Page 62 of The Tryst

“The path of memory,” he says, pointing to the shadowed path, “and the path of love,” he continues, indicating the golden one. “Which will you choose?”

I look at the paths, then back at Wade. “I don’t understand. I’ve already made my choice.”

He smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “You can hold on to the past, to the guilt and the memories of what was lost, or you can move forward with love, with Holland. But you can’t have both, Trey.”

I know I can’t have both. I’d already concluded that and broke things off with Holland. I’m disappointed in Wade, that he can’t be more original. I’m disappointed he’s not proud of my decision or at least a little fucking grateful.

The dream shifts again, and I’m standing alone in a field of tall grass. Wade is gone, but his words linger in the air. The sky above me is now a swirling mass of clouds, forming shapes and patterns that are almost recognizable but slip away as soon as I try to focus.

A horse appears, galloping toward me from the golden path. It stops in front of me, its eyes deep and knowing. It speaks, though its mouth doesn’t move, its voice resonating in my mind. It sounds like James Earl Jones, which lends some credibility to the words. That man always sounds like he knowswhat he’s talking about. “The past is heavy as an elephant and light as a feather.”

That makes… no sense at all.

From the shadowed path, a different figure emerges. It’s Wade again, but older this time—as old as our father actually—his face lined with the years he’ll never actually get to live. He looks at me with a mixture of disappointment and understanding. “The past is heavy as an elephant—”

“Yes, I know,” I say churlishly. “And light as a feather.”

“Actually, as light as a slice of American cheese, but semantics.” Wade’s eyes twinkle, making him look younger and more vibrant. A dull ache forms in my chest because I miss him so fucking much.

“I have to tell you,” he drawls, looking around at the bizarre scenery. “I commend you for what you did.”

I frown. “What I did?”

He nods. “Yeah… dumping Holland. Heavy as an elephant. She was no good for you and look what she did to me. I’d still be here if it weren’t for her.”

“No,” I growl in anger. “It wasn’t her fault. She had nothing to do with your death. It was all me.”

“Well, look at you,” he chides. “Trying to turn elephants into American cheese.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” I yell in frustration, pulling at my hair. “You said I have to make a choice, but I don’t understand what my options are.”

I turn to look at the two paths again, but now they’re gone.

My choices are gone.

Wade starts to fade, turning translucent. “Wait. Don’t go. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

He gets filmier, eyes boring into me as he disappears.

“Wait,” I demand, holding out my hands. “Tell me what to do.”

I can barely see him now, but he waves his hands where the two paths were. “It’s too late,” he says so faintly, it’s a whisper on the wind. “You already made your choice.”

I wake up with a start, my heart pounding, the remnants of the dream clinging to my mind like cobwebs. My bedroom is dark and silent, the only sound my ragged gasps for air. I lie there, trying to make sense of the dream, but it slips away, just out of reach until I can’t really remember the details.

Was Wade telling me to honor his memory by letting go of Holland, or was he calling me an idiot for not fighting for her? And really, does it even matter? It was a stupid dream, only a figment of my tortured mind.

But what’s done is done, even if I’m starting to think I’ve made a horrible decision.

The days that have passed since my brother’s funeral have not gotten any easier. The forgiveness of my sins that I expected to come from my penance never materialized. I’m still just as hard on myself about what happened to Wade, and even worse, I think my guilt was misplaced. The thing burdening me the most these days is the hurt I caused Holland.

I lie in bed a long time, not wanting to get up. I’ve been sleeping like shit, and I feel it in my bones. At least I’ve stopped sleeping in Wade’s room, trying to hang on to some connection. I even managed yesterday to go through his clothes, pulling out anything I wanted to keep and boxing the rest for donation.

Eventually, when the sunlight starts streaming in my windows, I know it’s time to get going. With a sigh, I roll out of bed.

I received a missive from my mom last night that she expected me to attend a family breakfast at eight a.m. I’m not sure how I feel about that, given I’ve done a damn good job of avoiding my family since the funeral. Besides, I’m still madat them because they knew Holland was leaving and no one bothered to tell me. I get I ended things, but I had the right to say goodbye to her the way the others did.

I considered boycotting to continue to voice my displeasure at being kept in the dark, but ultimately, I know my dad will come looking for me and I don’t want to tangle with him. He’s about reached his limit with me, and I get it. He’s lost a son and probably has more reason to be mired in a funk than I do.

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