Who: Charlie St. Cloud charliestcloud & Ella kindwithcourage What: Shopping for turf. When: Saturday, April 18th, early morning Where: The Greenthumb Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Discussion of death, ghosts, fairytale people and otherwise crazy folk. Status: Closed/Completed GDoc
~*~
People didn't want to talk about death. They wanted to live each moment as if it were their last if they were smart or, if they weren't, they wanted to bury their heads in the sand and pretend death would never come for them. No one was comfortable talking about their own mortality or the mortality of others except in an abstract sense. It was rare to find someone under the age of fifty working in the mortuary business or around a cemetery. Charlie felt lucky to have a guy only marginally older than him digging graves and the ME---well, Dr. Moore was something else.
He wasn't going to regret any visits he had to make to her office to check in.
It turned out Mr. Porter preferred Bermuda grass which was fine with him. He'd gotten directions to The Greenthumb from his cell phone. They were bound to have turf in stock. It was the desert after all. No one expected to seed grass alone to get it to grow in weather the likes of theirs. Charlie hadn't checked on the prices. Mr. Porter's family had provided generously for his care. They had been charmed into offering up an unlimited budget in fact after speaking with Charlie.
Money wasn't important to Charlie, but the comfort of his patrons?
That was worth whatever cost they accrued.
Sometimes Charlie loved his gift; others, he wished nothing more than the ability to turn it off.
Walking over the lovely attendant, he offered, "They're happy. In case you worried. Your parents, I mean. They're happy together. Forgive me for speaking out of turn. I just---have to sometimes. I can't turn it off. Hearing. Seeing. Feeling. Anyway! I'm Charlie St. Cloud, I talk to dead people, I'm the caretaker of the local cemetery, please don't have me thrown out? I really need to buy some Bermuda turf for Mr. Porter. It was important to him to have it for his plot. Very nice man. Shame he passed the way he did."
He felt like a fool yammering at the young woman as he had, but he couldn't stop himself. It was sometimes an impulse yet more often than not it was a requirement of his gift. Charlie literally could not stop himself. He'd written messages from the dead before when he refused to speak their requests aloud. It was an uncomfortable feeling to say the least.
"I didn't offend you, did I? I didn't mean to if I did. Honest. I can't stop talking sometimes. It's a sickness and why I usually stick to the cemetery. Plus, you're pretty. I'm not good with pretty. Ask the ME. Dr. Moore? Wow. I was an idiot in front of her. She'll likely never speak to me again which is a shame because she looks like she could use a friend."
Charlie was more than willing to be the ME's friend, too. She was gorgeous and fascinating. It happened to also help him out Dr. Moore had an aura the likes of which he had never seen. All he wanted to do was sit and stare at it all day---or touch it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd touched someone's aura who was alive. It felt like forever.
~*~
Ella really enjoyed working at The Greenthumb. Mr Grimes was very kind to her, and that was something she appreciated greatly. Her coworkers were grateful that she was always willing to pick up extra shifts, no matter the time. She preferred mornings and weekends, because it was often quiet and it allowed her to give proper care and attention to the various flora and fauna that she tended to. It had taken her a few shifts, but now Ella knew her way around the store and was familiar with the stock that they carried.
She was watering the flora in her section when a young man came over to her and startled her with his words. Ella was completely caught off guard by what it could mean, and by the time she’d made the connection, he was talking about something else entirely. Her eyes watered, touched beyond words, and smiled widely. The watering can was set aside in favor of hugging Charlie St Cloud as tightly as she could, as if it would allow her to hug her parents again. They were together, resting in the peace they deserved. Nothing could have made her happier.
“Thank you,” she replied, her voice soft and wavering from the emotion behind them. “I don’t understand how you can speak with them, but thank you.” Ella hugged him again before recalling herself and stepping away. “I apologize, Mr St Cloud. You’ve...you’ve done a very kind thing and I’m afraid I might have overstepped my bounds.” She cleared her throat and busied her hands with her apron, just smoothing it down. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch what you were looking for. How can I help you?” She was quiet for just a beat before offering her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Ella.”
~*~
Sam had been the last person to hug Charlie and he'd been dead when he'd done it. Their mother couldn't do more than awkwardly pat his arm or touch his shoulder for a fleeting second before backing away. Other people wanted to avoid him as if they were afraid they'd catch whatever mental malady he suffered from to make him believe he could talk to dead people. It meant a lot to him to get a hug from Ella for nothing more than stating the truth. She was apologizing, but all he could think was how nice it was to have someone willing to touch him in kindness again.
