CHAPEL STREET - Chapter 6 - Tombstone Teri

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Chapter 6

Tombstone Teri

Pushing thoughts of the dark lady aside, I decided to check my email. I was surprised to see a Resting Place email notification of a private message from Tombstone Teri. I opened the email and clicked on the link that took me directly to her instant message on the Resting Place website.

You beat me. I took a picture of the Ritter grave, too, but you uploaded yours first.

I smiled.

But how to respond?  Genealogy is a hobby dependent on the goodwill of others. I couldn’t afford to gloat. I had to appear magnanimous, even though beating her was my primary goal. After a little thought, I typed my reply.

 I’m surprised I beat you to anything. You are putting up some impressive numbers.

Almost immediately after I pressed return, a response came back.

Thanks, that means a lot. I really admire your work.

A first I thought she was mocking me. I viewed her as a rival, but, then again, there was no evidence she felt the same way about me. Maybe she did admire my work. I put a lot of effort into it. It meant more to me than my work at the hospital.

Suddenly Tombstone Teri looked a lot better in my eyes.

Thanks, Teri, I typed, but what to say next?  I didn’t want to compliment her just because she complimented me. That would appear totally insincere. I decided to quit while I was ahead. So then I continued typing.

I look forward to running across you at a cemetery one day.

After pressing return, I prepared to close the browser, but Teri offered an immediate response.

I’ll be at Holy Redeemer around 1pm.

I turned to her profile image. Instead of a photograph, she had chosen a cartoon illustration of a tombstone as her avatar on the website. My thoughts went back to how Rita at Eternal Faith described her:  White, mid-thirties, kind of stiff like a high school math teacher. I mulled that description over in my mind briefly before I stopped myself. What did it matter what she looked like?  She could weigh four hundred pounds, have a full beard, and still be a talented contributor. What did I have to lose by meeting someone who admired my work?  This was just the boost I needed today.

I can be there, I typed back. Where do you want to meet?

You’ll find me, she typed back.

I had two hours to get ready, and I used every minute. After a long shower and both brushing and flossing my teeth, I agonized over what to wear. I normally wore slacks and white button down dress shirts at work, but the shirts made me look a tad overweight when I tucked them in. Outside of work, I generally wore Hawaiian-style shirts that didn’t need to be tucked in. That’s how I dressed on my cemetery expeditions, but I didn’t want Tombstone Teri to think I wasn’t sufficiently respectful of the dead. I eventually chose tan khakis and a short-sleeve, three-button, pullover Hopkins shirt. It never hurt to fly the Hopkins flag around Baltimore, or anywhere else for that matter. I was casual, but not too casual—and formal enough to take her to a nice restaurant, if things developed.

When I left the bedroom, I pointedly didn’t look at the computer. I didn’t want to see the dark woman’s mocking smile. Keeping my eyes averted, I walked over to the computer and turned off the monitor. I would deal with her later. I had more important things at hand. I had a girl to meet. I only hoped that she wasn’t already married with five children.

Holy Redeemer Cemetery was about twenty-five minutes from my apartment. I was very familiar with it. My father Stan was a mutt with mixed Bohemian, German, and Italian blood. His ancestors all immigrated directly to Baltimore between 1886 and 1919. They were all Catholic, and they were all buried on the grounds of Holy Redeemer Cemetery. All-in-all, counting spouses, about forty-five members of my extended family were resting under in its well-maintained thirty-three acres. I would happily buy a plot at Holy Redeemer if I didn’t already have a space reserved for me at Eternal Faith.

I entered the cemetery through its ornate front gate. The front section was the oldest with graves dating back to the founding of the cemetery in 1888. Monuments ranging from simple marble tombstones to thirty-foot obelisks and angelic statues adorned the grounds around me. The further one drove back into the cemetery, the more recent and boring the monuments. Thankfully, most of my relatives rested in the more interesting front sections.

I stopped my car on the hilltop overlooking the green expanse. A typical post-church Sunday afternoon crowd was scattered about the premises. I spotted about fifteen cars, but where was Tombstone Teri?  Using the telephoto lens on my trusty Nikon, I checked out the visitors one by one. Most of them were elderly couples, but I spotted a single woman parked near the grave of my great-grandparents, Jan and Kristina Bakos, with a camera hanging around her neck. That had to be her, or at least I hoped so. From a distance, she looked very nice. I set down the camera and started driving toward her. The closer I got, however, the more uneasy I felt.

Teri had nothing to do with my uneasiness. It was instead the grave of Kristina Bakos. When you live in a family decimated by suicide, it is only natural to search for the cause in the past. My search led directly to my great-grandmother. Kristina was the first member of the family to commit suicide.

Distraught over the death of her five-year-old son Vincent, Kristina killed herself by walking in front of a truck on Broadway, not far from her modest rowhouse on Chapel Street in East Baltimore. Sadly, Kristina passed her self-destructiveness to her progeny. Her son, my great-uncle Norbert, committed suicide after returning home from World War II. His military records showed that he saw heavy combat from D-Day plus six through the conquest of Germany. My father said he was quiet and moody after the war. Today, he probably would have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, but back in his day, Uncle Norbert was on his own. He shot himself with a German Luger he had picked up on a European battlefield as a souvenir.

