Freeze Frame

by Heidi Ayarbe

  Kohana knew all sorts of stuff about great camera angles. And I had learned how to make stills and cut moving film into them, creating a “frozen time” effect. The whole documentary had all of Jason’s objects frozen, while I walked around them, talking. But I decided to film it so I would always be overexposed—a shadow walking through Jason’s world. Over the course of the documentary, my image got clearer. But we needed Chase for the kites and the end.

  Mr. Cordoba ordered film books for the library, and as soon as they arrived, he let Kohana and me check them out. I studied the pages of those books whenever I had a chance.

  One afternoon, Mike came running to me as soon as he left the school building. “Chase is missing,” he gasped.

  “Missing?”

  “Yeah. My mama was talking to his mama this morning on the phone. Mama asked me about all our favorite hiding spots.” Mike wiped the tears out of his eyes. “I think he ran away.”

  I hugged Mike. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find him.”

  Mike shook his head. “He left me this note yesterday. I didn’t read it. It was too long.” He handed me a wrinkled piece of paper with jelly stains on it. “There.”

  I read the note:

  April 20 (COPY OF ORIGINAL LETTER DATED APRIL 20 ADDRESSED TO JASON BISHOP)

  Chase Bishop

  6167 S. Richmond Avenue

  Carson City, NV 58367

  Jason Bishop

  The Great Beyond

  Dear Mr. Bishop (aka Jason) (aka means Also Known As),

  I am learning to write letters in class now, so I’m writing you in business letter format. First, I make a brief introduction. Then I state my business. Then I end, cordially, thanking you for your time, reminding you of my business.

  How are you? Julian, Marcus, and José don’t beat Mike or me up anymore because I contracted the services of Kyle as a bodyguard. We call him Orange Dragon, or OD. Kyle might be skinny, but he can be pretty intimidating. Plus they think he’s a lunatic because he hangs out behind Dumpsters. (Lunatic comes from the word lunaticus, meaning “moonstruck”; affected with periodic insanity, dependent on the changes of the moon. Kyle’s is more of a permanent thing, but not in a bad way.)

  Things at home aren’t too good. Mom and Dad fight all the time. And Dad doesn’t even live there. So they fight long distance. Brooke cries a lot. And Chip doesn’t have much of an appetite. (Chip is my new goldfish who you haven’t met yet.)

  I don’t think things are that great for Kyle either. (But not because of the Dumpster thing. I know that’s part of his work as a bodyguard: low-profile stuff.) It’s just that he’s different than he used to be. He doesn’t really smile anymore, and he hasn’t invited me over to watch a movie marathon in ages.

  I don’t know if you’re okay or not. I’ve looked, but I can’t find your soul print anywhere. Even Pastor Pretzer can’t help me. (Quite honestly, I’m getting a little tired of Sunday school. They made me be a shepherd again in the pageant, and told me that in Jesus’s time there were no aeronautical engineers to visit Baby Jesus. I find that hard to believe, since the Chinese were flying kites in approximately 200 b.c. And if anybody would be given a kite for his birthday, it would be Jesus.) Also, Dad quit church.

  I’m writing to tell you I miss you. I think I’ll always miss you. I didn’t know missing could be forever. Do you know a way for it to go away? This sad feeling I have? Is there a way to find you? So the missing doesn’t hurt so much?

  Your attention to this matter would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for your valuable time and consideration.

  Best regards,

  Mr. Bishop (aka Chase)

  I read the letter three times. “Mike,” I said, “did Chase say anything else to you? About where he wanted to be?”

  Mike shook his head. “Only that he wanted to be where Jason was.”

  My insides turned to ice. No, I shook my head. He wouldn’t do that. He would never do that.

  “Orange Dragon?” Mike looked really scared.

  I fought to catch my breath. “I’ll find him, I promise. I’ll find him, and I’ll see you both here tomorrow.”

  Mike grabbed my hand. “He’s my best friend.”

