There is one way I’ll always remember you. It's a memory that clings to me like clothes to my back on a Friday afternoon in July. Your boss let you out early. I remember the sun on my face and the sound of the swamp cicadas seeming to cheer me on. “Go on.” I hear you say “Give it a shot. “
There is one way I’ll always remember you. I stare at my target, a hard blue plastic bucket at your feet. I pick up the Snoopy fishing pole and watch the red bobber twist and turn about at the end of the line. Just like we practiced, I think. With the swing of an arm and the pull of the trigger I cast it away and listen to the thunk of the bobber as it lands in the bucket. I remember the look on your face.
I haven’t heard that sound and I haven’t seen that face since. But I keep casting.