Monday, August 27, 2007

In the graveyard after dark…

Two Sundays ago, my favorite aunt & uncle unveiled their convertible, picked me up, and ventured into Boston for the day. Our first stop was the Museum of Science, which is one of my favorite places. When I was a brownie, we took an overnight field trip there. All I really remember from the night was the poprocks my friend Katrina and I ate once the lights were dimmed. For some reason, my parents thought it would be a good idea for me to have them. Our troop leader spent half an hour trying to figure out from where all the noise was coming, while the two of us tried desperately not to give ourselves away or to laugh. Anyway, I felt tremendous exhilaration walking through the museum and examining all the showcases, puzzles, and artifacts. The hall of electricity, the inner Earth, the dinosaurs, the human body exhibit, the chicks, the collections, just all of it fascinated me. Outside of my grown-up, gray office, boring world, an exciting universe exists. I fear adults forget that sometimes. We spent almost three hours absorbing all the information and stimuli throughout the museum before heading to dinner.

After dinner, we trekked across town to the Long Wharf where we reserved a tour for the evening. My uncle was unusually excited about this activity. I did not even think to ask what we were doing, as I assumed it was on par with what we normally do on our trips to Beantown. Very much to my chagrin, I discovered he signed us up for a ghosts and graveyard tour . I do not like scary things, not movies, stories, burglars trying to break into my house in the middle of the night or people scaring the crap out of me from the back porch while I sit at the kitchen bar doing my calculus homework. Not a fan. We jumped onto the trolley and found seats near the back. My aunt and uncle sat down, and I plopped down in a little seat in front of them. The scariest looking dude I’ve ever seen in my life lurked around the red trolley eying me with his devilish and slightly terrifying beady eyes. I immediately moved away from the opening and closer to my uncle. The sketchy man moved around the other side of the trolley. I moved toward the open end of my seat and turned to talk to my uncle because I thought it was safe until all of a sudden someone touched my shoulder. I screamed so loudly the entire city of Boston and its outlaying suburbs heard me for ten minutes straight. I almost died of a heart attack. Meanwhile, my aunt and uncle nearly pissed their pants from laughter. I told them it was not funny, and I thought this wasn’t a good idea. Of course my aunt said she knew he was coming. Hey, THANKS FOR THE HEADS UP, JERK! Needless to write, I was very jittery for the rest of the tour. Mr. Scary Dude, a.k.a Anthrax the Demon, hopped onto the trolley to give us an introduction. He started out by proclaiming some people can sense evil, looked at me, then pointed while saying, “like her, that one in the green” and smiled a very creepy smile. I could tell it was going to be a long two hours.

Anthrax turned out to be equal parts frightening and comical. We headed out to a graveyard on top of a hill, Copps, where we discovered all sorts of eerie things about the people buried there as well as the history about the graveyard. Of course, my aunt got yelled at for being a sinister distraction. She had a snide remark for a few of Anthrax’s comments. He was slightly amused yet perturbed with her. I thought for sure she was going to get us in trouble and we’d end up in a tomb somewhere under the streets of this Harbor Town. Luckily, she stopped before drastic measures were necessary.

The last stop of the tour was at the Granary Graveyard where my hero, Paul Revere, is buried. By this time, it was pitch black out and we had already “hanged” two of the people in our group, so you can imagine how unsettled I was. When the two crowds approached the graveyard, it was chained shut due to some municipal work on the street in front of the doors. Anthrax graciously got the key from the nice man standing there. He unlocked the gates, let us all in, then locked the gates again. He and his buddy went running off, screaming “Suckers!!” leaving us all there in the DARK, IN THE GRAVEYARD. Awesome. Seriously, do you want me to have a heart attack? I should have brought a flask. The group convened in the middle near Ben Franklin’s parents when a strange hairy and slightly uncanny man jumped out from behind the gravestone. That rocked. He proceeded to divulge all the details of the tombstones, the people encapsulated in them, and their families. Near the end of his diatribe, we gathered near a building at the back of the cemetery to discuss James Allen’s book about Highway men that was bound in human flesh. Mr. Hairy Tour Guide man was going on about this book and how it's covered is someone’s ass cheek when all of a sudden someone grabbed my shoulder. I immediately turned around and decked whoever it was square in the chest. He yelled "ouch" while I screamed. Everyone started laughing hysterically. Anthrax shot to the center of the crowd holding his shoulder. He pointed at me and said, “SHE HIT ME!!” I told him he was lucky it was only his shoulder and not to touch me again in the GRAVEYARD AFTER DARK! He smiled his disturbing little demon smile and took over the tour from there. Really, you want to take me on a tour of the graveyards at night? I think not. The rest of the tour was chat of the Boston Strangler, and also of the nutter woman who killed hundreds of people in a hospital and got away with it. Fascinating spine chilling I never need to know scariness. We finally arrived back to the Wharf where Anthrax let us off the trolley. My aunt walked by him first. He pointed and said in a very deep and disturbing voice, “YOU, YOU… were my favorite.” She laughed. Then I proceeded to sneak by when he bellowed, “NO YOU WERE MY FAVORITE!!!” then laughed. I just smiled and jumped off the stairs thankful to be done.

Despite how much it scared the crap out of me, I highly recommend this tour. Ask for Anthrax. He provided quality entertainment when he wasn’t scaring the bejesus out of me.

After the tour, we walked around the city for an hour in a desperate search for dessert. Unfortunately, nothing was open because the city apparently closes by 9. We retrieved the convertible and as a result of my insistence, we drove out of town with the top down. Who cares that it was only fifty degrees out; we had more important things to worry about, like finding dessert. Just outside of town on 93, we exited off the highway to grace the local Friendly's with our presence. They were closed. You would think a girl could find a brownie sundae on a lovely August evening. It was proving exceptionally difficult to find anything sweet at all. We proceeded on our quest completely determined to find a morsel-anything consisting of sugar that wasn't from McDonald's or Dunkin' Donuts. A bit further on the highway, we discovered another Friendly's only this one was open. The three of us indulged in completely gratuitous divine goodness before traveling home. I bundled in a wool blanket and huddled in the corner where I could look up and watch the stars while we cruised the highway. How awesome is the summer sky from the back of a convertible on a clear night? Spectacular.

(Let's just forget that I had to take a piping hot shower when I arrived home. It was worth it.)

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