cripples and cemeterys

About midmorning yesterday I got an email from lee; he was wondering if I was free anytime this week to go and try to find Richard’s grave. Although I was supposed to be working, some things, I think, must take priority. I’ve always wondered where my friend was buried.

Lee came yesterday afternoon, and drove us both to Nantwich cemetery, where, he had heard, our friend was buried. He did not, however, know exactly where rich was, and explained that we needed to hunt. The cemetery itself is overgrown and unkempt, so this was easier said than done. We were both stumbling around this infernal place, looking for the grave of our friend, and it struck me what a shitty state of affairs it was. I keep thinking about rich, about the boy I once knew and now will never talk to again. About how this was the product of the special school system; about how this was what you got when you grew up in such a place, searching for a name on a gravestone. And how it was wrong. It isn’t that I’m not proud to have known guys like Simmo; its just that I consider what we special school survivors had and still have to witness nothing more than barbaric.

In the end we didn’t find it. It was getting dark, we were both starting to fall over, so we gave up. I knew I’d be expected home by jen. It’s just sad we didn’t find it. Poor Richard. I could do with some of his wit right now, but…..

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