Chapter 38 Kit
Kit
I’ve been to a lot of places in the last two years.
Places that were so grand you could practically smell the distinct scent of money wafting in the air.
I never thought air could feel pretentious, but it did in some of the places I’ve passed through.
I’ve been to places that felt like I was back home.
Normal houses filled with normal people seemingly stacked on top of each other.
Congested neighborhoods with kids playing in yards and people laughing on porches.
I’ve seen towns that had an air of freedom to them, small towns where everyone knew everyone.
Where dirt roads were common, and the houses were so far apart, it made me wonder how people could live there and not feel alone.
I crossed state lines. Got familiar with different accents from different parts of the country. I met nice people, rude people, funny people, and people that I would never want to meet alone on a dark street. I never stopped long, because I didn’t find what I was searching for.
Not that I knew what I was searching for.
I figured I’d know as soon as I found it.
It took me finally making my way into Montana to think…
maybe. Maybe I finally found it. It wasn’t in the towns or cities.
It was standing on a path looking up at mountains.
It was the crisp, cool air in my face and the way the sun glittered on the water.
I found something in the magenta wildflowers nestled in the grass, watching a butterfly chase one flower to the next.
I don’t know if it was the place or if it was an accumulation of two years of searching.
Running. But each day I found something else, and it slowly, so slowly, filled the gaping hole until this pinnacle moment.
In that beautiful place. Where I could look around and accept the feeling that bloomed just as beautifully in my chest. The word hit me like a freight train, making me stumble from the water.
That old, nagging voice whispered to me that it wasn’t possible. Not for me. Not ever. But that’s what I was searching for the whole time, isn’t it?
Peace.
I fell to my butt on that path, tears rolling down my face that I didn’t feel the need to hide or repress. Because it hit me then. That peace and grief can share the same space. It doesn’t need to be one or the other; I can have both.
I don’t think I would have come to that realization without the other thing that I learned. One of the most vital things.
I couldn’t run from grief. I couldn’t hide from it.
It wasn’t a tangible thing that I could escape from when I thought it wasn’t looking.
It was a part of me as sure as my bones and blood.
My dad helped me convert a utility van after four weeks of rehab out of the hospital. And I left to do just that.
Run.
Hide.
I thought the tires on the road would lead me away from the ghosts in the rear-view mirror. That if I was anywhere else, I wouldn’t feel his loss like a limb missing from my body.
It took weeks. Months. To realize it didn’t matter where I was. If I was in my room or hundreds of miles away, the memories are with me, always. The feelings are there. His absence will always be this profound feeling that makes it hard to breathe.
But I also learned that if I look. If I allow myself to look…. I see him everywhere.
In a pair of eyes that shine with humor.
In a laugh that’s pitched in self-amusement and easy merriment.
On a warm summer day that makes you forget what it was ever like to be cold.
In the smell of fresh cut grass and chlorine.
In a bag of Doritos or that first bite of a hotdog off a grill.
He’s in all the things he loved. His smiling picture has been dangling from my keys for two years as I’ve driven around the country. Running.
Chasing.
I thought if I let myself feel the pain less, it would diminish how important he was to me.
Is. If I allowed myself to feel anything other than soul-crushing pain, he would truly be gone.
The hardest part to accept is that it doesn’t matter what I do; he’s gone either way.
Just like no amount of comfort from anyone could pull me from my bed for months.
No amount of grieving can bring him back to me.
To us. So, I spent this time chasing him around the world.
Finding new things that made my heart ache and grow when I recognized bits of that familiar soul scattered around the country.
Sitting on my butt on that path, amongst the most ethereal landscape…I felt like I was sitting in the heart of what his soul looked like. The breeze was his laugh, the sun his warm hugs, the mountains a testament to how he was larger than life.
And I felt peace.
Dear B,
I think I’m ready to go home.
I can’t believe I said that. Feels so weird to write. But, its the truth.
For the longest time, even thinking about home made my chest feel like it was caving in. Every memory there was a razor sharp blade just waiting to cut back into me. Every corner of that place felt haunted by you. Haunted by the version of me who lived a normal life… a life with you in it.
But now? Now it just feels heavy. Not unbearable.
Not sharp. Just heavy. Like the weight of something I’ve carried too long and finally learned how to balance.
Like that thing you’ve been putting off and putting off, but it comes to that inevitable moment where you know you can’t ignore it any more.
I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what I’m going to feel walking into all the spaces I once refused to leave.
I spent three years bleeding out in my room there.
What started as a place of solace turned into a cage.
A cage that kept me trapped with nothing but memories and every ugly, rotting feeling I let decay inside of me.
I’m not the same person I was then.
But I am scared, B.
So, while I plan on going, I’m taking a small detour first.
The lake.
I miss it. Haven’t been since the last time I was there with you. It used to be our place. You, me, Tuck…him. I don’t even know what’s happened there over the years. For all I know the cabins are falling apart and the once beautiful lake has turned into a swamp. But I want to see it again.
I need to feel the silence. I think I need to sit on the dock and see how it feels knowing no one is going to cannonball in next to me.
Not in a dramatic way. Well, not that dramatic.
There will be tears. You know there will be.
But I want to walk the path where we used to race barefoot and know that even if you’re not there, a part of you always will be.
Just like those trees have held in a part of me, too.
The best parts of you are there. The laughter, the chaos, the summer heat in your smile. They’re embedded in the soil and forever held in every ripple of the water.
