telescope part of the way down.
I watched his tie fly upward in the air current, standing straight up beside his neck. I watched the open flaps of his suit jacket flutter out toward his outstretched arms. He had his arms outstretched. As if he could fly. And the fabric of the jacket reached out. Almost to his wrists. Not quite. And it made it look like he had wings.
And just for a minute I thought, He’ll fly. He wouldn’t have fallen forward if he didn’t think he could fly. He’ll fly.
He didn’t.
I lost him behind a building a little more than half the way down.
I could hear Kerry yelling something from the couch.
I picked up the phone and held it to my ear. She was yelling, ‘What do you see? Russell? What do you see?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Just smoke. I can’t see anything. All I can see is smoke.’
Part Two
That’s a Hard Question
15 September 2001
IT WAS ABOUT seven in the evening. Still my first full day … back.
I was plowing through my mom’s papers. A little stack of files I’d found in a drawer in her bedroom. I can’t even really say what I thought I was looking for. But I knew it when I found it.
It was a thin file marked: ‘Final’ decisions. Just like that. With quotes around the word final. As if it might not turn out to be so final as she’d thought.
Inside, I found papers informing me she’d chosen cremation. And had already paid for it.
‘Whoa!’ I said out loud.
It was something like saying, ‘Bingo!’ which was too old-fashioned. Or, ‘Oh, snap!’ which was too hip-hop modern. But this was good. I mean, as good as something can be when it relates to your mother’s recent death.
It filled me with an unfamiliar feeling. At least, recently unfamiliar. Like I’d been cut a break. For a change. Something had actually gone right. Even righter than expected.
‘What’d you say, Buddy?’ Ben called in to me.
He was in the TV room by himself. Watching cartoons. With the volume up loud. Even out here in the living room I could tell that Daffy Duck thought it was ‘wabbit’ season, and Bugs Bunny thought it was duck season, and each thought Elmer Fudd should shoot the other and not them. Following every sound of a cartoon shotgun blast, a dribble of low-pitched laughter from Ben.
‘Nothing, Buddy. I just found something.’
‘Something bad?’
‘No. Good. Very good.’
It was good for so many reasons. I was still counting all the reasons as I spoke.
Good, because it meant I didn’t have to somehow find thousands of non-existent dollars for a traditional funeral. Even better because I didn’t have to stress that I was making the wrong choice, handling things in a way she wouldn’t have wanted. And another reason. I had my doubts about Ben and the traditional funeral. You know, with the open casket, and the dear departed dressed and made up to look remarkably lifelike. How would Ben react to a sight like that? He was still waiting for her to come back. Obviously. I’d been having a nightmare fantasy that he’d pick her up from the coffin and carry her home, and no one would be able to stop him.
And a final blessing: a memorial, with a nice photo, and an urn of ashes, was not nearly so time-sensitive. Which made it more Ben-sensitive. We could wait a month if we needed to. Two, even. Give him more time to adjust.
I looked up to see him standing in the TV room doorway, his head nearly pressing the top of the door frame.
‘What’d you find?’
‘Some plans Mom made.’
‘Why good?’
‘Because they let me know what she wanted me to do.’
‘Oh. What?’
Now, how was I going to answer that one? Sometimes the truth just doesn’t fit the moment.
‘Kind of a long story.’
‘Why don’t you just ask her when she comes back?’
‘Because … Buddy … she’s not coming back.’
Ben turned and disappeared back into the TV room.
I decided I’d be a better brother if I didn’t just let it go by.
I joined Ben in the TV room, where I
I watched his tie fly upward in the air current, standing straight up beside his neck. I watched the open flaps of his suit jacket flutter out toward his outstretched arms. He had his arms outstretched. As if he could fly. And the fabric of the jacket reached out. Almost to his wrists. Not quite. And it made it look like he had wings.
And just for a minute I thought, He’ll fly. He wouldn’t have fallen forward if he didn’t think he could fly. He’ll fly.
He didn’t.
I lost him behind a building a little more than half the way down.
I could hear Kerry yelling something from the couch.
I picked up the phone and held it to my ear. She was yelling, ‘What do you see? Russell? What do you see?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Just smoke. I can’t see anything. All I can see is smoke.’
Part Two
That’s a Hard Question
15 September 2001
IT WAS ABOUT seven in the evening. Still my first full day … back.
I was plowing through my mom’s papers. A little stack of files I’d found in a drawer in her bedroom. I can’t even really say what I thought I was looking for. But I knew it when I found it.
It was a thin file marked: ‘Final’ decisions. Just like that. With quotes around the word final. As if it might not turn out to be so final as she’d thought.
Inside, I found papers informing me she’d chosen cremation. And had already paid for it.
‘Whoa!’ I said out loud.
It was something like saying, ‘Bingo!’ which was too old-fashioned. Or, ‘Oh, snap!’ which was too hip-hop modern. But this was good. I mean, as good as something can be when it relates to your mother’s recent death.
It filled me with an unfamiliar feeling. At least, recently unfamiliar. Like I’d been cut a break. For a change. Something had actually gone right. Even righter than expected.
‘What’d you say, Buddy?’ Ben called in to me.
He was in the TV room by himself. Watching cartoons. With the volume up loud. Even out here in the living room I could tell that Daffy Duck thought it was ‘wabbit’ season, and Bugs Bunny thought it was duck season, and each thought Elmer Fudd should shoot the other and not them. Following every sound of a cartoon shotgun blast, a dribble of low-pitched laughter from Ben.
‘Nothing, Buddy. I just found something.’
‘Something bad?’
‘No. Good. Very good.’
It was good for so many reasons. I was still counting all the reasons as I spoke.
Good, because it meant I didn’t have to somehow find thousands of non-existent dollars for a traditional funeral. Even better because I didn’t have to stress that I was making the wrong choice, handling things in a way she wouldn’t have wanted. And another reason. I had my doubts about Ben and the traditional funeral. You know, with the open casket, and the dear departed dressed and made up to look remarkably lifelike. How would Ben react to a sight like that? He was still waiting for her to come back. Obviously. I’d been having a nightmare fantasy that he’d pick her up from the coffin and carry her home, and no one would be able to stop him.
And a final blessing: a memorial, with a nice photo, and an urn of ashes, was not nearly so time-sensitive. Which made it more Ben-sensitive. We could wait a month if we needed to. Two, even. Give him more time to adjust.
I looked up to see him standing in the TV room doorway, his head nearly pressing the top of the door frame.
‘What’d you find?’
‘Some plans Mom made.’
‘Why good?’
‘Because they let me know what she wanted me to do.’
‘Oh. What?’
Now, how was I going to answer that one? Sometimes the truth just doesn’t fit the moment.
‘Kind of a long story.’
‘Why don’t you just ask her when she comes back?’
‘Because … Buddy … she’s not coming back.’
Ben turned and disappeared back into the TV room.
I decided I’d be a better brother if I didn’t just let it go by.
I joined Ben in the TV room, where I
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