Hermanos Para Siempre Peter Caliendo

You laid there deep in the woods, the hole in your chest painting the dirt beneath a deep red. Your intended target, a dove, fluttered into the light as your vision faded. The tree root you couldn’t see, now visible in the disturbed mess of dead leaves, dark as the dirt, brown as the tree from which they fell. Your father’s gun beside you, soiled by the blood of one it was meant to protect. In the beginning there was a memorial, hundreds throughout the school dressed in blue in your honor. I remember that morning, standing in the foyer of that quiet church reading all the letters they had written. There were only a handful of us there, your closest friends, the family you chose. No words were spoken. Mr Aldrich, our English teacher arrived, he prayed over that closed casket, he shook your father’s hand, nodded knowingly at his students and left. I remember feeling angry in that moment, angry that he didn’t stay and show the support to his family that he had preached to us. The next day he cried in class, wishing he could have stayed, wishing his class had you still. A bright light, a kind soul, snuffed out like a flame in rain. You were just fourteen, the same age your sister is now, walking the halls that her brother briefly ruled his freshman year.

I remember the freezing rain that morning. We had planned to meet in the weight room early, we had to get fit if we wanted to meet our goals. Both of us dreaming of the Navy, maybe we’d be SEALs. I overslept, oh well. I would see you during lunch, we could skip the second half of fourth period and work out then. You wouldn’t make it to school that day. Your ribs smashed, your lungs peppered by the fragments like birdshot, your bleeding brain struggling to fight and stay alive. Three days later it would be assured, you wouldn’t be returning. Your wheels skated across that icy road, a road we were all too familiar with but felt foreign in that condition. It was another man’s car that broke your momentum, the bus sat there as still as when it stopped, you hadn’t effected it in the slightest, yet two lives were taken and two families forever changed by a decision to brake. At that seventy miles per hour you never had a chance. You were just seventeen. How could you be expected to react? You tried, but who among us could succeed? Without that damned ice, perhaps it would be different. Maybe you’d be on that boat right now. I never made it, a cyst in my brain. I laughed at the time. “Poetic” I thought. “Pathetic.” I cried.

You were my best friend, you were my brother. We met the first day of high school and were inseparable after that. We were always lucky to have a class together, shenanigans and good times were always a guarantee. In the mornings we’d walk the school grounds chatting, in the afternoons we’d tease your girlfriend about how you and I made a cute couple. I remember the day we skipped lunch and fourth period. We walked the school talking life, dreams, futures and fears. Then that day came. Four years has passed. The day you died I was a broken man, part of me still hasn’t recovered. But I know that my pain can never compare to your parents, to your sisters. Did you know that you’re an uncle? I don’t know the gender, but I remember crying when I learned. You’d be so proud of your sister, so proud of her baby. We’ve moved on as best we could. Still the pain is there. We’ve tried to visit twice a year. The day you died and your birthday. I remember that first time we went, we had no real plan, just a heartache and a bottle. We walked in that hot August sun searching for you. When we finally found you we each shared a small tale, passed the bottle and took a swig. The cheap whiskey tasted worse than ever, after hours in the sun that amber spirit brought tears to our eyes as it burned and coated our throats. When we poured a final shot there on the dirt I half expected you to react and laugh with us about how awful that was. But that couldn’t happen. That relieved me. You had already experienced so much pain, why should you be subjected to that too? Then it hit me. What do I know of pain? What do I know of life, of death? I saw your pain, I saw you’re suffering. I don’t cry anymore. After all this time I’m glad you were set free. Now I only hope that we meet again. I hope we all meet again.