"No apologies necessary, Ella. I appreciate the hug. Most people think they can catch seeing dead people if they touch me. Not true. In case you're worried now. I wound up this way after I died and came back. No telling why. I just---make the best of it."
Charlie couldn't turn it off anymore than a person who was paralyzed could suddenly will themselves to walk again. If all it took was willpower to make a change of such magnitude, there would be no people in wheelchairs. He didn't think there'd be any cancer either. People would simply will themselves better. It was the ultimate answer to the question of why did bad things happen to good people: so the good people could use their goodness to make themselves better. A benefit of being good?
He shrugged slightly, "I don't need much. Turf. Some blocks of turf for Mr. Porter's plot at the cemetery. He wants some Bermuda grass to cover his space. I checked the stock online. You seemed to have it in stock. Would you be so kind as to direct me to where it's stored? I'll need a flatbed to wheel it out, too. I have my own truck courtesy of the Test City Cemetery. I'll just need a way to get it into the truck without damaging the sod, you know?"
~*~
Ella frowned, sad to hear that there were people who wouldn’t give Mr St Cloud any kind of affection for fear his gift was contagious. The thought was ridiculous to her, because it was such a gift that he had. “I could do nothing less than hug you, for the joy you’ve given me,” she replied, smiling once more as she gave his shoulder a squeeze. The Bermuda grass he was asking for was an easy find, just a few rows over from where the were, along the wall. “Come with me, I’ll show you where it is. Let me just call for an associate to get a flatbed.”
It only took a moment for her to call one of the very helpful cart wranglers, to have them meet her at where the turf was stored. “Here, it’s just this way,” Ella instructed, stepping away from the small work station to lead Mr St Cloud. Knowing that he didn’t often experience a friendly touch, she tucked her arm in his as she led him toward the side wall opposite from the front doors. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you could use a bit of a friendly touch, given what you said before. I’m sorry others cannot see the beauty of your gift.”
No one should be ashamed of the gifts that they had. Hers was for a clean home, a home-cooked meal, and a touch for growing vegetables, plants, and spices. Working at The Greenthumb was a joy, one of the few pleasures she had in this odd city. “Where I’m from, I lived in a home that had been in my family for generations. Being away from there has been like losing my parents all over again,” she confided. “Working here has been a blessing, but your gift has offered me a kindness I know I cannot repay. If there is ever anything I might be able to help you with, please do not hesitate to ask.”
When the arrived at the section where the various kinds of turf could be purchased, Ella gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping away from him. She observed the offerings for a brief moment before pointing to the Bermuda grass. “Here, that’s what you’re looking for. I think-” she glanced around, looking for the cart wrangler she’d called. “Ah, there he is. George here should be able to help you get the turf you need into your truck without damaging it. How much do you need?”
~*~
Girls had been common for Charlie when he was in high school. He'd been a champion in the town's eyes. Everyone had liked him and his looks weren't too bad. It helped he stayed in shape out on the ocean in his own boat. Few had turned him down when he'd asked for a date. He hadn't been anything more than a guy wanting to go away, get started on his "real" life, and enjoy the most he could out of his small town.
No one had told him to save himself for marriage so he hadn't. His mother had only cautioned him not to wind up some poor child's father before he was ready for the responsibility. Seeing her struggle to raise him and his brother had been enough to put a damper on any reckless behavior there.
Charlie couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date though. With a live girl. He ate a lot of his meals in the cemetery or with his door open so he could see the people milling around outside no one else could see. His life was lonely outside of Sam. Playing ball with his kid brother was the highlight of his day every day. Charlie had thought he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Having a little kindness passed his way from Ella though? That was making him think twice about it.
"I appreciate the kindness, Ella. I want to say there's something I need, but really? I'm sure we'll be seeing plenty of one another. I manage the cemetery which means I'm the one who'll come in for fresh sod, turf, plants, anything we need, really. The only things you should see any of our other employees for would be equipment and I usually send them to our utility shed to make sure we don't have what they're looking for first. Test City Cemetery came well-stocked."
Charlie explained how much he estimated he'd need in squares of the turf which were stacked up like living tiles on the flatbed. He loved the look of them, the smell. They made the whole experience of burial easier on a person's family. He only wished they had the rolls of turf rather than the tiles since the tiles could settle unevenly more often.
"I will ask, do you think you could see if your manager would put in an order for rolls of turf instead of tiles? They can sometimes settle unevenly over a grave. It's upsetting to a family when they see an uneven patch of ground. A reminder their loved one's body is under there even if that's all that's down below the ground."
