All she told the class was to meet at the old church on Bannon Street. They straggled in as usual; hung around the front of the church, speculating what she had in mind. She often had crazy, creative ideas for essays and group projects. Even the slackers had to admit her classes were unusual enough to attend and actually pay attention. She arrived with her bag slung over her shoulder and a mysterious smile on her face.
She reached in to the voluminous bag. Like Mary Poppins, she had pulled some amazing things out. This time it was a thick file folder. She called out their names and handed them a piece of paper. “Our classroom today is the graveyard next to the church. Your assignments are on the paper. Remember, these stones may be of the forgotten, the lost. But they have a story to tell. So make the dead come alive without using the word zombie!”
At first, puzzled and reluctant, once they got out their smart phones to take pictures, to wander between the stones, crouch down to read the inscriptions, they became so enthralled they were surprised when she said that class was over. “You’re more than welcome to stay. I’ll talk to your teachers if you want to skip class and do more investigating.” Some whispering, thinking, and then they turned, as one, back to the headstones. There were so many stories to tell.