The Clouds

Some people picked sunflowers, others flipped coins, and a few used the timeless Eeny, meeny, miny, moe method. 

Out on the Swanee River, in a rickety boat that has set sail one too many times, I leaned back with my eyes glued to the fluffy, cotton-balled cumulus clouds above. People like me and my brother chose to find answers in the sky, hoping the shape-shifting nature of the clouds would point us in the right direction.

At least twice a week, Henry would grab the boat from the back shed and drag it down the hill out towards the river. Tailing along, like all good little brothers do, I’d bring a snack or two because you’d never know quite how long we’d be out there — maybe an hour or two, but sometimes more. You just never knew.

I didn’t mind it, and he didn’t mind me being there.  The silence between us was the basis of our covalent bond. 

But now, here I was without Henry, continuing a tradition I thought would last decades. I should’ve known. We were out there more often and for longer periods of time. But I didn’t ask. I hadn’t before. Why start now? 

Looking up now, I wondered what he saw that convinced him that way was the way — which cloud was responsible for leading him astray?

And what would I do if I found that cloud?

 I was still trying to find an answer. One that would fix the mess of our lives. So far, none of them would stop Momma from bawling her eyes every second of every day since then. I’ve stopped counting the boxes of tissues. 

None of them would stop my Pops from staring mindlessly at the television — neither laughing, or smiling, or huffing and puffing at his team’s scores. I’ve stopped counting the minutes that go by until he turns it off, realizing he was never really watching it in the first place. 

Everyone said I was the spitting image of my brother — same round almond eyes, same foreheads that stood out like the heads on Mount Rushmore, and same dimpled smile that was sure to break hearts one day. 

For the first time, I was out here all alone, wishing that I wasn’t. 

For the first time, I was angry at the clouds for coming up empty with each question that I asked. 

For the first time, I was crying because Henry wasn’t here and he never would be again.