Epilogue
>You are Anonymous
>Warm air
>Blue skies of May
>Sunshine and the promise of summer
>Idle chatter and the nameless sounds of classic rock swell into a noisy current that sucks you down into its depths
>You're sitting at a cheap card table in your backyard, next to Alex, while relatives and neighbors you've never met drop by the table and congratulate you, tell you they knew you since you were only knee-heigh
>"God, kid, I can't believe you used to climb the tree in my front yard," Mr. Harris says, extending a hand to you
>Mr. Harris is a human, and meaner than his long, silvery hair let on
>He looks like a retired art teacher, minus the glasses and the actual interest in teaching children anything other than that he found them obnoxious
“I remember I'd climb your tree and you'd spray me with the hose until I got down," you say, taking his hand and shaking it
>Actually, you're not even mad
>You just wanted to let him know you remember his indiscretions against a 9-year-old
>"Well," Mr. Harris clears his throat and pulls at his collar. “Congratulations anyway. On graduating."
“Thanks!" You say, still shaking his hand. “We're glad you could come to Sam and I's party."
>"Oh, yeah. Sure," he says, curiously eying the rabbit, who sits next to you, wearing her graduate cap
>It smushes her ears to the side, and if it hurts to have her ears bend that way, she doesn't show it
>She cracks a shy smile and nods in appreciation at Mr. Harris
>"Congratulations to you too, Sam," Mr. Harris says, with the kind of awkward distance that can only come from knowing a friend of a not-so-friend
“T-Thank you," Sam says, folding her little hands into her lap
>When he's gone, you plop back into your chair
>Alex nudges you with his shoulder
>"He seemed like a dick."
“You have no idea. That guy used to call my mom and tell her I was harassing his daughter. She was like six years older than I was! All I was trying to do was get her to give my basketball back."
>Sam giggles
>"I-I can't picture y-y-you playing b-basketball."
“Well, I'm not saying I was any good." You tip the neck of a bottle of root beer back, the sticky sweet nectar filling your mouth with a slow trickle. “I hardly even played basketball. I'd just chuck it against the garage door a bunch. Drove my dad insane."
>"M-Me and my b-brother used to r-r-race against c-cars in the neighborhood," Sam offers
>"Did you beat any?" Alex turns his bottle up and takes a pull
>"O-Only when t-they didn't know w-w-w-we were racing."
“I'm not surprised. Rabbits are fast as fuck," you add
>More neighbors come by to congratulate you before Sam or Alex can respond
>This time it's an anthro family
>Lynxes, from down the street
>You think you used to play with their son, but you're not sure
>What was their name?
>"Hey Anon! Congrats on graduating!" The older, male lynx says
>He's wearing a maroon polo that clashes against his gray-black fur and sharp yellow eyes
>They're full of unrestricted joy
>You smile and stand to shake their hands, but your smile must have been a dead giveaway: you can't remember who these people are
>Luckily the older woman to the right of the other lynx, seems to pick up on your confusion
>"You might not remember us," she says, her voice gentle and smooth like a trickling stream. “The Jamisons? This is my husband George," she pats him on the shoulder.
>"And this is my dead weigh- I mean, wife, Meredith," George says
>They both giggle
>Fucking boomers
>"You used to play with our son Kyle, back in grade school," George crosses his arms and assumes a relaxed slouch
>So you were right to begin with
“Oh, right, Kyle!" You say, not remembering anything about Kyle other than the time you pulled his nubby tail and he bit you and then he had to go to a special school for a year
“How's he doing now?"
>The family exchange… looks
>Oh you know those looks
>Discomfort
>Guess what you did either fucked him up for life or awakened something fucked up in him.
“Anyway, I hope he's doing well," you add, trying to salvage the conversation
>There's a slight pause that only the chatter of the party fills
>"So, Anon," the father starts, leaning on the table. “I hear you got a great STEM scholarship to Red Field. Congratulations on that."
>It's true
>You worked with Mr. Bolm, who helped you find some really great scholarship programs for you to apply to
>Only caveat is that you have to be in a STEM discipline
>Secretly, you were considering English
>Still, it wasn't so bad. Red Field was a short drive from home — no more than an hour
>And it was a damn good school
>"It's true," Alex says, smiling. “Anon here is going to build space communism."
>You can no longer tell if Alex is joking or being sincere
>Ever since October his cavalier attitude towards communism… changed
>He seemed more at peace with his surroundings, and less revolution-focused, though the notion still haunted him
>The father looks at Alex and smiles the smile of a man just trying to be polite
>"And you must be Sam," he says. “Congratulations."
