I did this to him.
“He knows that’s not true,” I tell Krista.
“He knows I would’ve lied.
I always lied
to keep from pissing him off.”
He gives a bitter laugh.
“Yeah, or to keep from pissing off
Dad.”
Then Mickey freezes,
his eyes creasing harder than ever.
“Oh God.”
He clutches his elbows,
bends forward like he’ll be sick.
“He was afraid of me.”
Krista raises her hand.
“He still is.”
“Why? When?
I thought…
I thought we were friends.”
I try to remember
when Mickey and I were friends.
Before we were
the Keeley Brothers
with a capital B?
Maybe when he was George Clooney
and I was Brad Pitt.
“So what do you want?”
I realize Krista’s talking to me.
“Huh?”
“What do you want?” she repeats.
“You brought us together
so you could talk to him.
What do you want him to know?”
Mickey braces himself,
hands squeezing his knees,
eyelids squeezing each other,
like he’s about to be sprayed
with poison.
After 233 days,
I have no eloquent speech,
no moving lyrics.
“Besides being alive again,
I want…more than anything…”
I wait while she translates,
then continue,
so she won’t have to stop
through this next part.
“I want you to know
that I love you, dude.
And no matter what you think,
it wasn’t your fault.
It was mine.
But I forgive you
for not saving me
from myself.”
I wait for him to explode with,
“You forgive me?
That’s a good one.
You should beg me
to forgive you
for ruining my life,
for hurting
Mom
and Dad
and Dylan
and Siobhan
and everyone else
stupid enough to love you.”
But instead,
Mickey’s shoulders rise
and fall
in the longest,
fiercest
breath
I’ve seen him take in months.
He closes his eyes
and pulls the head of the guitar
toward his own,
presses the pegs
against his forehead,
so hard,
that when he turns
to look straight at me,
not through me,
there’s a dent
in his skin.
“Thank you.”
And then.
(Uh-oh.)
He starts to cry.
I haven’t seen this
since the night I died.
I don’t know what to do.
But Krista does.
She kneels before him
and takes the guitar from his lap.
He sinks forward
into her arms,
adding his tears
to the water from her hair
speckling her new shirt.
They cry together
for their
loved
lost
dumb
brothers.
♪
Kurt Cobain
didn’t die in the bathroom,
because he died on purpose.
Anyone with a plan
wouldn’t choose the bathroom,
unless they’re super considerate
and thinking of the mess.
I don’t know
if Mickey was thinking of Cobain
when he decided
Ocean City would be the last stop
on the road trip of his life.
I don’t know
what he was thinking
when he packed
that gun
and that shirt.
But the important thing is,
Krista now has both.
When the rain ends,
we take Mickey’s guitar
to the beach,
find a spot where I sat
when I was alive.
He plays
with trembling fingers
and a voice
rough from weeping
but stronger than before.
Others gather around,
in twos and threes.
Mickey takes requests,
but mostly he plays
our old favorites.
For once, I carry the harmony
instead of the melody,
since Krista’s are the only ears
that hear me.
Siobhan and Connor appear,
fiddle and guitar in hand,
summoned by a text from Mickey.
And now it’s like
a Keeley Brothers
acoustic reunion gig.
Perfect.
But after a while,
I fall silent
and just watch
my brother and sister
sing without me
smile without me
live without me.
They’ll be okay.
Without me.
I give Krista a soft “Thanks”
and brush her shoulder
with a hand she can’t feel.
She watches
as I stand and turn away.
I’m pretty sure
what she’s done tonight
wouldn’t count as
an official Senior Week
“Play It Safe” activity.
But Mickey was long past
being saved by safety.
I walk to the edge of the water
where I can still hear their voices
mixed with the ocean.
The lifeguard stand beside me
is empty and bare
except for one thing:
A long black ribbon
faded to gray,
the name Cindy
printed in gold-turned-yellow.
The girl who drowned at spring break.
That’s how she’ll be remembered—
for her death,
not her life,
as people our age always are.
Did she become a ghost?
Is she standing next to me
right this second?
Has she already passed on?
My own trip to peace,
too long and too strange,
is nearing the end.
Mickey was my last,
biggest,
scariest
detour.
Behind me I hear Krista say,
Something-something “lifeguard stand,”
and I want to run
or swim
or just disappear.
