THE GRAVEYARD LUX

1000 Lux Through the wintered hickory trees my father spotted the Watson Cemetery, one of the two cemeteries near Lake Nacogdoches. “Hey, can we see that place? Do you know how to get there?” My stomach dropped, because one, I hated graveyards—I choked at the thought of my own passing—and two, I knew this was an invitation for him to talk about family and death. Still, my car dragged onto the rotten acorn-laden dirt up to the unlocked gate. We stepped out and explored eight rows of graves, family names of Ferguson, Forney, Ham, Whitaker. Three mounds of fresh...

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