>"No, my name is Alex," Alex says. He points a finger at Sam who is watching the streamers — red and white, the colors of your school — dance among the branches of the trees. “Sam is the bunny."
>"Oh…" George puts on a forced smile and extends his hand to Sam
>The bunny shakes it with a firm grip
>"T-T-Thanks, s-s-sir."
>"And uhhh, Sam…? What are you doing after this?"
>Sam brightens
>"I-I-I'm going to Ran-Ranchview C-C-Community College," she proudly declares
>And speech therapy
>Meredith plants her paws over her heart. “Oh that's so great to hear. Our Kyle is planning on going there in the fall. Your family must be so proud."
“We are," you cut in, quickly. “We're very proud of Sam for graduating."
>Sam continues to brighten while the two anthros deflate
>"I-I-I'm studying a-a-art and animation. I'm g-g-going to do my m-masters at CAL ARTS."
>The wind seems to shift
>And the conversation seems to turn awkward, but you don't give a fuck whether or not the Meredith and George and their wacko son Kyle think Sam is part of your family
>You think it was that blow to the back of your head, maybe
>It released all inhibitions
>"Well," George retracts his hand and wipes the sweat from Sam's palms onto his pants. “That's really nice to hear, Sam. Ah, look at you three." He puffs up a bit. “Fine young men. You'll be raising hell and chasing girls across campus."
>"Ac-Actually I-I'm a w-w-woman," Sam flashes a bright, innocent smile, one without any sort of ill-will for the well-meaning Jamisons
>Meredith looks… confused
>"Plus Sam and Anon are dating," Alex says to nobody, in a short, disinterested puff
>Nobody ever asks him what he's doing with his life
>Going to a good school on the west coast
>Studying political science
>"Nobody cares about Alex Mullen." He throws his hands to the sky
>The Jamisons take cautious steps backwards
>Sam is a woman
>Anon is dating an anthro
>…Whatever the fuck is wrong with Alex
>It's alll too much
>"W-Well, congratulations to the three of you. Really. Anon, Sam, we left you both cards in the kitchen. Okay? Have a good day!" George and Meredith turn tail (literally) and disappear into the crowd
>You've been awfully combative today
>You can't help it
>You're a bit anxious
“God, I know this is tradition, but I can't wait for this to be over. There's too many people I don't know or remember."
>"Nah man, don't worry. It was the same way at my party. Cake big enough for me to sleep on, aunts and uncles from the east coast… I don't get it. But the money is nice."
“W-W-When do we ge-get to eat c-cake?" Sam stammers
>She's already three root beers deep, you're not sure she needs any more sugar
>You pretend not to hear her
>Alex will fill her in anyway
>You stare at the banner above your back porch as it sways with the soft breeze
>It reads: 'Congratulations Anonymous & Sam!'
>The whole backyard is gilded in red and white
>Red and white streamers, tablecloths, napkins, cups, outfits, cake colors, gown colors
>It's a lot to take in, and that's just the decorations
>There were plenty of people, mixing and mingling and talking over the sounds of your dad's belly laugh while he mans the grill, or the thrum of music coming from a portable speaker set up on the back porch
>Your mom plays hostess, the curls of her golden hair falling in her eyes as she throws her head back to laugh at a story about you wetting your pants in the third grade
>Everything is happening at once, dancing around you and Alex and Sam
>There would have been four of you if Jenna could make it, but she was busy with parties of her own, and getting set up at her fancy east coast school
>You, Alex and Sam trade a quick look as a drunken relative stumbles out the back door to a chorus of cheering
>Unspoken looks
>The language of friends
>Someone is missing from this table
>…
>"What an asshole," Alex says, and you're not sure if he's talking about Mike or your drunk uncle Richard
>Maybe both
>"I-I'll d-d-drink to that," Sam declares, knocking back another root beer
>You and Alex quietly follow her example
>You're going to miss school, in a weird way
>Despite how easy it was after Halloween
>The school basically coasted you and the gang through after they ruled Mike and Vanessa's death as suicides
>It was all sympathies and A's once the investigation got through
>People you never met coming up to you like they ever gave a shit in the first place to tell you 'how sorry they were'
>And, actually, you felt that at least some of it was sincere
>So that didn't bother you
>What bothered you most was the lack of something that felt like it was a part of you your whole life
>Like having a rebellious arm suddenly ripped off
>Sure it wouldn't cooperate some of the time, but it was still your arm
>God damnit, you missed that cunt-for-brains
>You pull on your root beer in an effort to drown the lump in your throat
>"So, when do you ship out, Anon?" Alex says casually. “I'm out start of August."
