Trapped in Rosehill Cemetery

Yesterday was an iconic Autumn day: comfortable, sunny, warm and breezy. Aydan had set up a fun meet up with one of her Ving Tsun friends from Hong Kong at the historic Rosehill Cemetery. I have spent a lot of time in cemeteries. They are peaceful, beautifully kept and allow you to commune with nature in the heart of the city and not be bothered. Cemeteries have an air of tolerance for expression, for we all grieve in different ways. And though that was not our purpose, we enjoyed a wide expanse of soft, rolling hills and saw very few others. I brought my ukulele because one never knows when you might need one, or a guitar for that matter. Yesterday solidified this sentiment. 

We arrived around 2:30PM. 

On the way in I noticed the sign stating that The Cemetery closed at 5:00PM. I didn't think about it after that. I figured that we wouldn't be there that long. But time has a way of slipping through your hands in this kind of weather. There were mature trees scattered about for shade; a pond with fountains and flowered banks, and birds, squirrels and bunnies wandering about. We chatted, played some music, had fun. And I needed a fun day outside of my studio. It had been months since I had spent more than a few hours away from the apartment. 

Evenually, we decided to leave and get some Pho off Argyle. 

When we got to the gate, a car was parked in front of it. The gate was locked and four or five attractive middle-aged women dressed in white tops and light-colored pants were walking around a little distressed and figuring out what to do. It was 5:30PM, and we were trapped inside The Cemetery. 

"Isn't this how horror movies often begin?" I said.  

Aydan and Preston laughed in agreement. 

I inquired as to what was going on. One of the ladies had already called the police. The police had a key and were on their way. Not the first time people had gotten locked in.  

"I have a ukulele!" I said. 

That confused but tickled them. I grabbed Artus and began to play Shine, from The Bardic Tales. And I walked towards them. It was a short song. They enjoyed it. 

"How much time before the officer gets here?" I asked. 

"Ten, fifteen minutes," one or two of them said. 

"Perfect. Shall I tell you a story and sing the song?" I asked. 

"Sure!" they said. 

So I did. It was quirky, fun adult story—Crawl, from The Bardic Tales. And they began taking pictures and filming me, documenting The Experience. When I finished, they applauded exuberantly and each of them were smiling ear to ear. They had forgotten that they were locked in a cemetery and fell into the song. In that moment, we could have been at Carnegie Hall. 

"That was so perfect," another lady said. 

That was so fun for me. I told them my name after performing, Michael And The Michaels. 

"Oh! That's so easy to remember," one said. 

I guess it is. I looks so long when you spell it out, and I've never really thought about it from a marketing perspective. I just liked the name. I liked how it defined me. 

Not a minute later, the police arrived, unlocked the gate and we went our separate ways. What a beautiful experience. 

Michael, et al.

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