The Day We Died

Logan Downy died on a Tuesday. It was a typical Tuesday, not unlike any other he’d ever experienced up to that one. Car accident. A somewhat awkward way for someone to die. Why? Because car crashes are something that everyone has seen or heard about over and over again. Maybe we get desensitized to them. We see so much news coverage about them, hear about them from friends and family, or witness them firsthand driving down the highway.

           Sure, it strikes us as sad for a moment, then we go on about our day. Been there done that sort of feeling. Now, someone gets thrown out a third story window and splats on the pavement below, that is something we remember. Something that stays with us. Not car accidents. They seem to slip from our minds just as quickly as they first entered. Not for me though.

           It may have done the same for me had I not been in the car with him when he died. Or maybe it could have if I had just been in the car, but the fact that I was the one driving was one that would never let me forget that Tuesday. I received pats on the back galore at the funeral. Tight hugs, and shoulder squeezes. People are assuring me it wasn’t my fault. And to a degree, they were right. I hadn’t been drinking or smoking. I had no recreational substance in my system. I hadn’t mixed different types of prescriptions before getting behind the wheel.

           It was exactly what the obituary told it to be. A car accident. The road was wet, my wipers were having a hell of a time keeping my view clear and my tires were more than overdue for a change. The bald tread didn’t stand a chance and I waited way too long to slow down for the red light. The sound it made had stayed with me. That steel on steel, broken glass, total carnage kind of sound. The other driver escaped the crash without a single scratch. I’d gotten a few stiches, but they had barely been necessary. Then there was Logan.

           The seatbelt might have saved him, but that would remain a mystery. In that moment, it hadn’t been buckled and we had both ignored the annoyance of the alert that the car was giving off. I had actually turned up the radio after having listened to it for two minutes too long. I just didn’t want to be that guy. I didn’t want to be the stickler about the seat belt. Telling another grown man to buckle up just felt patronizing. And in that decision of not requiring a seat belt in my vehicle, an outcome had been set into motion.

           The funeral had been nice, as far as funerals go. A good turn out for him. Of course, that was to be expected. Logan was that guy. The guy who got along with everyone no matter their race, religion, political opinion or gender identity. He didn’t care, he just loved people and loved life. For thirty-one years the world had been lucky enough to know his soul. Now it never would again. That sentiment was obvious during the ceremony.

           Most of the funerals I had ever been to had been more a formality than anything. It reality, who wants to go to an old, creepy, stale-smelling funeral home, while grieving, to be surrounded by a bunch of other people who are grieving, to grieve more? Not exactly anyone’s idea of fun, but we go because it is what is expected. Pay respect to those who have passed on. Most of the ceremonies I had attended featured a few close family members shedding a few tears, maybe a couple of friends sporting dark shades to hide their puffy eyes, and then a whole bunch of people staring at those who were hurting the most.

           At Logan’s funeral, there was no contest on who was hurting the most. Everyone was hurting the most. I didn’t see a single dry face during the ceremony. It was quite honestly a miracle I could see anything through my own blubbering. The guy was like a brother to me. No matter how many people told me I was wrong about it, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was the reason he was gone. I couldn’t recall what happened after the crash, only what led up to it and what it was like as it unfolded in real time.

           It was the real reason I was keeping my promise. The promise I had made to him eight years earlier in college. A promise to visit his favorite place in the world. A spot near where he grew up in San Diego. A pier. A pier only the locals new about. He called it the most beautiful spot in the world. And of course, I believed him. I believed almost anything the guy said. Especially on that particular topic. Logan was an army brat. He’d traveled the world with his parents living on different bases in dozens of different countries. For him to say that a small pier in San Diego was the most beautiful place on earth, it must have really been something.

           Junior year we had gotten on the topic and he had gone on and on about it. So much so that he he’d made me promise to go and see it before I died. A bucket-list worthy trip, he’d called it. I had agreed, mainly to get him to shut up so I could watch the Eagles play, and hadn’t taken it too seriously, but he had. He had taken my agreement to heart and had brought it up frequently over the last eight years. Now that he was gone, and had been taken in the fashion he had, I had to keep that promise.

