Tony watched the young man walk in. Probably between 18 and 21, he figured. As always, he headed straight for the long-stemmed roses. Twelve dollars for a dozen. And, as usual, the boy added one more rose, bringing the price up a dollar.

He walked with hidden but great purpose, brushing the white strands of hair out of his blue eyes periodically. Tony never understood that. The rest of his hair was reddish-brown. It was tied into a ponytail, and hung behind his neck. His skin seemed pale, as if he’d been out in the cold too long.

The young man walked up to the counter. “Anything else, kid?” Tony asked. Normally, the boy would shake his head in silence, sliding a twenty across the counter and telling Tony to keep the change. Tonight, however, he pointed to a large bag of M&Ms resting on the shelf. Tony picked it up and handed it to the boy. “That’s fifteen even.” The boy dropped two tens on the counter and slipped his items into a sack that always smelled of fresh grass clippings.

“Mind if I ask you a question, kid?” Tony asked as he took the money. The boy shrugged and sat down on a stool in front of the counter. He carefully placed his sack on the floor. “Every year, you come in here, buy a bunch of roses, and tell me to keep the change. Why?” The boy shrugged again. “I don’t need the money. I figure you could use it.” There was silence for a moment.

“They for someone special?” Tony asked, pointing at the bag on the floor. The boy nodded, a slight smile on his face. “My song of mourning,” he said quietly. Tony arched an eyebrow as he opened the cash register. “I’ve heard girls called everything from burgers to zippies, but I ain’t never heard ‘em called that. She got a name?” “Threnody,” the boy replied, a distant look in his eyes. Tony nodded, put away the money, and closed the cash register. “Never heard that one before. Pretty. I like it.” “Me too,” the boy agreed.

The boy suddenly looked up, realizing it was almost midnight. He grabbed his sack and slung it over his shoulder. “Gotta go, mister.” “Hey, ain’t you got nothin’ better than that jacket you wearin’? It’s freezin’ out there!” Tony said. The boy shook his head. “It’s a short walk.” But Tony was already pulling on his own coat. “No way! I’m drivin’ wherever you’re goin’ and that’s final.” The boy shrugged and followed Tony to his red ‘82 Mustang.

St. Raymond’s Cemetery wasn’t hard to find. Tony’s own wife had been buried there a few years ago. He came to talk to her every Sunday night. He would’ve come during the day, but it just seemed to him that the dead could hear better when it was dark.

The boy headed straight to the pair of tombstones, brushing away the weeds around them. “Evening, Ms. Jacobs,” he said. “I never knew you, but I’m sure you’re a great lady. These are for you.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the dozen roses. After placing them carefully before the first grave marker, he stepped over to the second.

Tony watched the boy in silence. “Kid probably has it narrowed down to a scientific ritual by now,” he whispered to himself. “Comes to visit his dead girlfriend and her mother each year, always on the same winter night. Makes perfect sense, really.”

The clock finally struck twelve, loudly signaling the right hour. Tony glanced up, hearing the clock tower’s tolls in the distance. He was about to ask the kid to hurry, but decided against it. You couldn’t put a time limit on a visit to dead loved ones, anyway.