Seven years. 

Seven years ago, I left our grandfather’s house for college. I left Clarence then, only seeing him a year later to bury our grandfather. I barely talked to him then, maybe only a few words, before seeing him whisked away with another estranged family member because he was a minor. 

Had he known before I left?

He was sixteen. Sixteen.

I would’ve done everything differently if I had known that the funeral would be the last time I saw him. 

But that was the thing about death and the following guilt. There was no replay button, no way to turn back time and get things right. No way to voice the things I should have said.

I followed Ezra with my eyes downward, afraid to catch yet another glimpse of my brother’s life I missed out on. He stopped at what looked like a hall closet; luckily, not Clarence’s room.

The hand on my wrist retreated, moving swiftly to the door handle and fumbling through a few boxes from the shelves. He placed them on the ground between us. 

“What is all this?” Ezra either ignored me or couldn’t hear me over the sound of moving the boxes on the floor. He lifted the lids, searching through them before hesitating on one, slowly unveiling the box’s contents. 

“Clary loved you.” Ezra’s words hit me like a freight train, nearly as bad as the call that told me he passed. “He never once blamed you for anything.”

While I can’t believe those words, something in Ezra’s tone sounded sincere, especially how his eyes softened when they met my face.

“I know it may sound like a lie or rehearsed words that Clarence would’ve wanted to say, but there’s no catch. There was never a moment in which he indicated otherwise, and I think this proves that.” He held up the childhood items I had left behind, from the blankets our mother had crocheted for us as babies with our names on them to the crazy amount of photo albums my father insisted on making for us through the years. 

I lowered myself to the floor as my eyes took it all in. Ezra opened the others, revealing more albums and loose trinkets from our childhood home. Things I hadn’t remembered held sentimental value in my youth, bringing up old memories and emotions. 

“He kept all of this?”

Ezra nodded, pulling out a photo of Clarence and me posing in front of a Christmas tree. He smiled down at it before handing it to me. On the back, listed the year my mom took the photo. The year before our parents died, the last Christmas photo. “There’s more in his room. I imagine it would be best to wait before going in there. I’ve only been able to stomach going there to grab a few things.”

“I…” My words faltered as Ezra’s eyes trail to the closed door between the closet and the other room. “Maybe I should.”

I’d have to eventually; maybe ripping it off like a bandaid was the best approach. 

“You sure?”

I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway. Ezra gave it a few seconds before pushing the boxes to the side, neatly putting some things away before standing. I followed after him with the photo still in hand. 

Ezra’s hand trembled with the door knob, so I touched his shoulder. “You okay? Maybe it’s not for the best; I can do it alone.”

Ezra shook his head. “I’ll be okay.”

Before I could protest and opt to do this later, Ezra pushed the door open. 

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

Nothing was out of place, yet the space didn’t feel like Clarence at all. The bed was made, no clutter remained on the nightstand, and everything looked clean and spotless. The decor and color choices did seem like Clarence, but he loved clutter—he leaned into maximalism as a kid. Maybe it was for the best that it felt like someone else had lived here. Or maybe, it was worst; nothing was there to prove that my brother was here, that his presence could be felt in this room. 

There was the possibility that his style choices had changed over the years too, but I refused to believe it. 

“An old friend offered to clean up here,” Ezra explained. “I didn’t want that, but I figured it would be even more painful if she didn’t.”

I couldn’t blame him; the fact that he had found Clarence was enough pain. 

“Everything’s here,” he added. “She didn’t remove anything but moved things into boxes.”

I took a brave step forward, my stomach churning as I stepped closer to the middle of the room. A few things were displayed: a couple of Lego sets, books, and photos on the dresser and desk. As I neared the picture frames, one caught my eye. Among the pictures of our parents and grandparents, this one looked recent. 

The words I wanted to ask were stuck in my throat, but Ezra seemed to understand. He picked up the frame from the dresser, holding a picture of Clarence between Ezra and a female I don’t recognize. They’re all smiling in the golden rays, arms around each other like a happy family. The knot in my throat tightened as we both stared down at it.

Ezra ran a finger over the picture. “Jayna Morales.”

There was something in his tone I couldn’t pinpoint, and while I was terrified to speak, I did it anyway. “Was she…”

My words trailed as his grip on the frame tightened.  I had no clue who she was to him or Clarence, and while I’d rather not upset Ezra, the curiosity was all too tempting. I didn’t see this woman at the funeral; the name didn’t ring a bell either. 