           The trip had been typical so far. Frustrating. Travel always was, at least for me. The hassle of getting a ride to the airport, getting through TSA, engaging in the whole song and dance of taking off the shoes and belt, then having to be at the terminal an hour before the plane was even ready to accept passengers. That was all enough to drive you crazy, not to mention the cost involved and all of the attached necessities when arriving at the destination. I hadn’t wasted time though. I had stepped off the plane with my carry on and had found my way to the Uber zone as quickly as possible.

           I had packed light. I intended on seeing the spot, saying a few final words to my friend, hunkering down in the hotel for one more long, uncontrollable grief session, and then it would be back home and on with my life. It was never going to be the same, but it was imperative that I find my new normal without Logan in my life. The week since his death had been a blur and my headed had been so clouded in sadness that I couldn’t even recall what I’d eaten at my last meal. I couldn’t continue on that way. I had to say my last goodbyes, accept the reality of what had happened and move on.

           The Toyota Camry the uber driver was operating came to a halt. I stepped out taking my bag with me, marked the ride as complete, left a quick review as I always did and dismissed the driver. It was only then that I took in my surroundings. Greenery all around me like that of a state park. There were a few trails that routed off in different directions, a map of the property that appeared to host a volleyball area, several children’s play areas, a splash pad and a dog park, and an old building that housed the bathrooms. What I didn’t see, obvious in sight or on the map, was the pier.

           Knowing it had to be around me somewhere I chose a trail and began walking down it. I’d chosen that one in particular because I was almost sure I could hear the faint sound of water lapping against rock. As I moved further down the path, it became clear that I was right. There was water and I was getting closer. I walked another hundred yards or so and came to a clearing. I looked out over a vast space of light blue water. It ran as far as the eye could see. Then, there in the center of my view, was the pier.

           It was made up of concrete and there were mounds of boulders on each side. The water splashed on either side as I began making my way down it toward the point. It was long, certainly the longest pier I had ever been on. So long, in fact, that at the start I couldn’t see where it ended. It immediately became clear why Logan had loved this place so much. A hidden oasis that almost challenged the boundaries of reality. I kept walking, waiting patiently for the end to come into view, when suddenly it did. I hadn’t seen anyone else on the trail or where the uber driver had dropped me off, but for the first time I realized I wasn’t the only one on the property.

           Someone else was sitting at the end of the pier. Just one other. Logan had said only locals would know about the pier, which helped find sense in why only one other person was present to see such a beautiful sight. I tried to walk quietly in case the individual ahead was fishing and took in the view as I made my way forward. He hadn’t been lying. The area surrounding me was spectacular. Like a hidden paradise kept from the rest of the world and only made known to those who were worthy. Some part of me wanted to accept what I had seen and had back to where the uber could pick me up and take me to the hotel, but I couldn’t.

           Logan had specifically talked about standing on the end of the pier and looking out. He had gone on and on about it and I couldn’t have come this far and not experienced that in particular. I hated the idea of interrupted the local who had already claimed his spot on the edge of the pier, but he would have to share the space, if only for a moment. I intentionally made my footsteps louder and more pronounced as I got closer hoping to alert him of my presence without spooking him. The man kept his back to me.

As I approached I realized that he was sitting at a small table that you would see at a café. Just big enough for a couple of coffee mugs with one chair on each side of the table. The other chair was empty, but I didn’t think much of it as I supposed he was just taking in the view and enjoying being alone with his thoughts. I stopped about ten feet behind the man and cleared my throat loud enough that it would be impossible not to hear, even over the sound of the lapping waves.

“Hey man, sorry to disturb your peace and quiet. Mind if I join you for a moment just to take in the view?”

The man gave no indication that he had heard me. He just continued looking out over the water. Hiding my slight irritation at being ignored, I tried again.

“Excuse me,” I said, louder this time around. “I don’t mean to interrupt your day, but would you mind if I join you on edge here just for a moment so I can take a look at the view?”

This time I received an answer, and the voice that brought it was startlingly familiar.

“Is that what you’re really doing here? Taking in the view?” the man asked.

