The first adventure Ashton took me on was when we were in 5th grade. It was in the forest park just behind his house. We had this wizard game that we would play; the swings were the dragon stables, the trees were the legs of vicious spider-beasts, and the picnic tables were the Grand Hall. Our ideas about this place bounced between the both of our brains, so we were constantly on the same page and neither of us was the dominant storyteller. We would go back and forth and pretend to be the various professors at the school, with various different badly-acted voices. But there was always two characters that represented the Us archetypes, which we would play most frequently. Those characters liked to ride dragons, and slay spiders, and drink lemonade in the Grand Hall.

I remember one time it rained--poured. Our solution was to make a tent out of towels Ashton stole from his house, and some long sticks. The rain cemented the towels together, making for a sturdy house, but it also leaked, a lot. We ended up getting soaked, and to make matters worse, the wet towels collapsed on top of us after getting too heavy. We came inside to Ashton’s mother, furious at him for stealing the last bath towels without permission. We laughed that part off later on, but at the time I just stood there awkwardly while Ash got a lecture. I don’t know why I still think of that incident.

That forest park was the first destination on my growing list.

I didn't just want to go there in search for clues; I wanted to go there to face my grief and make peace with it. Every destination very well could lead me on the path to finding Ashton, but while I'm at it I don't want the searching to drive me mad. This should explain why I'm packing what I am.

Powdered lemonade was the first item I needed to pack--enough for two glasses. If I couldn't find any in the pantry then I'd have to make a detour to the store, which wasn't too much of a problem, I'd just have to double-back to get to the park. We had some liquid-form lemonade mix that you could squirt into drinks, but I needed a particular kind. Grocery store it was, then. I packed up the rest of my things: two powder-blue towels, a pocket knife, an umbrella (unlike in mine an Ashton's adventure, I'd rather not get wet), two plastic cups, and my wallet.

I had rarely used my bike before this, so I was shaky on it. The rain tapped its little fingers on my waterproof coat the entire way there. The grocery store was about a mile out, with the forest park about half that distance. It didn't take me long to get to the little building.

Inside the store, I bought a very specific generic brand of that Countrytime stuff called Powdered Sunshine. The Sunnys really liked anything that referred to their last name. I also bought a protein bar because it was early in the morning and I was, frankly, starving. I was in and out, short ten dollars flat. I took a few deep breaths and prepared my brain to ride down to the wizarding world of behind-Ash's-house.

Only a few yards away from where the forest park began, I had to rest. The trees seemed to sway less than I was. As I looked around, I found that I could see his house. The only thing besides a sea of undulating green was his house. My homing beacon. Of all of the places, his house had always been a source of comfort to me. Warm, comfortable, and safe, as it seemed even now, in the distance. Ashton, Ashton, Ashton, that’s all I could seem to think of. Why? how? Too many questions, not enough movement.

I continued on, taking it slower, knowing that no matter where Ash was (is?), I was sure that he would come back. He had to. I’m not here to find him, I reminded myself. I was here to make peace with myself and death. Now, that’s easier said than done. But I had to try.

I paused again getting my bearings, or trying to. There was a very good reason that Ash lead all of our adventures, and that was because my sense of direction always seemed to lead us astray. As if channeling Ash himself, I blindly choose a direction and continued biking in that direction.

Thankfully, my destination came into view not too long after. Or perhaps it wasn't such a good thing, I could have used the extra time being lost to think about what was, and what is. I was in the epicenter of our imaginary wizard world. I could see the swings, the picnic tables, the place where we set up our little towel fort, only how I remember it had long faded away. It was simply a park.

I propped my bike up against a tree and sat down, beginning to set up shop on a picnic table. I opened the umbrella and wedged it between my legs. Rain was getting on my face and I didn’t need the distraction. The towels stayed in my bag, and I dug the cups and lemonade out, considering them. Powdered lemonade, Ash's favorite. It took me pouring the powder into the cups and staring at them to realize one crucial thing. I forgot the fucking water.

Rain dripped onto the powder. My only option, it seemed, was to wait for the rain to fill my cups. That was going to take forever. I looked up at the rain hitting my umbrella, dripping down onto the table. I took the handle and set my rain-shield onto the ground upside down to let it collect the rain.

