Our Last Reunion Together

Like all reunions, it started with a car ride. You were fifteen, I was eight, and too focused on the Star Wars movies playing on the portable car TV to have any clue where we were going, or to care. We watched the same movies every car trip. You always complained that we needed variety, that I always got to pick just because I was younger. But you didn’t complain that time. Maybe you’d discovered the wonders of our family’s new MP3 players that held thousands of songs, or maybe you somehow knew our time together was limited. Me, all I cared about was Anakin Skywalker.

When Father told us we’d arrived at the hotel, Obi Wan sliced his apprentice in half, and you took out your headphones. You directed me towards tall Cousin Ethan in his signature tan Superman hat with the bright blue bill hiding his bald head. He and his dad, our Uncle Jack, were the only family members I didn’t have to ask you about. Everyone else greeted us and told us both we’d grown so much. You could tell I was uncomfortable when I tried to hide behind your legs, so you convinced me, Father, and Ethan to visit the hotel pool while Mother and the rest of the family conversed about the different events they had planned for the reunion.

In the pool bathrooms you bet me you could change into your swim trunks faster than I could. I never turned down a chance to race. I was seven years younger than you, and speedy—normally you’d be sore at me for winning, but maybe you had some sense of what would happen at the pool, and you wanted to leave me with a memory of us getting along, so you just smiled as I ran out of the stall, my chest puffed, yelling, “I’m faster!”

Hands clasped, we jumped into the pool together. The chemical burn of the chlorine tore into my open nose, but I laughed through the sting as water splashed the tile floor. You challenged me for a race—a race I should’ve refused.

We both ducked under, but as I popped back up, you weren’t there. Ahead of me, water splashed rapidly, as if you were kicking with all your might to the finish line. I took a deep breath and clenched my eyes shut as I dove back down. My body felt heavy but also free, completely submerged under the weight of the water but still somehow unencumbered. Everything around me was quiet and distorted, but I could hear faint screaming from above, as if Ethan and Father were cheering me on, as if I were almost there. Just as I flung one arm over the edge, a hand clasped it and pulled me out of the water. I looked up, expecting to see you, but instead I saw Ethan, his face pale and worried.

Ethan swiped a towel from one of the carts to dry me, patting at my arms. I pulled a corner, wiping my eyes, and looked around, but I couldn’t find you. The pool was empty and still; even the echo in the room was dull and reserved. Ethan told me Father took you, that you’d be fine, but I could tell he was lying.

Ethan walked me up the stairs, attempting to dry my hair with the towel on the way to our room. He told me everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t know what he meant. I needed you; I needed to ask you for clarification, like I’d done all my life whenever I was confused, but you weren’t there. You’d always been with me, but now you weren’t.

In the hotel room, I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. It seemed the whole family stuffed themselves inside, cramped, shoulder-to-shoulder. I remember looking around for you to bail me out. Ethan noticed my anxiety, hugged me, and without saying a word, took off his Superman hat and placed it on my head. He never let anyone touch his hat, let alone wear it. His bald head reflected sweat and light, and his eyes were wet, too. He told me to come with him as he guided me out the door. But as I stepped into the hallway, it was like the Superman hat activated my dormant Kryptonian super-speed. Everything was a blur.

I blinked, and suddenly I found myself in a front church pew, but I don’t remember the service. Loud, melancholy chords from the piano pierced the somber air, the notes drilling an excruciating pain into my head as I tried to regain control of my new Kyptonian powers. But the blur didn’t cease. Out of breath, I tightened the hat around my skull and jolted up from the pew. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could outrun the blur and wind up back at the hotel, swimming with you again. But before I could super-speed out the church doors, Mother grabbed my arm and urged me to sit down, take that hat off, be serious. She didn’t understand. I was serious. Mother sat me back down. Ethan turned to me, but his forced smile was just another lie.

I don’t remember the funeral ending because I don’t remember the funeral. I don’t remember the family reunion, but I can never forget it either. I don’t remember anything, except for you. I remember you quite well.