Above the Tree Line

Aaron Everingham was a lone evergreen growing just above the tree line. His roots touched the water table line. The majority of the man was entombed in the mountain.

Shortly after my Resplendent Bride died I found myself at a Lutheran conference on piracy. There I was, a broken man in a suit. I went because the conference was in Iowa, and Aaron Everingham was going to be there. There were other people there too, I suppose, but my friend from the northland was going to be there.

Aaron and I sat together in the back.

We sat at a table, and took notes.

We raised our eyebrows at one another when speakers said stupid things.

Back in those days I wore a green bracelet that read “Praying for Danielle”. I wore it until it broke.

Aaron reached over and touched it.

He just… nodded.

He said nothing.

He just nodded.

His acknowledgement of my deep sorrow meant more than all the words. He too was a man of sorrows.

Time went by.

I texted Aaron at the end of April.

No reply. I didn’t think much of it. Sometimes men don’t feel like talking, and that is fine and good.

I texted him again in June, and discovered that in April I had accidently texted some other Aaron in my phone.

I texted Aaron in June, but he was dead.

Aaron’s brother texted me the sad news I had just read on Twitter.

Here we all are, separated by miles of dusty roads, yet connected by electricity.

                              And the Blood.

And the Water.  

I think about all the things we allow to come between us, and how little the Dead must dwell upon such things.

I hope people read Aaron Everingham for a long time.

I loved him.

I’d like to touch his wrist, and nod.