cigarette daydreams

/14

They sat on Jasper Bridge. The entire bottom of Karden's jeans were soaked now. Lydi's leggings were too dark to tell. The cigarette bobbed at her lips, unlit.

Karden took a long drag.

"Life is meaningless," he began, his words made of smoke and whispers.

Lydi was silent. Listening.

"Things happen for no reason. They happen because they do, and that's it. There's no plan. There's no purpose. There's no meaning."

The sun was high above them, but it didn't warm them. Karden had never pictured the scene like this. Telling Lydi about his problems in the light of day. But maybe it was fitting. He had just been going about it wrong all the other times.

He leaned back against the railing. Another drag. Another puff of smoke. Then, he spoke again. "This summer, I was visiting my father. My parents are separated, so my little brother and I would stay with our mother most of the year. We were going to the beach.

"We packed up the old minivan with blankets, sunscreen, and enough chips to drown a fraternity. It was sunny. And warm. And nice." Karden laughed. "We thought that nothing could go wrong. Not when the weather was so great."

Lydi looked at him. Her dark eyes were wide, unblinking.

"My dad put on some music. He was a real country guy, so he turned up some Brad Paisley. He acted out the lyrics. My brother thought it was hilarious."

Karden swallowed. "I don't know what happened next. I think I blinked. And a bumper slammed into the left side of our car."

He couldn't breathe for a moment. The memory was like a hot iron in his chest, squeezing into his diaphragm and locking him in place. Lydi didn't say anything. She knew the story wasn't over. She knew that Karden would tell her.

Slowly, Karden forced the words to his lips. "My dad died on impact. The doctors said it was from massive trauma to the head. My brother . . . he took longer. Punctured lung. Blood was filling him up from the inside. I listened to him slowly choke to death."

The cigarette fell from Lydi's lips. Karden's followed, hissing as it melted a hole in the snow.

Tears welled in Karden's eyes. "He was eight. He liked Transformers, and he wanted to be in the NHL. And he's dead. Just like my dad."

For the first time since Karden started talking, Lydi spoke. "And what happened to you?"

He glanced at her, then rucked up his sleeve to show her the long scar that ran from his shoulder to his elbow. "My arm got pinned between the door and the seat. I couldn't move. I couldn't - I couldn't help him. I couldn't even see him."

And he cried.

Lydi wrapped her thin arms around him. She knew she couldn't keep him warm. She knew she couldn't keep him from the memories. She just knew that this was the only thing she could do, so she did it.

They stood like that for a long time. Eventually, Karden asked in a cracked voice, "So, Lydi. Are you going to prove that life means something?"

"Not yet," she said. "Not yet."

"But you will?"

"I will."

"Good."