Cancelled.

There were four of us in the room when it happened. Even Sean’s cavalier wit couldn’t lend levity to the gravity of the evening; and we all walked away shaken-- slightly worse for the wear. I try sometimes to remember what led up to events of the evening. It’s hard to do. I try to remember backwards, like counting down in my head, 9.. 8.. 7.. 6..; I can’t get back to one, though. Maybe there was no particular catalyst to trace back to. (And sometimes I trace back through my memory like my fingers over the dried layers of paint on the piece that you called "Epiphany," wanting so much to peel layer after layer off to find the sketch that it all started with.)What were you looking at when it happened? I never asked you that. I was focusing on a cancelled check, laying on the ground next to a pocket watch, made out to "Cash" in the amount of seventy-five dollars. I had been thinking about what that money had been spent on, and also how neat the stamp looked. No visible smudges. And I’ve since then thought about how I felt about as cancelled as that check was, but my stamp wasn’t nearly as clean.Tuesday morning it was cold. I woke up and rolled over and Kendra was shivering. I put my hand to her arm, and her skin was cool to the touch. It was eerie. Before I got up I covered her with a blanket and rubbed her arms over and over hoping that the friction would warm her. She stirred only slightly, and I paused to watch her eyes flutter under her lids. She dreams deeply and keeps a journal of the tales that her brain drums up in her slumber. I've done my best to provide a nice life for her. We live modestly but I think that she's happy.And then I called you, and you said that it was warm in California. For a brief moment I thought of packing everything up and moving. I thought of the boxes stacked in the hallway. But when I thought of individually wrapping each one of Kendra's handpainted ceramic molds, I got overwhelmed. I told you that I didn't think that I could live in the same state as you. You agreed that it probably wasn't a good idea.I've tried to tell Kendra what happened that night. There are times, though few and far between, that she will catch me remembering backwards. When I am lost in thought, she asks me what's on my mind, and I try to spit it out but I am unable to. I can tell that she knows that I'm keeping something from her, and that it bothers her. I save my phone calls to you for the early morning when she is still asleep, worried that she will hear the ease in my voice when I speak to you. The lack of hesitation. Neil's been doing okay for himself, too. I see him occasionally; he works at a department store in the mall selling men's suits. When I run into him, we sit and share a meal in the food court. He gets sushi from the Japanese place, and I get coffee. He always politely asks about Kendra, although I can still hear the residual frustration in his voice that things between us didn't work out. He doesn't bring you up very often. I wonder what Neil was looking at. I sometimes think that he was looking at something that was more interesting than a cancelled check. Maybe he was looking at the television screen. I remember hearing the fuzz in the background. Maybe in that instant we became permanently fused with what we were focusing on. I'm a cancelled check, Neil is white noise. If this is the case, I imagine that your eyes were aimed out the window at the stars that seemed extra bright that night.I wanted to tell you about Sean earlier but I didn't know how. I knew that there was no way that you'd be able to make the funeral; the arrangements were made quickly and with very little concern for what he would have wanted. His parents felt disgraced by his suicide. They buried him in a blue pin-stripe suit that he surely wouldn't have worn under any other circumstances. The ceremony was rife with trite, conventional rites. I asked Kendra to stay home, and she wearily obliged. Neil and I sat in the back holding hands. Sean's sister talked to us breifly outside the church. She somberly recounted the tale of how sick he'd been lately, and I bit my tongue as Neil told her how nice the ceremony had been. When we got into the car, I turned to look at Neil and I said, plainly, "He was looking right at it."Neil nodded, put the car in gear, and drove me home in silence.I've come to realize that though our lives speak of that night everyday, we will never discuss it aloud. It's a secret that we all share with the past. I'm learning to tuck it away. I hope that one day Kendra and I can come out to see you, and finally meet your wife and children.Please keep your eyes to the stars.