#16 Beth

by Bill Keis

I laid on the moss-covered rock staring at the clouds, feeling the sun on my naked body, and breathing the pine-scented summer’s breeze. But mostly, I was remembering how fragile life is…

We met while building hiking trails. At first, I thought Beth was a nerdy, red-headed, Irish girl with braces and freckles; but she gradually grew on me. We became inseparable and started exploring things our parents never discussed, it was better this way. Our favorite place to escape was a strenuous, 5-mile ascent up a boulder field ending at a small, glacial cirque. Beth loved catching and frying up the pan-sized cutthroat trout. We became one there.

We use to joke that we would die together in the wilderness. Beth didn’t see the pickup that T-boned her and never felt a thing. Boy, I sure felt it; my thoughts were constantly about Beth, myself, and us. It’s been seven months, but it seems like only days.

…I jumped off the rock into the lake and backstroked to the center. It was frigid, but my body needed to be as numb as my mind; to be with Beth one final time. I opened the plastic bag, throwing her ashes into the air, and rubbing them into mud as they landed on my body. They floated across our lake. Beth would have approved. I stayed on my back looking at the clouds until my being was anesthetized. I slid under the surface to join Beth; I didn’t feel a thing.