"Nothing but a bunch of rich assholes trying to buy immortality." I heard my father's cynical tone in my voice.
"It's decadence done right!" Her tone matched the grayness of the day. "James?" she asked.
"Shannie?" I answered.
"Nothing," she sighed. Lines etched her forehead. Below us, laughter rang out. Diane led a pair wonks up a path. "I'm not in the mood for them."
"I want to be alone," she said. She headed towards the terrace overlooking the Schuylkill River. My eyes followed her until she disappeared over the crest of the hill.
"I've come into possession of one of the last plots," Diane boasted. I slithered behind the monuments.
Shannie sat Indian style upon a bench on the terrace, not too far from Diane's plot. Snowflakes speckled her hair. I crept from gravestone to gravestone, my eyes never leaving her. I imagined her gaze, staring across the river, past the rushing traffic into eternity. I thought I was finally successful when she said. "I don't think they were trying to buy immortality. They're celebrating life."
I walked around the bench and sat next to her. "I'm going to die," she announced.
"We're all going to croak."
"You have such a way with words," Shannie said.
"Not the fortune cookie thing," I protested.
"Yes the fortune cookie thing," Shannie sighed. "What else does an empty fortune cookie mean?" Shannie's eyes never relinquished their hold on destiny.