  “I know.” I hugged Mike again, then tore off on my bike.

  The cemetery was empty.

  He wasn’t flying kites at Mills Park.

  I raced home. Running up the porch, I slammed into Mr. and Mrs. Bishop.

  My throat froze again, just looking at how thin Mrs. Bishop had gotten—how sad she looked.

  “Kyle,” she said. “He’s gone. We can’t find him.”

  I’m sorry.

  I’m sorry.

  Jesus, just say it. It’s all my fault. I wanted the tape to get reversed—back to the very beginning. Without me Jase would be alive. Chase would never have run away. And everybody’s life would’ve been just right.

  “Please help find my baby, Kyle. I can’t lose him, too.” Her last words were muffled in a sob.

  I will.

  I watched them head frantically back to their house, the candle lamp glowing in the window. Jesus, please don’t let her light another one. This couldn’t be happening.

  Mom was talking on the phone. She motioned for me to sit down. “They’ve been looking all day. I need someone to stay here. Just in case Chase comes around, okay?”

  “All day?” I interrupted. “Why didn’t somebody tell me? Shouldn’t it be on the news? Shouldn’t there be police officers everywhere?”

  She grabbed her car keys. “Dad and I are going with the Bishops. Mel and the cheerleaders are posting flyers all over town.”

  A knot formed in my throat.

  “We’re setting up a search-and-rescue post at the community center.”

  “Did he leave a note? Did he say anything?”

  Mom pulled on a sweatshirt. “He said he wanted to be where he could find Jason’s soul print. None of us can figure it out. Stay here. Just in case he comes over. We need you by the phone.” Mom left.

  “Okay.” I slumped at the kitchen table.

  Soul print. I sighed, relieved it wasn’t what I first thought.

  Where would Chase look for Jason’s soul print? The neighborhood bustled with action. I stood out on the porch, then walked around to the backyard and stared at the shed.

  I hooted.

  Somebody’s lawn mower kicked on, and the familiar smell of fresh-cut grass drifted through the neighborhood.

  I hooted again. After hooting two or three times, I finally heard a soft hoot in return. I circled the shed. The cardboard Dad had used to tape up the window was gone. I hooted louder.

  Chase’s hoot echoed in the shed.

  My heart felt lodged in my throat. Memories of that moment flashed through my mind.

  I took a deep breath and climbed through the window.

  The shed smelled like fertilizer and oil. It smelled like Clorox and gasoline. I inhaled again, expecting to smell Jason, death, the stench of burned matches, but all I smelled was the familiarity of the shed—a place I used to love as a kid.

  My eyes took a second to adjust to the darkness. Chase sat cross-legged in the center of the shed.

  “Can I sit here?” I asked.

  He scooted over to make room.

  I avoided crossing over the bleached spot and made my way to Chase. We sat in silence.

  “I just wanted to see,” he finally said.

  I listened.

  “Where it happened.”

  I nodded.

  “I thought it would make it better to see. Maybe he would’ve left his soul print here, and I could talk to him.” Chase sniffled and choked out the words. “But he isn’t here, either. And I’ve been waiting since last night.”

  I swallowed. But I knew there were no words that would make it better for Chase. We were both looking for the same thing, but neither of us knew how to find it. “I’m so sorry,” I finally said.

  Chase looked up at me. He leaned his head on my shoulder. We sat
for a long time.

  “I don’t think Dad’s coming home,” he finally said. “Do you?”

  “I don’t know, Chase.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Maybe not.” I sighed.

  The light outside the shed changed. I watched through the square of the window as it turned from yellow to a bright orange. “How about if I take you home? A lot of people are really worried.” I held out my hand.

  He hesitated, then slipped his hand into mine. He had a letter crumpled in his fist. He turned to throw it away in the garbage, and I stopped him. “Do you still want to get a message to Jason?”

  Chase turned and looked me in the eyes. “More than anything in this world.”

  “How about Saturday? Do you think we can meet at Mike’s?”

