But I feel Shane behind me, opening the backpack to remove the urn. He stands next to me, holding it, as we both look across the scenery.
“It looks better,” I tell him, almost apologetically, “in the summer. Maybe I should have waited.”
“No, it’s beautiful,” he says, looking around. “Peaceful. I can see why he wanted his ashes scattered here. There’s that mountain and the woods. It’s like you can see everything.”
I look around and see what Shane sees. And maybe what Everett saw. It is quiet and peaceful, and it’s true; you can see it all. It’s the perfect spot. And Everett knew it all those years ago.
I take the urn from Shane and open it up. I shake my brother’s ashes and watch them swirl together in a breeze and get carried away across the grasses and snow and over the trees.
I get all choked up then, tears springing in my eyes. “Bye, buddy. We love you. We miss you.”
I hand the urn to Shane, and he shakes some more ashes out. The wind takes them and carries them away. “Goodbye, Everett. I miss you.”
Shane gives me back the urn and we stand there in silence for a minute or so. I look inside the urn to see there’s some ashes left to take home to Mom and Dad. So, I close the lid and Shane puts the urn back in my backpack.
We stand there in the meadow a few minutes more. It’s quiet except for wind whistling by my ears.
Then I hear a noise above me, and look up to see that blue jay again, in the branch of a tree hanging over my head. It hops from limb to limb, tilting its head at us, until it flies away toward the mountain ridge and out of sight.
The walk back is quiet and slow.
As we get closer to the creek, I spot the trampolines. I set my backpack down in the cold grass and walk over to one of them. There was a way to get on them that Everett taught me, which involved standing under the trampoline, grasping the metal bar with your hands upturned, and somehow back-flipping onto it. But whenever I did it, it usually resulted in blood-blisters on the backs of my thighs from the springs pinching me.
I don’t think there’s any way I can get on a trampoline like that now, so I just remove my boots and pull myself up. It’s creaky and there’s snow on it. I’m surprised they left the trampolines out all winter. I stand up and bounce up and down a little, and some of the snow bounces off. I look over at Shane looking up at me warily.
I jump up and down on the trampoline a little bit higher and remember how fun this was. And it’s such a simple thing, a joy you have as a kid that you forget about as an adult. Ev and I would do flips with all the other boys. We’d leap over each other,try to pretend we were acrobats, and it was fun. I smile as I think about it. I think about being a kid and having my big brother with me. Why is it you never realize that some of the happiest years of your life are happening in the moment?
I feel the trampoline dip behind me, and I turn to see Shane on his knees, trying to stand up. I reach out a hand to help him. And then he takes both my hands and we both jump at the same time. And then we jump higher and higher, laughing. And then we jump around and around, hooting and hollering, like we’re kids again. We keep it up until one of us loses our balance and we both fall on top of each other.
The laughing fades away as I lie down with my head on Shane’s chest. It rises and falls as he catches his breath, and I look up at the sky. It’s a clear day. Here and there are white, puffy trails from jets, crisscrossing over a dull blue sky. A plane engine whirs in the distance.
Everything right now is ordinary. Everything is going on and on like it should. I make sure to notice all of it, though. So that years from now I’ll be able to feel and see and hear everything as it is right now.
Shane slides an arm over my chest, and I slide one of my arms over his. We just lay there like that for a while until some unspoken signal happens and we both sit up at the same time. He helps me off the trampoline and we get our shoes back on, get our stuff, and walk back to the car, hand in hand.
Shane drives us back.
It’s early afternoon when we leave Pipestem, but we’re hoping to just drive all the way to Port Leyden without stopping for the night anywhere. I’m running low on cash and I’m sure Shane is too. And it’s just as well; I’m ready to be home.
We don’t talk much on the way, but Shane hasn’t let go of my hand, and even drives one-handed so he can keep his hand in mine. I wonder if he’s doing it more for himself rather than for me.
What am I going to do without him? As we cruise on the interstate it’s like this veil lifting and reality looms. I can’t just go back to New York, go back to school, and forget about all of this.
I look over at him.
He glances at me. “You okay?”
“No,” I say honestly.
He glances at me again. “Do you need me to stop, or—?”
“I need to know that I can see you again. After this.”
His hand in mine grips tighter. “You really want to?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes. Absolutely, Ethan.”
