant to say "Oh!" and he came back over to the wall. "Yes . . . it's me. I'm here." There was a pause. The voice torted back "You're late!" and the cast iron gates screeched open from the electric switch inside.

James walked to the main building. He knocked on the door, and a little old man popped out. He had a bulldog face - wrinkly, squished, very ugly - yet its roundness reminded him of some cherubic baby. James smiled a goofy grin at the thought of an big old baby like that.

"What are you smiling at?" the old man huffed. His lungs sounded weak, and his manner rude. James' vanished into thin air. "Oh . . . I . . . uh . . ." James didn't know what to say. He barked something like "Come inside!" and James followed. The office was a musky, dingy little hole, with corners of desks and shelves everywhere. Dust and cobwebs covered the walls. This seemed to be the stereotype of what a graveyard office must look like he thought, if such a stereotype did exist. James laughed at that, then he laughed a bit from how funny his sense of humor must seem to others.

"What are you laughing at?" the old man snapped. James realized the man must have been talking to him this entire time, and that he hadn't been paying one bit of attention. A worry came to him, but then passed. The old man continued on - "Now that you know your duties then, let me give you a tour!" He grabbed a jacket off an old hat rack and headed out the door.

There were only outdoor lights around the office; further back into the cemetary it became covered in pitch black. It wasn't so much that James was brave, or wasn't scared, but he demonstrated a sort of complete lack of fear, an absence of a sense of danger. The old man grabbed a lantern and they trotted down the main central path into the graveyard. Old willows lined the little road, and grassy weeds were left overgrown, reaching over the stones that lay everywhere: the soil must have been hard to dig in, it was so rocky.

The old man kept talking and talking. James wondered when he would shut up and leave. The little bulldog baby-man pointed his stubby fingers at graves, saying things like "That one was a real tragedy" or "He was a bastard!" or "That one was on the cover of Cigar Connosieur magazine." James would reply with various "Yeahs" or "Mmm hmms" or "Really?" or impolite "Wows." The old man didn't even notice James' curtness, and neither did James. After an hour or so of talking, the old man said he would be back in the morning. He closed the gates behind him, locking James in. James didn't know why he was locked in; he supposed the old man must have mentioned why in his talk.

Now that he was gone, James looked around the office lackadaisically to pass the time away. There were scrambled stacks of books, piled up papers, pipes, pots, pictures - it was impersonal personal belongings to James. He sighed and grabbed a chair to go outside. He didn't bother with the lantern; it seemed too difficult to light again anyway.

He sat the chair down near the first few graves off the path and underneath the big hanging trees. He had no intention of falling asleep, nor was he very tired, but he shut his eyes anyway. Some time must have passed, and then he worried this must become a very dull job indeed. He got up and walked further in with his chair.

He'd set it down in numerous places, sitting for a few minutes, then moving, then over again. He wasn't particularly restless, each spot was just peculiar to him that it didn't interest him more than it did. He tried to explain it to himself, and failed. He moved further in and further in, and now that he was somewhat paying attention to his surroundings, he realized just how large a ground this entire place covered. He set the chair down accidentally over someone's grave. He looked down and saw what he had done."Oh excuse me," he said.

It must have been at least four of five hours of this before James started to grow sleepy. He set down the chair and laid on some grass. It was aqua green in the milky moonlight, and he thought it looked soft. It was, and he rested his head on his arm. The wind was cold, and blew rather noisily through all the willow trees but it didn't bother him. The murmur of a voice echoed in his ear and the soft rustle of the leaves cooed him to sleep. It wasn't before long he was very well into his slumber, when a stick somewhere snapped, and woke him.

James sat up, and wondered what could that possibly be? He glanced sleepy-eyed at his surroundings - no one was there. It was nothing. He laid back down again, and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, he woke up at dawn. He stretched, and walked back to the office. He heard the old man's car pull up just as he entered, and pushed the buzzer to open the gates. The old man came in, said "Good morning" with a growl and went for a walk. He came back just when James rested his head on his hand in the big cushy office chair. "Good job, kid. We're gonna get along just fine." James nodded in agreement. He didn't know what he had done, he didn't even know his own duties. The big old baby smiled at him, and James got up to go home.

