Page 1 of Let the Light Shine Through

Roz

Black surrounds me as far as the eye can see, mocking me, and a bead of sweat breaks from my hairline, running down my temple. One at a time, I roll my sleeves up to my elbows, stalling.

This—public speaking—has never been my strong suit.

Fucking sucks. Especially for this. For him.

“Hi,” I say finally, scanning the crowd of unfamiliar faces. “I’m, uh, Roswell Andrews-Smith.”

Nothing. Not an ounce of recognition.

That’s small-town upstate for you. Nobody gives a shit who or what you are here. They’re too caught up in their own lives to worry about anybody else’s.

Not like the scene I’m used to.

Or was, I guess. Was.

“Or you might know me as Roz.”

Crickets.

Cool.

Because if nobody recognizes me in this place, then chances are nobody else in town will recognize me either. I’ve been gone a long time.

Not long enough.

Aside from visiting my parents every now and then, I had no plans on coming back here permanently. Not now and sure as fuck not like this.

“Big Red and I, uh. I mean Salvy.” Fuck! “Salvy and I were teammates, but more importantly, we were friends.” Best friends—brothers practically—but who cares? He’s gone.

Dead.

Forever.

Just like our friendship.

What does it matter that he lived doing what he loved? He also died doing what he loved, so…was it worth it? Really? Doesn’t seem like it from where I’m standing—at his goddamn funeral, getting ready to relay some great memory to a church full of strangers, like it’ll somehow give meaning to a person whose death was completely meaningless.

And our friendship? No one here will understand what Salvy truly meant to me. Not even from a sappy story straight from the horse’s mouth.

If I ever get around to telling one…

Gripping the edge of the wooden podium, I glance around again. It’s the energy. Mine. Theirs. It’s all…off.

I’m off. Off the mountains I crave more than air. Off my fucking game in everything else I try to do. Just off, period.

In the front row, my parents take turns consoling Salvy’s mom, Diane. It was only as a favor to my mom back in sixth grade that I asked Salvy to come up to our cabin with us for a weekend of skiing and snowboarding. I used to think it was because she knew I struggled to make friends on my own, but now that I’m older, I wonder. I wonder if it was just her way of keeping her heart from hardening over during the frigid New York winters. She can be…complicated. Judgmental. Harsh at times. But she’ll never turn down an opportunity to look like the ultimate hostess. Thank God too because that little redheaded fucker, Salvy, became my best friend after that trip up north together and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

Were. We were inseparable.

I hang my head, rolling it side to side as I focus on the brilliant red tie I wore in his honor.

Why him? Why now?

We were the best snowboarders on that mountain that day and yet…it wasn’t enough. Salvy’s now a statistic, a fucking number, for the very sport that bonded us nearly ten years ago. His mom will never see her son again. I’ll never see my partner in every stunt we’ve ever pulled—on and off the slopes—again. All for what? Because we liked the snow more than the heat? Because our blood ran icier than others’? There’s not a boarder alive that could argue that fact.

Salvy and I got identical contracts from our sponsor for a reason. We were the team to beat and everyone knew it. We requested, chased, begged for any boarding time we could get because it was what we wanted. What we loved.