I don’t remember the day I met cold eyed Burgess Bundle. He has persisted in my memory as far back as I can remember, but that is not to say that he’s old. In fact, Burgess is never older than twenty one and will never be older - which is to say that Burgess always dies at the age of twenty one. I have tried to save him, when I finally realized what was killing him - but despite all my efforts, when I wake, he’s dead, cold eyed. I cried the first few times I saw him, I was still young when I did. But now that I have seen those cold eyes so often, the same bloodless pallor, I now only accept it. Burgess will never see the fireworks that light the sky on the night of his death. Nor will he be able to meet me at the beach like we had planned. But I will always, always, be thankful for Burgess and his dying. For if it wasn’t for his absence, I would of never met her – the first time.
The rain didn’t make the sand into mud; instead it became coarse and easy to form, like warm brown snow. Burgess sat at the bottom of a twisting slide, boots twisting swirls in a puddle with a twig. As he played he hummed discordant and disconnected notes of an unknown origin, slowing in unison with the strokes of the twig through the swill. His white cheeks were red from the cold, and his breath huffed condensation. Leaning forward he caught the twig out of the water and made his way to the sandbox where ***** sat making thin lines of mud on the dark grey pavement.
“Hey, look!”
Burgess lifted the still wet twig to his mouth using his thumb and index finger tips, took it between his teeth, then closed his lips around one end while the other dripped water onto his boots. He proceeded to inhale through his mouth, but because there was no space for air to pass through, his neck tensed, and his lips made a smacking sound. Heedless he drew the twig away, still held between thumb and index finger, and slowly exhaled a hyperbolic breath of steam.
Laughter filled the small school yard.
“Yea, well watch this!”
***** reached into his pocket and produced a large straw. Burgess blinked, still standing. Their yard monitor, a girl in the eighth grade, was standing idly by the gate awaiting the rest of the kindergarteners. The boy on the ground looked at the straw, then at the small thin lines of wet sand. He brought the straw to his nose, to his left nostril, then up into the nasal cavity. Burgess began to laugh and threw his twig against the yard fence.
***** used one hand to support his weight as he crouched over the thin lines of sand and carefully maneuvred the open end of the straw to the line closest to his right knee. He sniffed hard and simultaneously moved the straw up the wet brown line. After a few moments ***** sat up, mud and blood running from nose to chin. He smiled stupidly at Burgess for a moment, coughed, gagged, and began to wretch. Burgess rolled on the pavement kicking and laughing.
