One Obscure Day in 1994
I remember almost nothing about that afternoon in 1994… only the image that followed me out of it.
From the Archive
Who can say why we hold on to certain obscurities? Sometimes the most trivial details can quietly take root and grow into some of our most enduring memories. Stranger still are those formed around moments we never actually witnessed firsthand. One such image entered my life on an otherwise ordinary day in the spring of 1994. But to fully grasp how that moment found its way onto the biological hard drive that my long-term memory is so often compared to, I have to return to the summer of ’93, when my brother got his first car and, shortly thereafter, the two of us discovered the cemetery where it would eventually take shape.
My older brother was entering his senior year of high school and was on the cusp of turning 18. Our parents knew someone in our extended family who was selling an old 1980 four-door Mercury Zephyr. I remember the four of us riding out to the country one day in August ’93 to look at the car and take it for a test drive. This was my brother’s first shot at owning a vehicle, and I don’t recall it taking much convincing for him to pull the trigger. If memory serves, he paid $400 cash for it and drove away a happy first-time car owner.
This was also the beginning of a special time in our relationship. I was turning 13 and about to experience my first major growth spurt. Psychologically, I was beginning to move beyond the preteen kid stuff that had so often made me the annoying little tag-along brother my older sibling looked to avoid rather than try to bond with, especially in social settings. For the first time, we were beginning to connect through shared interests, philosophies, and the common struggles of being two unusually odd Virgos who were routinely misunderstood. With his own car and the freedom to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, my brother had reached that familiar milestone when a young adult realizes he is finally about to experience life on his own terms. Getting to share that freedom with him brought us closer and shifted my place in his life from little brother to something closer to a buddy.
I had seen this cemetery for years whenever my family passed it on the main road. Because we lived only minutes away, its peaceful beauty had become a familiar part of the scenery outside our car window. One random night in late summer ’93, while my brother and I were riding around in his new car, I remember him asking something along the lines of, “Wanna go someplace cool?” I quickly replied “Sure! Where?” I still remember the enthusiasm in his voice as he answered, “Evergreen!” Off we went.
At the time, I had no idea what Evergreen actually was. I was simply happy to be spending time with my brother and sharing the freedom that came with being out on our own without parental supervision.
This was a time when smartphones didn’t exist and cellphones were anything but common. Back then, if you knew someone with a cellular phone, chances are they were an important person with a demanding career or someone wealthy enough to afford a thousand-dollar handset, roughly $2,600 in 2026. Cellular subscriptions amounted to only about 6% of the U.S. population, compared with the 98% of American adults who own a cellphone today.
The point is… in 1993, if you weren’t home, no one knew where you were unless you had told them where you were going. Staying in touch meant stopping at a payphone to report any changes in your plans, which would have seemed highly impractical to a teenager celebrating his newfound freedom behind the wheel. No one was tracking or micromanaging you through the parental conveniences of GPS and text messaging. That absence of constant contact added to the feeling of freedom and escape.
I didn’t care where we were going. It was just too cool to be out of the house at night and not have to ask permission to go to whatever Evergreen was.
As we approached that familiar sight of the peaceful pond and stained-glass chapel windows, I realized Evergreen was the cemetery we had seen for years whenever our parents drove us past it on the way home. “Wow!” I thought. “THIS is Evergreen?” I had never known the name of the place until that very moment.
I remember the excitement of finally getting to see it from inside the gates, especially at night. We were both fans of horror and all things spooky, including pro wrestler The Undertaker, so we already thought graveyards were cool. Add in the underlying thrill of unauthorized urban exploration, and this spontaneous little side quest suddenly took on a big-time feel.
I remember feeling like we could get in big trouble if things went wrong, but at that moment I was so intrigued to finally see this place that I couldn’t be bothered enough to care.
From the Archive
My brother… I suppose it’s about time he had a name. Danny elected to pull into the Waffle House across the street from the cemetery. Although it has since been torn down and rebuilt, the original Waffle House had its back facing the parking lot. We were able to park there comfortably, if a little sneakily, without advertising our real intentions.
In those days, an iron fence surrounded the entire Evergreen property, and a large locked gate prevented cars from entering the grounds after hours. That made Waffle House the most sensible place to stash the car, giving us convenient access to discreetly slip into the cemetery under cover of darkness. If we encountered any after-hours security and had to make a run for it, being on foot gave us an advantage to slip away, dart back to the car, and get the hell out of there.
I remember feeling like we could get in big trouble if things went wrong, but at that moment I was so intrigued to finally see this place that I couldn’t be bothered enough to care.
Waiting for the right moment to cross the street was quick and easy. Even easier was literally walking around the iron fence once we made it to the big gate. We were thinking we’d have to climb over it at some point, and were planning to walk along the fence till we reached a spot that was out of the street lights to give us some cover to do it. We laughed when we discovered the long iron fence didn’t actually connect to the big gate that denied vehicles entry to the place at night. We simply walked right around it and found ourselves inside.
We didn’t feel misunderstood or out of place. Quite the contrary. We felt at home.
From the Archive
At first, it was scary. These colorful illustrations paint a much more illuminated picture than was actually the case. It was dark back there, with no lights on anywhere inside the grounds. The faint glow of porch lights gently emanating from distant houses provided only a dim ambience in certain directions.
With little more than moonlight to guide our wandering, we cautiously explored every inch of the place. We followed every road, stopped at each monument, and wandered through the dark corridors of the mausoleums. It felt strange to find ourselves standing between these ominous buildings that had acted as walls, concealing the cemetery’s interior throughout all the years we had seen them from the road.