And maybe I need to feel the fear. Need to sit in the silence surrounded by memory and feel it all. I need to prove to myself that I’m stronger now. That I can feel however I need to feel without trying to out drive it. I’m done pretending I’m not scared.
I’m terrified. Of what I feel, of the reality waiting for me back home. I’m scared to face the state of my relationships, scared to not. I’m scared that I’ll undo all this work I’ve done to hold myself together.
But just like grief and peace can live side by side… so can fear and hope.
I’m hopeful. Hopeful that home won’t break me the way it once did.
Maybe it will help me remember more than just the ending.
Maybe I’ll feel the ghost of your arms around me instead of the pulsating ache of you not being there.
Maybe the trees that watched us grow will send me the echoes of your laugh on the wind.
Maybe home will feel like home again.
I’ve been homesick since the day you left me.
So, I’m going back. But first, the lake. Maybe I’ll stay a night. Maybe a few. Who knows? I’ll sit by the water. Run through the woods. Soak in whatever is left.
If you’re out there…send me a sign. <3
The gravel of the driveway crunches under the van tires as I creep forward.
It’s loud in the otherwise quiet morning.
I ease off the gas even more as the trees thin, parting for the clearing.
The heart of our property that holds, still, two cabins and a lake that has the morning sun dancing on its surface.
I blink quickly, throwing the van in park with shaking hands.
It’s okay.
The music of mountain silence hits me when I step out of the van and close the door behind me. I rest my forehead on the sun-warmed, white metal that’s held me for the last two years as I’ve worked to pull myself together.
Deep breath.
Another.
It’s okay.
The leaves on the trees rustle and wave, the space seemingly coming alive when I turn to take it all in, like it’s been holding its breath…waiting for me.
It looks the same.
It’s completely different.
Funny how things tend to look different when you’re older.
The cabins and shed are holding strong. Weathered, sure.
The pea green door that we painted one summer has faded.
The steps sag in some places, and ivy curls up the side of the big cabin like fingers that have tried pulling it back into the earth. But they’re here.
The lake glitters. Wide and blue and just as alive as ever. It smells exactly like I remember, too, like damp wood and sun-warmed grass.
When I was ten, this place felt huge. This massive green haven that held endless opportunities. The cabins look smaller now. Maybe not as magical as it had once felt, but what magic left there is a heavy layer of comfort in its place.
My heart is in my throat.
I half expect to hear someone shout my name. Brett’s laugh. Bowen’s voice. The sound of Tucker picking on me.
I suck in a breath.
It’s okay.
Each step forward is a choice. One I have to force myself into making, because honestly? I want to climb back into the van where it’s safe. Safe and familiar to the me I am now.
Now I feel like the stillness around me is the place I used to love studying me curiously. Knowing I’m not the same little boy running barefoot through the grass anymore, and it’s waiting to see who I am now.
I suck in another ragged breath when the wind blows, ruffling my hair that I should have had cut ages ago.
I don’t know how long I stand there. It could be minutes.
Could be hours. The cabins. The trees. The dock, a little more crooked than it used to be.
The old tire swing still hangs from the tree near the back of the property, frayed rope pulling it lazily in the breeze.
I feel like I’m walking into a photograph from the past. Familiar and aching, but still just out of my grasp.
Another breath. More forced steps. I tuck my hands deep into my pockets and walk towards the dock, bypassing the cabins for now. Each step feels like walking into a memory. My legs remember the route.
The wood creaks beneath my weight, and for one dizzy moment, I’m just that fifteen-year-old boy again. My heart aches, feeling the ghost of a towel around my neck, Brett yelling for me to just jump in already after Bowen shoulder-checked him into the lake with his little half smirk on his face.
My legs all but give out by the time I get to the end of the dock. I fall heavily, trying to pull air into my burning lungs.
It’s okay.
It still smells like summer. Like skin and sunscreen and secrets whispered after dark. Like dimpled smiles and burnt s’mores. Like half the moments that made up my whole life. Like the very reason it was a life that I couldn’t bear to lose.
It’s okay.
All the memories are here. They’re in the water below, under the same sky, soaked into the wood of the dock and beating away inside me. The breeze cools the wetness on my cheeks, and I slip my eyes closed.
The lake is warm. Warmer than usual.
My fingers and toes are so pruned, Brett said I look like a baby monkey. He said that right before he came running at me in the water, hollering to the sky with a hot pink pool noodle aimed right for my head.
Lake Jousting, he calls it.
Just like with every game, Brett takes it very seriously.
There are a lot of noodle whacks and even more dunking.
Dunking of me, because there was a better chance of the Loch Ness monster showing up to hang than me being able to pick up one of the twins.
Bowen keeps winning, though. Mostly because he had no shame playing dirty, and Brett has hollered, “Where is your honor!” while getting flung into the water multiple times.
My stomach hurts from laughing so much, and my cheeks hurt from stretching my sunburn with every smile. There is nothing better.
I feel weightless. Free.
After a while, Brett floats next to me. Both of us looking up at the sky. Bowen lounging on the dock, soaked through with his sunglasses on. Tucker is tossing gummy bears into the air and trying to catch them in his mouth next to Bowen.
It’s perfect.
Bowen slides back into the water with a soft splash, joining Brett and me. His arm brushes mine, and I sigh.
“I want to live here forever,” Brett mumbles, tired but content.
We spend the rest of the day sprawled on the dock, lazily naming shapes in the clouds.
I fall asleep between them.