I sat with my back to the umbrella, using my hand as rain coverage for my phone. The umbrella got enough rain in it for a single cup in ten minutes of waiting, and in that time I managed to look through the memo I'd created of things I needed to keep in mind during my trips. The memo I had created was just bulleted shorthand of the hard-to-remember things in my notebook. Things like the 3 Lies, and what to tell mom word-for-word if she bugs you about the bike-riding. Nothing much. I thought back to where my notebook was, hiding in the top shelf of my closet, crammed into a lock box, of which I had the key hung on my neck at all times. It was an old lock box, used for my money--y'know, back when I had a job. That shit’s not really important, however.

I got up and squatted next to the umbrella, tipping it slightly. I grabbed a cup and carefully, as to not pour out the powder, scooped up as much water pooled into my umbrella as I could. I did the same with the other and dumped out what remained of the water, drying the underside of my umbrella with the towels I had conveniently packed. Sure, using the towels for their intended purpose was sacrilege when it came to my plan, but fuck it.

Finally, I could sit down at the bench, umbrella between my legs, and pretend that there was another person with me to drink my lemonade with.

With every sip of my drink, I put myself in the place of the character that represented me. The taste instantly took me back, and I could remember after so long what it looked like to stand in the Grand Hall. I remembered what Ash and I had imagined--the chandeliers, the torches adorning every wall, the elegant food that was served buffet style at one of the tables. I could hear how he described it, I could hear my own voice describing. Tears welled up in my eyes only a few sips in. Suddenly, the world we had created faded into the rainy park it truly was, and I sat staring at the untouched cup across the table. Tears turned into grimacing, which turned into sobbing. I let myself sob. I knew that I was going to have to eventually.

I cried, and this time I didn't spiral. I didn't freeze. I was comforted by the rain and the forest. I cried just to cry. It didn't feel like all the weight was lifted off of my back, but at least a little weight had gone away. Little by little. My plan was working.

I moved onto the fort, abandoning my lemonade of which I don't think I could finish. I took the slightly damp towels out of my bag and gathered six or so sticks to rest against a tree. Already I knew I wasn't going to fit like I did in 5th grade, but I was going to attempt to squeeze myself in. I wove the towels between the sticks basket-style, and carefully lifted the wall up to rest against the tree.

My little lean-to was ragged, and pretty badly designed. I guess for two 5th graders it was decent. I army-crawled underneath, getting mud all over my everything. This experience under the fort wasn't as life-changing as the lemonade had been. I didn't cry, I just waited for a few minutes before trying to wriggle out of it and destroying it entirely.

I stood, eyeing the forest. There weren’t any clues I had gotten from doing what we had done. Yet again, I hadn’t done everything. It was time to check out the swings. I took one last sip of lemonade, and dumped the rest into the dirt, same with the other cup. It was a waste, but I couldn't stand to drink any more. I gathered my things, soaking the inside of my backpack, and took off.

I was expecting a card like the one in my window. I looked around for navy blue, but I couldn't find anything that was blue or card-like. Not finding any cards I looked around for graffiti. He didn't particularly like to vandalize things but he was also spontaneous. I looked under our swings, I looked at the poles, I looked at the ground. No dice.

I reminded myself of Lie 3. This is just a way to help with grief, if you don't find anything then it's no big. Because it wasn't real in the first place.

I observed the swings again. Blue was his favorite color, mine was Orange, and our favorite swings matched our favorite colors. That's just the kind of thing you talk about in elementary school. I walked over to the orange swing, and imagined it as a dragon just as I did back then. I petted the seat, shushing it. I sat down on my dragon, and flew.

Being up high, even for a second, really puts things in perspective. Ashton wanted me to find him, and I know for certain he’d be the type to leave clues. That’s one fact down. Another fact is that the clues will never be in the first place you look, or even the second. He’s just like that. Ashton is also extremely nostalgic. So it would have to be on an exact bench or an exact tree. I jumped from the swing and landed square on my feet, impressing myself.

My bet was an exact tree. And that exact tree was right next to Ashton’s backyard.

I swallowed my fear and trekked towards the bright, red wood of the Sunnys’ fence. The tree was right in front, the widest tree for yards. As I stared at it my feet moved faster toward it, involuntarily, like they thought Ashton was sitting just behind. I closed my eyes for the last bit of my walk, reaching my hand out in front of me. My hand came in contact with the bark, and I shivered.

I opened my eyes. About a foot down from where my hand was on the tree, was a carving. It was tiny, but very detailed. Instinctually, I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and opened the camera.

4/6/2019

Long Live A.S.

And then there was a carving of a tiny little bus.

I had found my clue. The first adventure was over.

I didn’t give thought to the carving just yet. I grabbed my backpack from the swings, hopped on my bike, and left. I said goodbye to Ashton's house, and zoomed towards my own. I had done enough for today.