Despite how legit creeped out we were, we couldn’t deny the energy of the place. Alongside the expected calm that only a cemetery could provide was an unexpected feeling of safety and sanctuary. It was as though we had disappeared into an alternate dimension, far removed from the rest of the world.
No one could touch us there. No one could bother us or tell us we weren’t welcome. We didn’t feel misunderstood or out of place. Quite the contrary. We felt at home.
The atmosphere and its spiritual energy made us feel like invited guests at an event that had been patiently awaiting our arrival for years. Once we settled in and realized the place wasn’t against us, our nerves calmed, and we stopped looking around for zombies waiting to grab us and devour our brains. The horror-movie imagery we loved had followed us inside, twisting our imaginations and deceiving our eyes whenever we peered into the uncertain darkness. Gradually, those illusions faded away, and only peace remained.
It was two brothers who had always had a difficult time connecting… finding common ground and socializing like normal people.
From the Archive
Toward the end of our unauthorized, self-guided tour of the cemetery grounds, we found our way to The Steps, the stone steps of the historic mausoleum located right in the heart of the place. Nestled just far enough away from the big gate to offer comfortable seclusion, a place to rest and reflect. A meditative exercise that would become a tradition there for years. This was our first time there.
If you follow me on IG, you’ve likely seen this place featured in a progression of time reel I posted there a couple years ago. And if you haven’t… now’s as good a time as any.
Side note; Danny took the first pic you see on that slideshow. The final shot, taken in early 2024, became my current headshot on most of my social media, commemorating more than 30 years of history there.
My brother and I had some of the deepest, most engaging conversations we’d ever share on those steps. Earlier, when I mentioned this was the beginning of a special era of our relationship, this is exactly what I meant. The Steps, this cemetery… it all fostered the perfect environment for our Virgo walls to come down and expose our vulnerabilities.
We could be completely honest there, and there was no fear of judgment or persecution. It was two brothers who had always had a difficult time connecting… finding common ground and socializing like normal people.
I miss those days.
One random day in spring 1994, I walked home from middle school (8th grade) and found Danny already there. He told me that he signed himself out of high school early, something his school allowed students 18 and older to do at the time. From there, he drove to Taco Bell for lunch and then went to Evergreen in the middle of the day.
Once there, he posted up on a large stone cross, ate his lunch, and simply sat in peace, lost in thought.
This is the moment of this piece I’ve been building toward, where I try to explain why this had such a profound impact on me, and the visual of what he described has stuck with me to this day.
I’m not sure I can, but I’ll try…
First… there’s the envy. I had deep-rooted envy when he told me about it. Not bitter jealousy. I wasn’t mad. Just envious. I envied the freedom.
Having the option to just get up and leave school whenever you felt like it, get in your own car, drive to your favorite fast-food joint (Taco Bell in the ’90s WAS that place), buy lunch with your own money, and then jet over to this cool cemetery and completely veg the fuck out AWAY FROM PEOPLE… it might as well have been something out of a dream to me.
Quite literally, for two reasons. One; I would still be 17 when I graduated in 1998. So I’d never have the luxury of actually being 18 in high school and enjoying that sign-out privilege. Two; the high school we went to ended up changing the policy sometime during my tenure there anyway, and restricted 18 and older students from being able to leave early without parental consent (not sure if they ever changed it back). So I was screwed either way. I’d never know that kind of personal empowerment in that setting.
Second… the sheer thought-provocation. I found something heavily inspiring about it. This is the part I remain uncertain about. I can imagine my brother sitting there, enjoying the privilege of a newly discovered freedom, but also just a couple months away from graduation, totally unsure about his life, post-high school. Wondering what the hell was next… where his journey would lead him. I’d wager a safe bet in that guess, as I’d have very similar moments on The Steps in the years to come.
As I mentioned earlier, we’re two unusually odd people who’ve always had to deal with persecution from normal folks who misinterpret our uncommon personalities and awkward social tendencies. We’re wired up differently. Neurodivergent with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Our struggles are different. Ordinary daily tasks can be and usually are more stressful and mentally draining for us than they are for the typical person. We’re also creatives with a need to follow our inspirational energies, and we’re unhappy working conventional jobs that give us no way to tap into them.
Why do I reveal all this? Reflecting on my many, many visits to The Steps and recalling deep, analytical pondering about life and how the hell I’m gonna not only survive, but actually make it. How can I find some sort of happy balance and build a satisfying quality of life while carrying the added struggles that come with being wired this way? Figuring out how to not only coexist, but excel in a world that makes us feel like social outcasts is one of our biggest challenges.
I imagine Danny sitting on that cross and conducting his own 18-year-old version of this same self-analysis. Maybe that’s why it speaks to me so deeply. I’d like to think he already knew that life wasn’t going to be easy for us. Of course, life is difficult regardless of who you are. But for us, and for others like us, it’s a different kind of difficult.
Even now, whenever I visit Evergreen and pass the stone cross, I feel the weight of a moment I never witnessed.
From the Archive
That said, I’ve never quite been able to pinpoint exactly what makes the image of that day so inspiring to me, but the energy is undeniably there. Even now, whenever I visit Evergreen and pass the stone cross, I feel the weight of a moment I never witnessed. To me, it represents something powerful, something deep, and something a bit melancholy… all at the same time.
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