& Eden

02/22/2025

Missed call (2) : Edie

Left: 2:47 AM

It’s still here—the park, I mean. Exactly how we left it. Not that I’ve been checking. The city hasn’t bulldozed it, the palm tree near the dirt still leans crooked from all those times we failed to climb it. I drove by last week, just to see what was left. Whenever Lē’ahi’s was on the route, you’d find somewhere to stop. You’d drive all along the road just to park illegally at the next park over. “They won’t tow us,” you’d say, grinning like the city itself owed you a favor.

Today I passed your old guitar, the one you brought out every time, and I almost played. My hands could never dance along the fret—mom bought it for you, anyway, it was always a little too big for me.

I woke up in your room again—don’t ask why I still crash there—and mom was already there. Every morning, before work, I see the door half open. It’s like she wants to wake you up in the mornings again, only you’re not there. She asked if I was okay, and I asked her back. She didn’t answer. I guess I didn’t, either.

I haven’t gone to class since you left. “School’s only for lame people, anyway, Eeds,” you’d say. You always knew how to work around things. Hell, you always knew what to say.

I miss you like hell, Finny. Remember that time we tried to climb the tree at midnight? You fell first, obviously, but you still caught me when I slipped after. “I’ve got you, Edie,” you said. Liar. The brother I knew, the brother that you were before Luca happened never broke a promise. You said you joined the army so you wouldn’t lose him, but you let go of everything else in the process. He’s your best friend, I get it, Finny, I really do. But he’s the one who got you into this mess, and I always thought I was your best friend, too.

Something in me knew I couldn’t rot forever. I trudged my way to the guitar, and I held it again in my hands. Your name’s still sharpied on the guitar strap. “FINN,” all caps, a tiny “& Eden” under it, always muted when it came to you. I didn’t mind, I looked up to you anyway.

It’s out of tune, now. I ran my hands down the body—the koa’s as solid as it was 4 years ago. I played the riff to “Maine” anyway, and she was the same as she always was—warm and rich with sound. The only thing missing was your voice. You’d turn heads at Lē’ahi’s when you’d sing, even reaching the tourists near the sand, but you’d always shrug off the attention. God, Finny, were always too casual about creation. It’s hard to believe you almost sold her, when the finger-picking you improvised sang without you saying a word.

I could see the driveway from your spot on the couch. That funny feeling—yknow, the one in your chest? It still hit when I realized car was gone. You packed your whole life in it and drove to the other side of the country. I think you forgot something, though.

What happened to us, Finn? You swore training wouldn’t change much. That you’d always pick up my call, after that one time you didn’t, ‘cause you were at Luca’s. It’s always Luca, isn’t it? Today’s your birthday. And you can’t even pick up your damn phone.

Call me back. Or don’t. I’m used to it, now.

03/07/2025

Missed call (5) : Edie

Left: 11:02 PM

Still no answer, huh? Go be a hero or whatever. Not like you were one to me, anyway.

…

I stopped by Lē’ahi’s today, Finn. Just to see what you left behind. Mom’s a mess without you. We all knew you were the one who kept mom and me in tune, but now? Everything’s out of key. I couldn’t not see it if I was blind. Not in the wake of what you left. I’ve been going for more drives lately, because seeing the world move around me took my mind off how mine went still. I played your playlist, and it almost felt like you were in the car with me, gripping the armrests like I was about to go into the water. A crash a year isn’t that bad, and I’ll die on that hill.

I did your thing with the circling, parked in that same spot you always did. Did you know your tire marks are still there, in the grass? I don’t think they’re coming off. I brought the koa today, and the raggedy towel you told me to keep. The grass went dry where we used to sit. Guess I never noticed, because you were always there first, beating me when I sprinted.

You won. There. I said it. Now can you stop running? 3,000 miles is too much, you know I can’t catch up.

I played “Maine” through for the first time. Even Noah Kahan would be proud—I mean, it was the whole thing, even the barre chords I could never play with you watching. I keep thinking, maybe if he weren’t in your head all the time, you’d still be in mine. Luca’s voice, his plans, you hung on to his word like it was the gospel. Why couldn’t you hold onto any of ours?

Think I still missed the hammer on—the one you always chided me about, that one. Turns out, it’s easier to play when your hands aren’t shaking with resentment. I know I shouldn’t be mad, ‘cause you’re busy saving the world. But what happened to saving me from college apps? We can’t even FaceTime through it now.

I laid down on the towel before I did anything, and I almost cried then and there when I realized there was no one to shove me back up. When I turned over, I was mad that the house on the hill looked the same. That people still kicked around the old ball near the can, slack-lined and took selfies on the rock wall overlooking the salt. It felt like some—some sick joke, Finny. Because the leaves still fell and the sun still bathed the place in gold and I still tripped on that same damn rock.

No one noticed your absence but me. Maybe that’s why you left, because I’ve been getting plenty sick of being known, too. But the least you could’ve done was take me with you, Finn. Lē’ahi’s lost its magic. That small something that we found there, and only there, is gone.

When I tried our song—Cherry Wine, the first you ever taught me—and the guitar felt flat. I strummed again, adjusted the damn guitar, again and again. I knew I couldn’t come back, not after that. Not here, not to diamond head, not until its here with you. Every step I took felt like—like I was sinking. Fuck, Finny, I was drowning on the damn grass. Do you know how stupid that sounds? If you were here, you’d call me crazy, but pick me up anyway.

You said it’d only be a while, but isn’t 11 months a little too long? The only version of you I still have is the big brother in my head—and even he’s starting to fade. I know I’m supposed to let that go, too. Mom says resentment only hurts the person holding it. Maybe she’s right.

I found a song yesterday, Finny. Jersey Giant. You would’ve loved to harmonize to it with me. You’d—you’d tell me to play, even though you know I can’t finger pick, you’d tell me to try anyway. And I’d protest, and you’d say there’s not enough guitars for the both of us. But I’d buy another if it meant you’d stay. Hell, I’d buy out the music store on King’s to have you here.

I went to class for the first time in a week today, and I walked in to see an assignment about my favourite place. I wrote about Lē’ahi Beach Park, of course. But what I really wanted to write about was you.

Hope you’re still out there, still playing phantom riffs with those restless fingers of yours. I’d hate to think I’m the only one drowning.