“Our roommate,” Ezra finally said. “She lived with us for a couple of years.”

“Not anymore?”

“No.” Ezra’s tone was brisk and harsh. I feared I stepped into dangerous territory but he took a breath, relaxing his shoulders. 

Clarence had known I was gay when I had come out to our parents accidentally on a car ride home. I had been exhausted from our school’s orchestra recital and had somehow mentioned my growing crush on one of the cellists. While Clarence hadn’t mentioned anything or shown interest in anyone, the growing curiosity had me wondering if he held any secrets too. Was Jayna someone special to him? Maybe it was Ezra, instead. The photo gave no indication. “Were they together?”

It took a moment for Ezra to respond; his eyes lingered on the photo. “They dated for a little bit. In the beginning.”

“I didn’t know.”

“It was only a few months. She was more a friend than a partner to him.”

“I didn’t see her at the funeral.”

Ezra shook his head. “She didn’t come. I don’t think she would’ve wanted to be there for that.”

He didn’t elaborate, and while it left more questions than answers, I didn’t think it was my place to pry any further. 

Despite his earlier hesitation, Ezra hovered around the dresser, his eyes looking over the photos and things on the adjacent desk. He touched the Lego set and books before he fiddled with one of the file holders. 

Before I could ask what caught his eye, he pulled out a bent envelope with dinosaur stickers pasted all over, and my breath hitched. 

My vision blurred as the tears threatened to fall as the sight of that weathered thing was pinched between his fingers. I could almost picture my brother holding that damn envelope when we were kids. 

Clarence had been obsessed with dinosaurs, often getting in trouble at school for reading archaeology books instead of the required readings. He wanted to know every little detail about them, claiming he’d discover the next biggest fossil one day. Our dad encouraged him, building a makeshift sandbox one summer and hiding chicken bones from our dinners for my brother to dig up. How he’d willingly stay in the summer heat to dig through sand for hours was beyond me.

It had been simpler times then, and my chest ached that child Clarence would’ve never realized that dream of discovering a fossil. 

I didn’t need to open the envelope to know what was inside. And while my finger traced the seal, I couldn’t find it in me to open it. 

Our mother had taught me the story of a thousand paper cranes, the Japanese legend of making origami cranes to wish for a long life for someone. I had been obsessed with origami and made cranes around the house, attempting to perfect the art. Mom had bought the prettiest of papers from the craft store, but I found myself refusing to fold the pretty papers until I had mastered the art of making paper cranes. 

Though it wasn’t perfect, I used my favorite patterned paper to make a paper crane for Clarence. I spent probably forty minutes on it, carefully creasing and folding the paper with my small kid hands, hoping to make it perfect. I messed up the wing, but Clarence had always believed origami to be magic. His face lit up that day I gave it to him. In return, he had gifted me his favorite dinosaur stickers he received from a field trip to the museum. 

Neither of us knew how to accept gifts, and instead, we stole one of Mom’s envelopes, decorated it with his stickers, and placed my crane in it. It became a symbol of our friendship, a permanent reminder of the day we had agreed to remain close forever. 

The same sandbox that Clarence dug up pretend fossils had been where we buried this envelope, a time capsule of our dinosaurs and paper cranes, a promise and hope for a bright future.  One where I’d make a thousand perfect little paper cranes, and he discovered the next best archeological find. 

We planned to return home together and open it once we achieved our dreams.

Neither had been realized, but holding the envelope in my hand was like holding the weight of the world, knowing we couldn’t open the envelope together.

“He kept it,” I said, flipping it over to look at the dinosaur stickers. Clarence would’ve been able to identify and list off a surplus of fun facts on each one. “He really kept it.”

“He insisted he wouldn’t open it,” Ezra said. “Nearly tackled me to the ground when I assumed it was rubbish. He stored it on his desk ever since. He told me how important it was to you—to both of you.”

“Thank you.” The words slipped from my mouth, but it wasn’t enough to express my gratitude not just for our silly time capsule envelope but for being Clarence’s friend, handling the funeral, and being accepting and warm to me when I didn’t expect it. Ezra could’ve hated my guts for ditching Clarence—rightfully should—yet he was here.

“Anything for Clary.” Ezra’s eyes softened. “And he would’ve done anything for you too.”

“You two must’ve been close,” I said after a moment. “I almost envy you; we used to be so close. Before this envelope, anyway. Then—well, you know how it ended.”