But I stay.
As the next song starts, it’s missing
one voice.
Soft feet thump the sand behind me,
one pair.
I don’t turn,
don’t hope,
don’t dare.
My brother stands beside me,
alone.
He takes a deep, soft breath,
and speaks my name.
The End
About “Bridge,” Logan, and Jeri
“Bridge” is a companion short story in the Shade trilogy. The full-length novels in the series are Shade, Shift, and Shine, all currently available (click the links
to buy Kindle version).
“Bridge” is also the first in the “SHADEboys Trifecta of Awesome,” which continues later in 2013 with “Shattered,” a novella from the point of view of Zachary Moore; and a to-be-titled short story from the point of view of Martin Connelly.
For updates on new books and stories by Jeri Smith-Ready, as well as opportunities to win prizes and request autographed bookplates/bookmarks, sign up for her quarterly newsletter.
Shade Chapter 1
Shift Chapter 1
Shine Chapter 1
Follow Jeri on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, or Goodreads.
Logan on Twitter
Aura on Twitter
Zachary on Twitter
Martin on Twitter
SHADEboys Tumblr
Kilt and Keeley (SHADE fan site)
Interview with Mickey and Logan
For the re-release of his short story, “Bridge,” Logan sat down to have a revealing conversation with his brother Mickey and the Shade fan site Kilt & Keeley. A post-Shifter translator was provided so that everyone could understand one another.
Kilt & Keeley: Hey, guys, thanks for talking to us. This is the first time you’ve done a joint interview, right?
Mickey (glances at Logan’s seemingly empty chair): Yeah.
Logan: My brother doesn’t talk much to the press, or to anyone, for that matter. But that’s okay—I talk enough for both of us. So, thanks for doing this interview! I’ve been dying to ramble on about “Bridge.”
Mickey (mutters): You, starving for attention? Shocker.
Logan (flips him off): Dude, guess how many fingers I’m holding up.
K&K: Okay! Let’s get started. Logan, your story flows very much like a song. Do you find storytelling to be similar to songwriting? Which do you prefer? Why?
Logan: For me the two are similar. I like songs that tell stories, where the singer is at a different place emotionally at the final chorus than they are at the first verse. Where there’s evolution, you know?
“Forever,” for instance, starts off really dark and despairing but ends with a wistful sort of optimism. That was my idea from the start, so I had a structure to plan around, the same way a storyteller has a beginning, middle, and end in mind. The chorus repeats, but each time it’s a little different, because it reflects the emotional progress made in the verse before it.
As for the story, I tried writing “Bridge” in regular prose and it was incredibly flat and lifeless (no pun intended). On my second attempt, I thought, okay, it’ll be a verse story but I’ll write a prose version first, then “translate” it into verse. Nope, that didn’t work either.
So on the third try, I took it from the top writing in verse, and it just flowed. Maybe one of these days I’ll write something with paragraphs. But probably not.
I don’t know which I prefer. I like the in-your-face audience feedback from songwriting, but at the same time, with a story it’s cool to be able to create something, put it out there, and then step back behind the curtain. Maybe that shield lets me be more honest.
K&K: Wow, that’s a very thorough answer. Your turn, Mickey: Do you think you were seriously considering killing yourself?
Mickey (glares): ………………………
K&K: OK, next question. Hmm, that was a follow-up to the first question, so we’ll skip it. How about: why do you shoulder so much of the responsibility for Logan’s death? There were other family members there that night, and you know that Logan had an independent streak that couldn’t be controlled.
Mickey (sighs, crosses his arms, looks away): I guess. Whatever.
K&K: Ooookay. Logan, back to you. Having experienced two very different perspectives, is it better to be a pre-Shifter or post-Shifter?
Logan: It depends on the person. A lot of grownups I know would freak if they saw a ghost. They have a hard enough time dealing with the fact that we exist. But maybe that’s because they haven’t been around ghosts their whole lives like post-Shifters have.
So maybe it’s like asking, “Is it better to be a boy or a girl?” You just are what you are, and it’s what’s right for you because it’s what’ve always known. Then again, there are people born as boys who are really girls and vice versa. So…I don’t know.
All I know is that if I could live again, I’d want to be a post-Shifter, and I sure as hell wouldn’t ignore ghosts.
