We had just hiked from your family’s cabin, to the usual spot at Yellowdog Creek. Our stand was up an old pine tree, where we could look over the somber land. I remember the fog had cascaded from the clouds to the base of the timbers. While we waited, we talked about what we wanted to do after graduation that year. That’s when you told me you wanted to leave this little town. I was shocked, but I understood because I felt the same. This town was too small for you. I didn’t want to stay in Salmon either, but I had no idea how to get out of this place. I wanted to leave with you, but I don’t have an uncle down in San Francisco holding a job for me like you do. I knew I wanted to do something impactful. I knew I liked helping people and writing, but I wasn’t a writer then. You always pushed me to write more, and that’s what I loved most about you. We were in the middle of our conversation when you spotted a four-point buck. I loaded a .308 round into my rifle’s chamber, but before I could get a clean shot, it disappeared behind the tree line. We scrambled down the stand to tail it.
We didn’t talk much as we followed it, but my eyes never left your back. I was entranced by your movement and was willing to follow you anywhere. I could hear the water flowing over the rocks in the creek, but your body blocked my view of it. I didn’t see that stiff root, and when I tripped over it, I snapped out of my trance. It was too late, though. My gun had gone off, and the bullet flew from the chamber into your chest. You dropped as soon as I got up, and your body splashed in the creek. There was so much blood, but you made no noise. You just went quietly into the dark as I hovered over your body.
I did end up leaving Salmon after graduation. I did it for you, and I’m glad I did because now that I am older, and can reflect on my life, I know it was the best decision I ever made. It’s a shame it came from such terrible circumstances, though, because then both of us could be enjoying this California sun together. At my age, I’ve lost many friends, but no loss was as powerful as losing you. I still visit Salmon and visit your grave here and there. I haven’t gone hunting since our last trip together, no matter how many times I’ve been asked.
Story by Dylan Siegel
Illustrations by Lindsay Trombly
Design by Lindsay Trombly