  “I dunno. I think I’ll be grounded.”

  “True.”

  “Maybe I can sneak out.”

  “And get more grounded?” I asked.

  “This is really important.”

  “Okay. Saturday at seven A.M. I’ll tap on your window.” I boosted Chase out and followed close behind. We walked out the back gate. “Do you need me to go with you?” I motioned to his house.

  He shook his head. “Sometimes a man has to face his fate alone.”

  What a kid.

  He walked home, stepping carefully over the lines in the sidewalk. When he got to his front porch, he turned and waved, then disappeared inside the house.

  55

  “C’mon.” I tapped on his window.

  Chase peeked out. When he saw me, he grinned and ran to the backyard.

  “Did you brush your teeth?” I asked.

  “Oh, no!”

  “I’m joking! Chase!”

  Before I could catch him, he ran back into the house. He came back out. “That was close. Ready?” He grabbed my hand.

  “How much time do you have?” I asked.

  “About two hours.”

  “What happens if your mom wakes up and doesn’t find you?”

  “I’ve left a note on the kitchen table. It says I went to do the Carson City historical walk.”

  “And she’ll buy that?”

  “Mike and I used to do it every Saturday—before the event calendar. I have the map here.” He pulled out a tattered map. It had red markings and highlights all over it. “And the guided tour is in my MP3 player.”

  I didn’t even know there was a Carson City historical walk. “Two hours is plenty of time,” I said.

  “Maybe next Saturday, you ought to do the historical walk with us.” Chase raised his eyebrows.

  “I’d like that.” And I meant it. “Okay. Let’s go.” I handed him a helmet. “It’s too far to walk. So you get to go for a ride.” I hoisted Chase onto the bike.

  “Does riding double comply with traffic regulations?”

  I laughed. “Sure.”

  “Really?”

  “C’mon, Chase. We don’t have all day.”

  Chase scowled. “Okay. But just this once.”

  “Okay.”

  “But ride careful.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t tell Mike.”

  We rode to the graveyard. Rake guy waved at us. When he saw Chase, he came out with a couple of chocolates.

  “We come here every Sunday,” Chase whispered.

  We found Jase’s grave. Fresh lilies and daisies covered it. I wondered if Jason had a favorite flower. I’d never really thought about it before. I didn’t have a favorite flower—at least I didn’t think so.

  We stood there for a while, listening to the silence of the graveyard. I pulled Jason’s sketchbook out of my bag and opened it up to the last page. A full-scale comic-book battle.

  Finally Chase said, “That’s me, isn’t it?”

  I explained a little. “You’re Kite Rider. You’re a superhero. A real live superhero.”

  “Only in Jason’s world,” he mumbled. “If that were really true, I wouldn’t need a bodyguard.”

  I flipped through the pages and showed him Freeze Frame.

  “Hey, you’re a superhero too!”

  “Yep. With more experience. Maybe I’m supposed to train you.”

  “Instead of protect me?”

  “Maybe.”

  He grinned. “That sounds better.” He rubbed the chalky drawings and smelled his fingers. “Chalk,” he whispered.

  “Chalk.” I closed the notebook. “I just wanted to show this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t earlier.”

  Chase smiled. “It doesn’t matter. You’re still going to help me talk to Jase, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he’ll hear me? Get the message?”

  “Definitely. Do you have the letter?”

  “Yeah.” Chase pulled a folded-up note out of his pocket.

  “Good.” I took a kite out of my backpack. It was one of those cheap, garbage-sack plastic kites. The AM/PM store didn’t have a great kite selection.

  Chase’s eyes got real big. “We’re gonna fly a kite. I could’ve brought the dragon. It’s much nicer than this one.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Fold your note and put a hole in it. We have to put the string through the hole.”

  It took Chase about fifteen minutes to find the one spot that didn’t have words to put the hole in it. “I want to make sure Jason gets the complete message.”

  “Okay, sure.” It was a good thing we had two hours.