He came back the next night with a sack lunch and a book to read. He wasn't very interested in reading it; it was boring, and he had read much better. The situation with the sandwich was the same - it was plain ham and cheese - James didn't even want to eat it. He sighed, and the old man said some stuff about his day and all those "kooky funeral home people." James nodded and said "Yeah." They shook hands and the old man left. James saw the seed of routine planted and smiled. Static routine in which his mind could drift off into anything: James didn't call it a desire, nor really a necessity. He described this feeling to himself as a "fancy" and nodded to himself. He grabbed the chair for another night of "work."

After moving around again numerous times, James accidentally forgot his book and his lunch, and then finally the chair. He was busy gazing at his feet whilst strolling down the hill of the second meadow inward when he heard a voice strike from afar.

He looked up and his eyebrows perked. He saw, from far off, a girl, possibly no more than 17 years of age, in front of a grave. She must have been about two hundred yards away. What was she doing here? Everyone was supposed to be gone an hour before he even arrived, so . . . James was puzzled, but no more than a simple expression of quiet curiosity came across his face to the mystery girl in the distance.

He thought he should go say hello, but then thought that might be considered impolite for cemetary etiquette. He would watch her from here, behind this line of trees, and well covered by the shrubs lining the meadow. He nodded in agreement.

Minutes passed. The girl didn't do much, and he couldn't even hear her. He wondered if that voice he heard only a minute ago was even her or not. He shrugged. Time passed. Observing the girl was boring after a bit, and he sighed. She looked very pretty, and James thought himself fond of her looks, but the possibility of romance really didn't enter into his mind. How nice it was, just to watch someone like a movie camera, to be invisible! James smiled at the thought of that. Then he wouldn't have to pay attention to anyone, or anything, or . . . his train of thought stopped. The breeze blew again - almost an exact duplicate of the one last night, he thought. He yawned it in. Tonight was awfully boring.

Just then, he realized the girl wasn't there anymore. Where did she go? James looked around. She was near, just off to his right, about twenty feet away; she still didn't see him. He peered at her face, and squinted his eyes to see better. He thought she wasn't as pretty up close as she was from afar. James thought he better say something, lest he ruin the moment, or the chance, to do such a thing. He confused himself, shook his head, and raised his hand.

"Miss!"

She turned and looked at him; her eyes met his. She was beautiful! Almost nymph- like really. He smiled at this thought - what sort of place was haunted by petite nymphs? This was all rather surreal really, but James thought a romantic thought. Still, he wanted to be clever, so he said rather loudly, "You're good from afar, but far from good!" He laughed out loud at that remark. Surely that would win her over!

The girl only raised an eyebrow at his stupid comment, and turned. She went out through a wooden gate in the big stone wall. He hadn't noticed that there before. He must not have been paying attention. So she had left, but at least she wasn't angry or upset, so that was good, James thought to himself. He knitted his eyebrows. He could see in for the briefest second before the gate shut - it was an open moonlit field; maybe a cow pasture of some sort. He felt bad because the girl was gone now, and he looked at his feet again. He sighed. There was no need to follow her really, he would just stay here. For now anyways. He fell asleep on the grass, and woke up again at dawn. He walked back to the office covered in dew, and stared at the lifting fog off the trees and gravestones. He pushed the buzzer for the gate, and the big old bulldog cupid baby man came in. He said something, and walked past James into the graveyard. Roughly five minutes passed. James busied himself by wringing out the moisture in his clothes from sleeping in the meadow. "Blehh . . ." he said. The old man came back - "You're fired! Get out! You didn't do anything last night did you?" James didn't say a word and quickly made a beeline for the door - his shoes squeaked across the floor.

He went out the cast iron gates, and looked over his shoulders. For a brief second, James wondered at what had just happened - the past two nights he meant. He knitted his eyebrows. The breeze blew again, and some leaves fell to the ground behind him. He imagined the voice - or was it there? James listened, and tried to concentrate - what was it? No, it was gone, whatever it was. He thought about the field, the girl. He sighed. He wished he had paid attention.