“Start of August? Jesus, that's… three months!"
>Alex shrugs in his dress shirt and tie
>He kept the beanie on as a means of protest
>"Can't be helped, comrade. I've gotta go get oriented out there on the coast and get ready to raise some hell."
>God damnit
“I move in end of August," you reply, still slightly angry that you're losing a month of time with Alex
>"Wait, Sam, what are you doing when Anon's gone?" Alex says
>Sam stares straight ahead, watching the banner sway in a warm breeze
>She seems… lost in something?
>You can guess what it might be
>Melancholy
>"A-A-Anon's f-f-family is l-letting me stay with t-t-them f-f-for c-c-college-"
“PROVIDED I visit every couple of weeks," you add in
>Your parents took to Sam almost instantly, overwhelming her with love and sweets
>Sam, of course, lost her shit and your 'welcome party' nearly put her back into the hospital (and this was after the hospital essentially had to reconstruct her shattered leg)
>She had been living with you since Halloween, and you've loved every minute of it
>"That's a sweet deal. Anon's mom makes a killer fucking omelet. My best sleepover memories are waking up to her cooking," Alex says
“Yeah," you say softly. “She does."
>You were going to miss her omelets (mom-lets she'd sometimes call them)
>But the omelets are just a smoke screen, concealing what you're really going to miss:
>Everyone and everything
>The bright glow of Ranchview in the night, like a jewel crowded with light
>The camaraderie
>Cruising in your rustbucket under falling leaves
>Halloween decorations and birthdays and Christmases where you traded out Sam's old hoodie for a sweater that nearly drowned her, but one that she hardly ever took off
>The familiarity and pace of life
>All shot to the moon on a strange and unfamiliar comet
>Alex rises from his chair and smooths out his shirt and slacks
>"So, hey, Anon, are you and Sam coming to the school tonight?"
>He looks like a fucking accountant, not a revolutionary
“Yeah, we'll be there. You still want to go, Sam?"
>Sam nods, knocking her tassel into her face, where it swings like a pendulum
>"And don't forget the beers," Alex adds. “That's the most important part."
“Right, right. I'll sneak a few from my dad."
>Alex gives you an affirmative nod, and then another for Sam
>And then he doesn't move
>Just stands there, unsure of what to do with his hands
>Fuck, when did things become awkward?
>It started getting this way when you found out you'd gotten a few major scholarships
>He scrubs the back of his skull with his palm
>"Sooo… guess I'll see ya'll tonight?"
“Sure thing man, at 11."
>He throws a thumb towards the doors
>"Congratulations again, Anon, Sam. Sorry to abandon you both so soon. I've got some things to take care of at home."
“No worries comrade. Go do what you gotta do."
>"Right. Bye then."
>He pushes through the crowd like a forceful beanpole and jumps on his thin bicycle
>With a few encouraging *dings* he's riding down the street, towards home
>You lean back in your chair and sigh a deep, exhausted sigh from the pits of your stomach
>"W-W-What a-are we d-d-doing tonight?" Sam asks
>You flick her tassel, still hanging in front of her face
“We're going back to school, remember?"
>"N-No."
“To see him?"
>"O-Oh, y-y-yeah. S-S-Sorry I f-f-forgot."
“Don't sweat it, Thumper."
>Sometime around midnight, you're climbing up the (fixed) ladder towards the roof, backpacks full of beer
>The shiny chrome ladder does not shake or groan when you grip it
>Which is reassuring
>Alex scrambles over the top of the roof
>Followed by Sam, and then you
>You point at the stooped access building
“So this is where we left the bottles last time."
>"The ones you smashed Vanessa over the head with?"
“Yeah," you say, looking for any amber shards that might still be left over. Wouldn't that be something?