  Chase pulled the string through the hole. “That’s a lot of string.”

  “We’ve got to get the kite as high up as we can—so high we might not even be able to see it.”

  “And this is gonna work? To get my message out?”

  “Yep.”

  “How do you know about this?”

  “I read about it somewhere.”

  “You read nonfiction?” Chase looked at me sideways.

  “Sure, I read everything.” I had lately, anyway—anything Mr. Cordoba threw my way.

  Chase bit his lip.

  “C’mon, Chase. It’ll work. I’m gonna run up the path. The wind is pretty decent. We’ve got to get the kite in the air, okay?”

  “Yeah, but don’t run over any of the graves, Kyle. You might wake some of these dead people up.”

  Dead people don’t wake up.

  “I won’t. Don’t worry. You hold the kite there.” I had Chase hold on. “I’m gonna get it flying, then you’ll do the rest.”

  He nodded.

  “When I say, ‘Let go!’ let go. But not any sooner.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ready?”

  “Ready!”

  I ran up the path, the string trailing behind me. “Let go! Let go!” I shouted. Chase let go just at the right time, and the wind caught the kite, pushing it high above the elm trees and graves.

  “C’mon, Chase.” Chase caught up to me and grabbed on to the string. “You’ve got to work the note up to the top of the string, okay? Jiggle it a little in the beginning, and the wind will do the rest. The kite has to fly until the note hits its base.”

  Chase ran up and down the path; the kite flew high between trees—a plastic red square in the sky. Its colorful tail zigzagged with gusts of wind. It was perfect April wind for flying a kite.

  “Kyle, it’s there. The note is there! See it?” He laughed.

  “Okay. Now let the string out. Let it out until the very end.”

  Chase unraveled the extra string until all he had was what was looped around his hand. By then the kite was nothing but a tiny red dot in the sky.

  “Come over here.” We stood next to Jason’s grave. “Now you’ve gotta think about the person you want to receive the note, okay? Think real hard about Jason.”

  Chase squeezed his eyes closed.

  “When you’re ready, let the kite go and let it fly away.”

  We waited. Chase clutched the kite string, taut from the tug of the almost invisible kite. “Ready?”

 
Chase sniffled and clutched the string.

  “Jason will get your message, Chase. Just think real hard about him. Think about how happy he’ll be to hear from you.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Boy Scout’s honor?”

  “Yeah. Boy Scout’s honor.”

  “You’re not a Boy Scout.” Chase’s lip quivered.

  “But I have honor.” I smiled.

  “That’s my line,” he protested.

  “I learn from the best.” I winked. “Let go of the kite. It’s okay.”

  “Okay.” He inhaled and let go of the kite. He unlooped the string, and it slipped out of his hand and floated away, attached to the kite we couldn’t even see anymore. Chase grabbed my hand.

  He looked up at me. “I really think he got it.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “This is for you.” I handed him the sketchbook.

  Chase hugged the sketchbook. “It’s him. He’s really here.” His eyes flooded with tears. “This is the best present ever.” He wrapped his small arms around my waist and hugged me. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

  “I’m lucky to have you, too, Chase.” He hugged me harder. “Hey, listen, I was thinking that maybe you could help me with something too, something I have for Jase.”

  “You wrote him a note, too?”

  “No. But I thought I’d leave him this.” I pulled out the watch.

  Chase grabbed my hand. “It’s okay, you know?”

  “What’s okay?”

  “It’s okay to let it go.”

  I nodded and wiped the tears from my eyes. Jesus, Chase made my throat knot up.

  He squeezed my hand tighter. “Come on, Kyle.”

  Together, we put the watch on top of Jason’s grave. I looked at the time—on the watch Chase had given me. “Jase,” I whispered. “It’s eight thirty-seven.”

  Then Chase took my hand and we walked back through the heavy silence of the graves.

  56

  Early on April 23, Chase, Kohana, and I got together. I took off my shoes. “One year,” I said. “three hundred and sixty-five days.”