I walked around the field as evening turned to dusk. The violent red of a setting sun glowered against the dark, peering through the horizon, and the trees swayed beneath a soft wind. The silence quivered with the whispers of leaves and cicadas. My clothes clung to skin, sweat meshing flesh to fabric amidst the humidity. By now, my heart rate had slowed, but I still took deep, heavy breaths, letting myself choke on the summer air.
At the edge of the field, where a small forest begins, after ducking beneath the tall oak branches and stepping over the thick roots, there is a route that leads through the trees. I don't think we ever called it a path—but we certainly made it one together. I walk through the small clearing as the evening color disappears overhead. In the last moments of light, I watch the scene change around me as I walk. I listen closely to the sound of my steps and the cicadas' siren and the plants whispers and the foliage warn me. In the 9 years between us, I find myself circling back endlessly to this place—a vulture who lacked the patience to patrol and instead soared headfirst towards whatever lay at the end of its thoughts. I wonder how we found this place. It must have been me because you were too tall to sneak through without crouching.
"Hey, if we could go back, would you do it again? Would you wish for the same thing?" I ask myself out loud as though he were still there.
As the trail proceeds through the woods, the roots that we struggled to step over and loose stones fall away as the dirt flattens out. And as it curves around the tall willow tree that always seemed so out of place, it leads to a small cave in the side of a hill. Around the opening of the cave, the trees empty out, instead outlining a small pond. The cave is about ten feet in diameter, opening up at most a hundred feet inwards. Trees sit on the dirt that covers the top lip, and their roots hang just above. When we first found it, the water reached my waist as I waded through, until you swept me up and placed me on your shoulders as we walked in. I guess this is our secret hideout from now on you told me.
From the outside, the cave is—inconspicuous. There really wasn't anything special on the inside either. I left my shoes out by the edge of the pond and waded in with bare feet—the same way you did back then. I dip my hands in the water and place my palm against the cool stone wall, leaving a wet imprint behind, even if it will vanish by tonight. The pond streams into the cave, eventually leading to a well at the end not too far in. At the base of the water, many, many coins sit at the bottom and, reaching into my back pocket and fingering a small coin, I throw it into the water. I close my eyes tight, wishing for—something, even if I don't really know what. I open my eyes to nothing, and breathe in the musty cave air as the last vestiges of evening light dissipate. Even in the darkness, I can still see our pennies at the very back. We threw them as hard as we could, didn't we? I only use nickels or dimes now so that I don't ever lose sight of them.
At the back of the cave sits a ball and a small tin. I peel the rusted top off, listening closely to the aged and warped metal writhe. In it sits a couple photos, old candy, and a handwritten letter. The pages are withered, warped from aged and dried water, edges browning from the rusted interior, and the pages crumpled from reading over and over and over. It's been years since I last read it though.
All the items here you left behind for our secret hideout. I can still hear you say it, still see your face leaning over me, sun out in the distance, your black hair reflecting the sun in the distance as the corners of your eyes shrink away to make room for your grin. I can still taste the pieces of candy sitting in this can, a sort of hard candy the local candy shop used to make—and we'd eat day after day. They closed a couple years ago after the owners decided to retire. I bet these are the only pieces left in the world.
I unfold one of the wrappers and put one onto my mouth. In the dark, I can't see them but I know the color by taste: red, our favorite. I can't make out the photos in the dark either, but I know how they all look—one of us standing next to the entrance of the cave, hands up in air, another of us with our parents, and a third of just you from the shoulders up, mid laugh and surrounded by all the other little kids during a ball game out in the elementary school field. I wonder, was that how I looked today too?
The hard candy reminds me of medicine. It doesn't taste as sweet as I remember.
I walk home in the dark of night, stepping through the long evening grass, breathing in the cool and humid evening air, and watching the night sky freckle out into stars and a pale moon. Fireflies rise from the grass and I cup one in my hands, watching it glow and darken, glow and darken, glow and darken. I lay down on my back, feeling the field tickle my skin, and watch the world spill out into a dark space above. You always said you wished you could fly. I guess I kind of know what you mean now.
Hey, I miss you.