K&K: Mickey, less sensitive question this time: does Ocean City, Maryland, hold a special connection to Logan for you?
Mickey: Yeah, to Logan, and to our childhood especially. I think everyone holds a certain place in their minds where they remember being perfectly happy. For me that’s Ocean City, especially the boardwalk.
Logan (to K&K): You got him to talk. Awesome!
K&K: Whew! Logan, in “Bridge” you said, “To become a ghost, your death has to be a surprise. (Boo.) People who thought it’d be easier to be a ghost than to be alive found that out the hard way.”
Since we’re from a world without your kind of ghosts, what were you referring to there?
Logan: I’m too young to remember, but apparently when the world first figured out that ghosts were real, there was a big spike in suicides. Maybe death got less scary once the afterlife was proven, or maybe ghosts were seen as a romantic thing to be. Anyway, no one who killed themselves came back. No one.
It’s really sad. I wish I could understand why someone would want to quit life, but it pisses me off so much. Even when life sucks, it’s better than the alternative.
Mickey: It’s not that simple.
Logan: I know, but it should be. It should be.
K&K: Mickey, how much of a role has religion played in your healing process?
Mickey: Okay, first of all, don’t say “healing process.” That makes it sound like a computer program where you just follow the right steps and you know everything will work, because it works for everyone else. There’s no such thing as a healing process. Sometimes I think there’s no such thing as healing.
Logan: You don’t mean that.
Mickey: How can anyone heal from something like this? You can’t. You can only keep going and keep busy and hope that one day you’ll wake up without feeling stabbed in the throat.
As for religion, I don’t know. I’m sure it helps a lot of people through times like this, otherwise it wouldn’t exist. All it does is heap more guilt on me, for being too stupid to understand how “all things happen for a reason” or how it’s part of some divine plan.
But the Pietà statue I was looking at in the story…there’s something comforting about it, that even someone supposedly so close to God as Mary could feel such human anguish.
Then again, religion didn’t make that statue. Art did. And it’s art that’s healed me the most, especially songs and books. I think that’s true for a lot of introverts: we work out our emotions in other ways besides yakking endlessly about them with friends and family. Sometimes listening to a song—or writing one—is the best way to communicate our feelings and understand them better.
K&K: So for you, listening or reading is a two-way communication, not just a one-way consumption?
Mickey: Absolutely. Not to get too mystical, but I think there’s a thread that connects an artist to his or her audience. When I hear a song or read a book that I can relate to, I feel like there’s a kindred spirit out there. Me and the writer, we get each other.
Sometimes that’s all I need to make me feel less alone. But our society thinks everyone should talk it out. Talk talk talk, all day long.
Logan: I admit, I’m a big fan of talk talk talk, and not just that old Psychedelic Furs album.
Mickey: Which I still say is their best.
Logan: No way, dude. Their sound is so much richer with the saxophone.
Mickey: It’s not richer, it’s carnival-esque. Like most bands, the Furs were better when they were rawer, like on Talk Talk Talk.
Logan: You’re such a purist.
Mickey (slight smirk): You say that l
ike it’s a bad thing.
K&K: Logan, why did you feel the need to make peace with Mickey in order to help you move on? Why not your parents or Siobhan?
Logan: I did actually talk to them. I mentioned in Shift that I was planning to do that, but it was never shown since Aura wasn’t there. Sorry, not every moment of my “life” makes it into print.
Mickey: That’s hard to believe.
Logan: I know, right? I’m an oversharing kind of guy.
K&K: This question is for both of you. Since music is such a part of your lives, which songs would you choose to describe your state of mind at the beginning of “Bridge” versus the end?
Logan and Mickey: “The Cave.”
Logan (laughs): Glad we agree on something. I think that Mumford & Sons tune describes both of us, both at the beginning and the end. Remember how I said I love songs that evolve like a story? “The Cave” does, but it’s not from Point A to Point B like “Forever.” It’s Point A to Point Q to Point M. Because they’re a lot more brilliant than I am.
Mickey: I also think it’s told from more than one point-of-view. So it’s a conversation. It might be a conversation the singer is having with himself, but it’s still a dialogue, not a monologue. And it refers to Homer’s Odyssey, so, points for that.
Bridge: A Shade short story Page 3