Norbert’s older brother John also committed suicide. He drowned himself while fishing in the Chesapeake Bay a few years later. Initially everyone thought Uncle John slipped off the boat accidentally until they went to his house. Inside, they found that he had placed his will and all of his financial papers neatly on his desk along with detailed instructions concerning his burial. Despite his meticulous preparations, Uncle John left no explanation whatsoever for his actions. Neither of the brothers left any progeny. My grandfather Harold was Kristina’s only child who lived to adulthood and died of natural causes. Our branch of the family was spared the pain of suicide until the death of my brother Lenny. I couldn’t blame Kristina for my mother’s death since she wasn’t a blood descendant. Madness is not inherited by marriage.

As I parked my car, the photographer snapped photos of a classy, five-foot marble obelisk next to the grave of Jan and Kristina Bakos. She wore blue jeans and a sunny, flowered blouse. She obviously didn’t see the need for solemnity. She turned to me as I got out of my car. I spoke first as I walked toward her.

“Tombstone Teri?”

She smiled. “Please, just Teri,” she said as she walked over and extended her hand. “Teri Poskocil.”

“I’m Rick Bakos,” I said. Her handshake was firm and lingered just long enough to express some warmth.

“I know,” she said.

“Well, here’s something you don’t know,” I said, motioning to the monument beside us. “Those are my great-grandparents who came over from Bohemia.”

“I know who they are,” she replied. “That’s how I discovered you.” 

Her words caught me off guard. I had already experienced too many coincidences since I took that picture. I wasn’t in the mood for another one. Teri took a step back and motioned to the arched column monument beside my ancestors. I saw the name etched in stone and smiled:  Poskocil.

“They’re my great-grandparents.”

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“Nope,” she said. “Our families are neighbors, and that’s how I discovered you in the first place. When I came here to photograph their grave, I photographed the entire row, too. When I started uploading them, I saw your memorial. I was really impressed with the photos and the biographical information you included about them. And I loved the way you linked your relatives together. I took a stroll through your whole family history.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“But what impressed me even more was the information you dug up on people who weren’t even related to you:  obituaries, death notices, census information, military records,” she said, with genuine appreciation. “That’s a lot of work, and it shows a true commitment.”

“Or the total lack of a social life,” I replied truthfully.

“Then I’m guilty as charged, too,” Teri said with a laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve been following me, but I’ve been adding quite a few graves, too.”

“Oh, I know,” I replied. “You’re my biggest rival in the state.”

“Rival?” she asked, amused. “Not colleague?”

“Maybe I’m just competitive,” I answered before I confessed. “Yesterday I went out to Eternal Faith specifically to fill the Ritter request. When I went to the office, Rita told me that a woman was just in asking about her. I assumed it was you. I expected to find you in the mausoleum. When I didn’t, I took the picture and hurried home to try to get it online before you did.”

Teri laughed. “I have a confession to make, too,” she replied. “When I said you uploaded your picture first, I was lying. I never got my picture. I went there, but something about the mausoleum scared me, and I left without it.”

I felt strangely relieved that someone felt the same thing I did. It proved I wasn’t insane. But I didn’t say anything.

“I think it was the flowers,” Teri added. “It was like every flower in the place was dead except down at that new burial.”

“That wasn’t a new burial,” I said. “She’s been dead since 2014.”

“Must’ve been her birthday.”

I shook my head no.

“Well, someone must really love her.”

“I don’t think so,” I said quietly. Teri stopped and gave me a curious look. I think that was the first thing I said that surprised her. “There’s something about that woman that scares me,” I continued with unusual candor. “I can’t imagine anyone loving her.”

“Did you put up a memorial?”

I nodded.

“Do you have a picture of her?”

I nodded again.

“I gotta see it,” Teri said, taking her cellphone out of her pocket.

“Don’t,” I said, touching her hand gently. “I’ve been a little freaked out since I saw it.” Teri put the phone away. Suddenly embarrassed, I added, “I know how crazy it sounds. I mean it’s only a photo.”

“Native Americans used to believe photographs stole a person’s soul,” Teri added.

“To believe that, first you’d have to believe there is a soul.”

“Mr. Bakos, are you an atheist?” Teri asked, as an eyebrow rose.

Damn. I recognized this as one of those moments that would decide what kind, if any, relationship we would have. I decided to answer honestly but circumspectly. “I wouldn’t call myself an atheist,” I replied. “But I’m definitely a skeptic.”

Teri smiled. “That’s okay,” she replied. “We’re all skeptical at times.”

Not wishing to mislead her, I added, “I’m a skeptic most of the time.”

“I’m only skeptical about five percent of the time,” she replied. “The rest of the time I teach English at Mercy High School.”

I laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“I asked Rita over at Eternal Faith to describe you. She said you looked like a high school math teacher.”

“I am so insulted!” Teri laughed. “English teachers are so much cooler than math teachers.”

I laughed, too. Then I added, “Do you like Mexican food?”

Other Chapters:
Prologue - My Mother
Chapter 1 - RestingPlace.com
Chapter 2 - Elisabetta
Chapter 3 - The Upload
Chapter 4 - The Kobayashi Maru
Chapter 5 - Gina
Chapter 6 - Tombstone Teri
Chapter 7 - The Holy Redeemer Lonely Hearts Club
Chapter 8 - A Mourner
Chapter 9 - War Is Declared
Chapter 10 - The Motorcycle
Chapter 11 - Suspended
Chapter 12 - The Harbor
Chapter 13 - Bad News Betty

Learn more about the book Here.

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