I had to think about my response before giving it. My first reaction was to lash out a the man for being a nosy prick, but something about his voice disarmed me. I decided to go a more practical route and answer his question honestly. More honestly that I had intended on when I had started speaking.

“Yes, sort of. A friend of mine told me about this place. Said it was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. He uh…he died recently. Some number of years ago I made him a promise that I would see this place before…before my last day. So I guess I’m here to keep a promise.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man answered. “Are you really here to keep a promise, or because you want to stop feeling responsible for the car accident?”

I could almost feel my blood running cold at this stranger’s question. A random person in a different state than the accident could have guessed my guilt as the reason to be there, but to guess the cause of death? Something wasn’t right. I thought about turning from the man and running the other direction, but before I could do anything he stood. He kept his back to me, but his movement onto his feet froze me in place. Then he spoke again.

“How many people have told you that it wasn’t your fault? How many people have assured you that there was nothing you could have done?”

Not knowing what else to do, I answered honestly.

“Too many to count. But how did–”

“And why don’t you believe them? Why have you ignored them and continued blaming yourself for what happened?” the man asked cutting me off.

“Because…because they’re wrong. It was my fault. Everything about it was my fault. I knew my tires needed changed, I just didn’t want to pay for it. It was raining, I shouldn’t have been driving so fast. And the damn seat belt. All I had to do was tell him to put it on,” I said as I began to cry.

“And who’s to say he would have listened? He was hardheaded. Did things his own way, you know that.”

I had taken all I could take from this stranger who knew way to much.

“How the hell do you know that? How the hell do you know any of this?”

“Because I was there buddy,” he said as he turned around.

As his face came into view I lost all feeling in my legs and fell forward onto my knees. It was impossible. I knew it was impossible. I squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could and reopened them. There he stood, smiling in the sunshine like he had just delivered the punchline to the world’s greatest joke. Logan Downy looked better than ever. Not a scratch on him and not a hair out of place. He came toward me and knelt down in front of me like a father kneeling down to his son that had just fallen taking his first steps.

“How? How are you here? How are you…alive? We buried you! I watched them lower you into the ground Logan!” I screamed, tears rolling down each cheek as I did.

“I know you did. But you didn’t help them carry me. You were my best friend, how it is you weren’t a pallbearer?”

I didn’t answer right away. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know the answer to what an incredibly valid question was. Why wasn’t I a pallbearer? I thought about the people who were: Logan’s father, grandpa, brother and two uncles. Why wasn’t I the sixth man?

“I…I don’t know…why…how is this possible? What is happening?”

“You don’t see it yet? Let me see if I can help,” Logan said offering me his hand.

Hesitantly I took it and he helped me to my feet before leading me with one hand on my back toward the edge of the pier. We stood there side by side and as we did the sunshine seemed to glow even brighter over the endless sea before us.

“Brother, there is a reason you are standing here with me. There is a reason you weren’t a pallbearer at my burial. It’s the same reason you can’t remember anything that happened after the crash up until the funeral,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” I replied.

“You were in the hospital after the accident. For most of the week afterwards. No one could get you to say anything aside from you were sorry for killing me. All the people who told you it wasn’t your fault didn’t tell you that at my funeral. They told you that while you were in the hospital.”

“I don’t remember going to the hospital…I just remember the crash and then…”

“The funeral. I know. You were at the funeral, just not physically.”

Physically. Something about the phrase struck me. How else could I be there? The answer came to me before I had even finished the thought. Spiritually. I looked at my friend who gave me the warmest, knowing smile.

“I didn’t make it?” I asked.

“You didn’t make it. You died in the hospital the night before my funeral. All you thought about from the accident to your last moment was this promise. The promise you made to the friend you blamed yourself for having killed. That’s why you’re here. To go onto what’s next. With me.”

“I’m dead?”

“You were dead, now you’re alive in an entirely new way my friend. Let me show you,” he said holding out his hand.

Feeling an odd sensation of the confusion melting away along with an abundance of happiness and comfort, I took it and followed him to the edge of the pier. With a final smile he led the way across the water into what I could only call paradise.