He thought the best part of his gift was that: knowing even if he was buried tomorrow, the best part of him would remain above the ground or go on to that someplace else waiting around the corner.
~*~
Kindness was a gift freely given, with no expectation of anything in return. Ella was kind because her mother had asked her of it, and because she knew that everyone deserved kindness, even if it was hard to give. Lady Tremaine and her stepsisters were often challenging to be kind to, because they were so cruel and hurtful to her. Still, her father had been happy for a time because of the marriage, and that had always been her desire for him. She could do much for him, but not everything. The best thing she could have done for him was to love him and open their home to their new family, regardless of how their new family thought of them.
This place was sort of like that, without the advantage of her home. Ella was resolved to show kindness to everyone, and now she felt rejuvenated after Charlie’s admission of her parents’ fate. She would never be able to repay that kindness, but she could try. It seemed that even just offering friendship was a kindness to him, which saddened her. He had such a vibrancy in him that immediately made her want to befriend him, regardless of his gift. That anyone could think of his gift as a disease or some such was utter nonsense to her.
“I’m quite looking forward to seeing more of you,” she replied warmly, already planning to visit him at the cemetery, maybe put some flowers on markers that hadn’t been given much attention. Ella still wanted to find a stable, perhaps a horse she could ride, but visiting the cemetery would be an easy kindness. She stayed off to the side as he worked with George to get the amount of tiles he needed, but stepped back into the conversation when he inquired about rolls of turf.
“Of course. I’ll speak with Mr Grimes after my shift. It’s the least we can do for the residents here,” Ella agreed warmly, touched that he cared so much. He was well suited for working in the cemetery, because of how seriously and respectfully he acted. “If you’ll just come back to the front with me, I’ll ring you up and then George can help you get the tiles into your truck so that they won’t be damaged.”
~*~
"Much obliged, Ella. It's hard to load them on by myself without worrying they'll tear. They're no good if I mess up the root systems. They won't take to the ground so they just---die. It's definitely not a look I want for Mr. Porter. He was a very kind soul. His wife recognizes that now. I wish she'd seen it before he passed."
People took one another for granted too often. They thought only of themselves or how they felt or what they wanted. It wasn't about how they could help others or how they could bring some simple joy to another person's life; it was all about how much prestige they could earn, how rich they could become, how they could 'make something' of themselves.
Charlie had wanted to be one of those people himself before the accident. He'd thought on being a big brother to Sam, but mostly? All he'd cared about had been girls, sailing, and getting out of their town to begin his "real life" as if the life he was living weren't real. These days he worried about Sam, whether his brother thought he'd abandoned him, whether he had crossed over when Charlie wasn't looking. It was something to think he could almost still feel Sam in this place.
He wasn't able to go back to where he'd come from which meant he had no other choice than to adapt quickly. Charlie wasn't the same selfish boy he'd been the night Sam had died. Now, he was a man who understood the value of life and how time was more worth more than all the money in the world. Where he'd once been a good guy, he was now respectful, gracious, and courteous as often as he could be. Only on his worst days did he let his bitterness leak through to show how much self-hatred he harbored over the past sins he could never atone for no matter how much work he put into the world.
Ella got him squared away on payment and her friend helped him get everything into his truck bed. It was going to be fine, doing this job here. Charlie could be a caretaker anywhere. A cemetery was a cemetery. It would be---fine.
Going back inside, he offered Ella a smile, "Thanks so much again, Ella. I appreciate all your help. Let me know if Mr. Grimes agrees to get the rolls of turf instead of the tiles. I'm on the network for people like us who aren't from around here. Just my name. It's easy enough to find me. Only Charlie St. Cloud in town. I'll look forward to seeing you again sometime. Hopefully I'll be shopping for a happier customer next time, too. It's always a little harder when it's someone whose passing was sad."
Some passed with gladness in their hearts, prepared to meet the next phase of their journey head-on.
Charlie hoped the next one was like that. He had a feeling the new ME would want that, too. Dr. Moore didn't seem the type to like the sad stories. Her eyes said she'd seen enough sadness already if Charlie wasn't reading them wrong.
He headed back out to his truck to make his way to the cemetery. The tiles would be placed over Mr. Porter's plot as soon as he was mourned by his family graveside and they had his space filled back up with the soil they'd taken from it. Charlie would have to see if they needed to pad any other plots with the remaining earth. It was a good quality. He knew Mr. Porter would hate to see it go to waste.
The man really had loved his lawn, even if mowing it had proved to be what killed him.