Bend Fly Run

Walton: July 2021

When I was young, still in pigtails and Velcro shoes, my father told me a story.

The story was of an old man in a magical town, a town far away, who always looked to the sky. Others warned that watching his star was a waste, that it would fade and burn whether he witnessed it or not. Still, he craned his head to the black. He slept during the day, sat with a lantern once the first bit of moon began to show. He had no friends, no family. And when the star did begin to flicker, no one heard him shout. They were inside- cooking, playing games. Painting with the ones they loved. No one was waiting for a scream. No one held his hand. No one thanked him for the good times, forgave him of the bad. He had lived a life terrified- every night, lantern in fist.

He died in the cold.

My father told me this after our family dog was hit by a car. It was my only experience with death, and the realization that if Ranger could die- so could we.

"We're assigned two dates. A date to be born and a date to die. We can't be scared of the second; we can't live in fear. Ranger ran around every morning; he swam in the lake. He waited to greet you when you came home from school. He enjoyed the time he had- that's what's important. That's what we have to feel good about."

My father died January 14th, 2020- the same day I walked away from Elliot. He had a heart attack at work. That was a year and a half ago. So much has changed- for myself, the world. But I can feel it. I can go back to the moment, sink in the shock. Grief can engulf me until it's hard to unclench my fist, smooth my nose. But I think of the middle. I picture him clapping, shouting from the stands of a soccer game. I tell myself his date was inevitable, and find comfort knowing he never waited for it to arrive. I relax my palm, uncurl each knuckle, wipe at a cheek. I think of the middle. I cherish the middle.

We need to go back.

Jamie, we need to say goodbye.

I was in tears over Elliot. All those hours in the air- my eyes never stopped. I had a layover in Buffalo and beneath the puff of my skin, I struggled to read the screen. I saw Elliot's name- two missed calls. The pad of my finger moved. I was about to press when other names began to form. My mother's. Cam's. Each of my brothers.

I searched for the name of my Dad.

When Cam called a moment later, I already knew.

"Hello?"

"Beanie? Where have you been? We've been calling for hours. I went to your apartment- why aren't you there?"

"What's going on?"

"Are you okay? Are you somewhere safe?" He paused. "Are you somewhere you can talk?"

I looked around at the terminal. People were walking, rushing. Everyone with a bag on their hip. A flight attendant cut through the crowd, red skirt and blazer forming a path. Others followed- a man pushing a cleaning cart, a sports team lumbering in line. Monitors blinked with delays. Was I safe? Was a crowded airport the place to let my world shatter?

I stepped back from the gate. "What happened?"

"Dad had a heart attack. He died this afternoon."

And I suppose it was as good as any. The person I loved most in this world was no longer in it. Tile or sand- where I stood was irrelevant. My knees crumbled; my vision spun. A rush of wind raced through my ears. Cam spoke but his words were pebbles to a storm. I circled. I searched for a bathroom; I pictured a flame.

"I'm at the airport," I interrupted. "In California, visiting Delilah. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I'll wait for you."