>Like little fossils
>The clean light of a half-moon shines down on you, illuminating your search
>You don't find anything
>Still…
>You draw a beer from your backpack and place it next to the access tunnels
>"Waste of a perfectly good beer," Alex notes, still shouldering his alcohol-laden backpack
“You never know when someone might need this." You put your hands on your hips
>Memories come flooding back
>Lots of memories of pain
>Of how badly your body was broken
>Doctors said you'd had a major concussion, several cracked ribs, and came so close to dying they were already calling your parents about funeral arrangements when you got to the ICU
>You shake your head, banishing the thoughts
>Though they'd always plague you, you could move on
>You could change, because people do change
>Just like Sam could change
>"G-G-Guys, can I h-have my Dr. Bepper now?" Sam asks, feet swinging off the edge of the rooftop
>Well… some things don't change
>You and Alex sit next to her
>She quickly grabs the soda from your hands as you pass it to her, and cracks it open with a noisy hiss
>You take her free hand and squeeze it affectionately, passing a smile between you two
>Alex doesn't seem to mind or care
>He's got plenty to drink
>And there's an empty spot next to him which has been hounding at his attention
>An absence, filled only by the unopened beer bottle that Alex places there on the rooftop
>The three of you stare at it, like it was about to start speaking
>And hopefully if it does, it'd sound like Mike
>But you hear nothing from the tongues of the nether
>Just crickets chirping up
>The sound of hearty swallows of beer
>And then Alex belching
>"Ah shit," he says. “I needed this."
“Same here. After today I just need to be with a few very important people right now."
>Sam squeezes your hand
>Finished, Alex chucks his bottle off the rooftop, at the city
>You shrug and let yours fly into the darkness, where it shatters somewhere below on the black top
>"Y-Y-Y-You know s-s-some has to c-clean that u-up," Sam remarks
>Must be the leftover janitorial training
>"True. But this is tradition," Alex says
“Yeah, Thumper." You playfully nudge her with your elbow. “Your turn."
>Taking one last look at her can of Dr. Bepper, Sam shrugs and chucks her can over the edge
>It speeds away into the darkness with surprising velocity
>Like a red and silver comet
>"You SURE you never played baseball?" Alex remarks
>Sam shakes her head
>"No. J-Just good at pe-petty crimes."
“Brother?"
>She nods and smiles
>You're glad she's made peace with that part of her life
>Or she seems to have
>You all seem to have made peace with yourselves in one way or another
>"Listen," Alex says, to the city, to you, to the sky, spangled with signs and stars
>"I'm going away for awhile. A long while. But I don't want to lose touch with any of you guys."
“It's not like we're going overseas," you remark
>But you feel an ache in your chest and a budding tightness in your throat
>Maybe you would lose touch?
>Maybe, like most high school friends do, you'd grow apart?
>"Well, even if we do drift in different directions, I want you to remember this spot."
>Draining his beer, Alex throws another bottle off the ledge, already good and drunk
“Not sure I'm ever going to forget the place where I nearly died."
>"S-S-Same," Sam adds
>"And the place where we lost our friend," Alex says
>Silence
>Not awkward silence, but a longing
>Memories replaying against the night sky
>Collections of stories unpublished, lives unlived
>Potential unrealized
>All we are is a collection of stories, and broken pieces strung together by friends and family
>Losing Mike was like having an important page ripped out of your favorite book
>Or like losing your brother
>Sitting there, on the rooftop on a warm night in May, you remember something you told Sam many months ago:
>>“An old friend of mine used to say you get two families: the one you're born into, and the one that you make."
>Christ
>You big softy. You really are going to start crying
>You don't feel the need to hide your emotions around the family that you made, but you still can't help but pound down your beer
>Gotta drink that melancholy into submission
“Of course we're not going to forget this place," you say, unable to stop your mouth from moving. “And you guys- how the hell could I forget you faggots?"
>"You better fucking not, that's all I'm saying," Alex says
“Sam, least of all. I'm not going to forget you. You're crashing in my house."
>The little bunny is speechless, but not because she's been insulted or blindsided like the last time you were all on this rooftop drinking together
>But because she's looking for the right words to say
>You wipe the tears out of your eyes
>Ahh fuck
>You hate crying, but it feels good up here
>To be crying with the friends you've called family
>"I-I won-won't forget-" she starts, and then pauses
>"Forget what?" Alex says, setting his beer down on the ledge
>Sam stares at her next can of Dr. Bepper, reading the label
>Studying it
>In the darkness crickets chirp in a steady, organic metronome
>And when she's finally found those words, she turns her amber eyes to the moon, letting the light fill her and trace her in a glow
>She's ready with her answer
>And it's the only answer you need to or want to hear, one that surmises everything that you've done or felt and said
>You swallow hard and point your eyes upwards to the same moon that Sam is looking at
>"S-Something that m-matters."
https://soundcloud.com/fredo-disco/hey-mike-i-miss...
Read the companion story "Autumn Flowers" here https://www.sofurry.com/view/1645232
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