It comes back to me almost like a dream, or like an explosion happening in slow motion, time slows down to a trickle, so that each detail is in sharp glittering relief.
"Hey," He yelled, his voice slightly muffled by the bushes, "you gotta see this!"
I straitened up and stretched, and then walked down to where he was, which was in a sort of tunnel made of blackberry bushes. My mind raced with ideas of what he might of found. An animal skeleton, or an old wrecked car, maybe a cache of antique bottles. "What is it?" I asked excitedly.
"It's up there," He said, "Not many people know about this one, it's a little harder to find, and not as easy to get into."
Linda and I nodded, and followed Eric up the hill to a grove of redwoods.
"This is it." Eric said. I looked down to where he was pointing and saw a slightly oval hole at the base of one of the trees. The hole was at best two feet in diameter, and descended almost straight down into darkness. I looked first at Linda, and then to Eric. "It's easier than it looks." Eric assured us. Linda put her backpack on the ground and sat next to it. "I think I'll wait out here." She said.
I looked again at the hole. "All right," said, "Let's do it."
I was at "the keyhole". a spot where you had to twist in a sort of circle as you passed through...
I lowered myself back down a bit and found the shelf with my foot, then turned around, and I was free. I climbed up a few feet and looked up at Eric. "Thanks." I said, "I..." But I couldn't finish. The yellow beam from Eric’s pen light revealed a scene I had somehow missed on the way in.
That time in the ravine they were shiny black and yellow.
Here, deep in the earth, they were dull and gray.
Spiders. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.
Here in the cave, the wall was a vibrating grey carpet.
I got home that evening just as the day was fading to dusk. I walked up the path to the front door, and as I looked in the window, time began to slow. I could see my mother was at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, My moms friend Lou looked out the window and met my gaze. Her face so blank, it seemed to be pulling the expression from mine.
He stared at me. It was like he was trying to figure out the question.
But it wasn't.
I stood there for some time.
I tried to grasp that. The next thing?
Was I suppoused to do something?
Do I just wait? What should I do?
I needed to fix it somehow. I asked God to trade us. It made sense. Take me, and bring him back.
I would happiy disolve if he would come riding up the driveway.
I don’t think either of us knew exactly what was supposed to happen next.
He patted his leg again.
Time passed on its own accord. It was out of my hands.
When all was said and done, the funeral director probably thought I was a heartless bastard of a son.
And he loved it.
A swarm of angry bees made of tiny flying motorcycle parts
No one notices me.
A mere blink.
A fraction of a second.
There is always next time.
I still remember the last time we spoke. It is almost as though it were only a moment ago.
We passed each other in the Laundry Room. He was going to bed to catch a few hours sleep before his ride that day, I was going out to meet friends.
"Going to Bed?" I asked.
"Yeah," He said.
It's funny, I can still remember His sleepy Smile.
"I'll see You later." I said.
I thought maybe I should have said good night, but it was morning.
He nodded, "Yeah," He said, "I'll see You later."
And that was that.