The light was murky and the air heavy as I carried him out one last time. There was a strong smell of lilac that seemed inappropriate for the occasion. The strange light made the world look foreign and so it felt unreal as I placed my friend in the front passenger side of the car and shut the door. The geese on the lake made accusatory sounds. My feet on the pavement as I walked to the driver’s side did not feel like my feet and the hand that grabbed the driver's door handle was not my own. I got in, started the car, and put it in gear with the slowness of moving through water. In a soft voice I told him it would be okay, knowing it was a lie, and my spit was like sand that caught in my throat as we pulled out. This was never his favorite part, but his lids were heavy and he was unnaturally quiet as we moved closer and closer to the end of our friendship.
After he was gone and I had returned to the car, the tears finally flowed. The drive home with the empty seat beside me was sad and yet somehow less burdened. The time of decision done, only the finality of the deed was left to weight on the heart. Windows down and radio loud, tears dried and crusted on checks and nose. I let the wind pass over and sooth the guilt and sadness. The car sat outside the house. I became more present within it as the smell of lilacs, sounds of the lake, roughness of the upholstery against my arms, brought me back. As I walked back into the house empty handed, I felt hollow and spent. I knew that a hug and a glass of wine awaited my return. As I opened the door, I wondered what awaited my friend.
