Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #11

I'm sorry.

When I woke up this morning, I still had a pen in my hand and the word "tired" dragged across the entire page. That's not what I meant to do. I keep trying to dig into the past, to make you understand. Clair deserves to be remembered, but I can't do it properly. Or maybe I can, but not like last night. I was a mess and that won't help her.

And you can't understand if I'm like that. You can't understand what it was like to be on that bridge and to have her throw you a half-smile, the freckles dancing across her nose.

So I'll make you understand.

Once, when you were little, your dad built you and Tyler a swing set. He built the roof first, so he could attach it at the end to complete the project. The last tower on the castle. The cherry on top. Really, you only remember this because you and the neighbor kids started using it as a ramp. The peaked roof was like a mountain, and you would run up the side and fling yourself off when you reached the top and sail through the sky.

On your last jump, you decided to tumble through the air, gracefully flipping and land flat on your feet to the stunned gasps of the other kids. Instead, you thumped your back hard on the ground, all the breath forced out of your lungs and the sky taking up all your vision.

It wasn't that high, so it mostly just stung. Your lungs couldn't grab enough air, even though you were sucking in heaps of it, and it took a moment to regain your breath.

That's how it feels when you see Clair chatting with Lacy on the bridge. (Your mind plays tricks on memory. It's like two sides of a coin: what happened and what you remember.

After all, it was Lacy who told you about that party and Sam and Jay came also came along. But all you can remember is you and Clair there. It's hard to imagine there was a single other person present.

But there was.)

So Lacy and Clair are leaning against the wall of the covered bridge, and Sam and the other boy crouch down to peer at a wooden panel, and Jay's hand is heavy on your shoulder.

"M.?" Jay's peering down at you, his eyebrows furrowed. You shake your head to clear your thoughts and throw him a small smile.

"Dammit. Why do freshmen get roped into this?" Sam mutters to the panel and the boy next to him. Your eyes flick to Lacy who wiggles her eyebrows.

"The folly of youth," Jay replies, "Meaning, we didn't know what we were getting into." He grins.

Sam cocks his head to the side, and nudges the other boy in the ribs. "Thoughts, Nick?"

"Fresh out."

You laugh. "What are we doing here?"

Jay swings you around, and gestures to the other groups of students. "This, dear M., is a time-honored tradition. Student groups wait all year to leave their mark upon this sacred bridge. To paint their panel as if to say, 'Look at us. We exist.'"

Lacy rolls her eyes. "That's dramatic. Even I think that's dramatic."

"I dunno," Sam replies, "I think I got a little misty." He swipes at his eyes, wiping away nonexistent tears.

Jay grimaces. "What's the point of telling a story if you can't embellish a little? The princess is always beautiful, the dragon terrible, painting-the-bridge a time-honored tradition."

"All right, genius, you got any ideas?"

"That's why I've brought my minion, M."

You peer at the panel. A few feet high, a few feet long. Blank as a fresh page. "Can I be the princess instead of the minion?"