Tribute

Sleep did not come easily. I went to bed at midnight and awoke around three. After lying awake for a couple hours I decided to work on my note to her. Just after sunrise I drove the empty streets to her house to slip the note in the door. His son’s green Chevy was parked in the driveway. I could not tell if anyone was awake inside but I could see lights in the window. It was a hard night for them, too.

For a long time I stood at the end of the driveway looking across the street into the woods beyond. This time of year the trees are bare so the interstate was clearly visible a few hundred yards beyond the woods, on the far side of a creek. A narrow grassy strip led through the low bramble into the open wood. A light mist rose from the creek and fingered between the trees.  There were no leaves to soften the crooked shadows or dampen the constant rush of highway traffic.  The forest floor still wet from the night’s rain muffled my footsteps.  On a sandbar in the creek bed stood the ruined foundation of a house and a lone green picnic table, its painting scaling off.  A fallen birch provided the only access to the strange little island.

As I crested the bank above the creek a sudden puff of warm air struck my face, filled with the rich smell of dampness and decay. I stopped in midstep, but it was gone. I found myself looking around to see where it came from. The air stilled and cooled. The only sounds were the chatter of birds and the constant whoosh of cars and
trucks heading east and west.

I thought for a moment that if he had only waited to see this exquisite dawn he would have changed his mind.

I did not ask her to show me the tree where he chose to die but she had described it to me.  Before he arrived home he had made the decision.  He had known she was coming home soon so he had wasted no time only pausing briefly in the kitchen to leave his wallet, watch, keys and a short note which simply read “I’m sorry.”

He would have chosen a large tree so the bullet would not be a danger to anyone else. He would not have bothered to go far from the path but steered away from usual direction of his walks with her in the hope that she would not be the one to find him.  With the noise of the highway to cover the shot he did not have to walk far.  He would have faced the creek if he could, but not on the slope so his body would not tumble down into the
mud. A few yards downstream I spied a large oak.  I did not see any blood and felt twinge of gratitude for the rainfall.  I dug a hole at the base with a stick and dropped in a shining medal from my pocket, still warm with the memory of that lucky day when I was the one who made the fewest mistakes. I filled the hole with black dirt and smooth river stones. I had thought this moment would be difficult but I felt surprisingly peaceful. The things I had thought of saying did not seem necessary.  Besides, I knew he was gone and I was alone.  I had done what I came to do.

The sky was beginning to pale above the branches and the mist had burned off. I took a last look around at the empty wood, so close to filling with the green of springtime. It was time to go home to my family.