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Later that night after I manage a small bowl of soup and an actual shower, Asher and I fall asleep with Mason’s favorite movie playing on my laptop- Die Hard.
* * *
The cool breeze ruffles my hair as I follow my parents and Asher inside the field. Lots of people fill the bleachers, family and friends from back home, and all our friends here in Sierra Cove.
People hold balloons and signs with Mason’s name and football number, some with his picture. Others have shirts on with various pictures of Mason through college, even one from his Vampire costume just a few weeks ago.
I swallow over the lump in my throat, unsure how I’ll even get through this but I know I have to. For Mason.
As we climb up the steps to our seats, a special place reserved for my family and I, I hear my mom choke back a sob as dad wraps an arm around her shoulder.
When I turn and face the field to sit, I notice the football team lined up in front of us. Tall and proud, with their hands behind their backs, they don’t move, like they're waiting for something to begin.
The away team stands on their side, facing us as well.
In all the football games I’ve gone to, I’ve never seen them in a line before and my stomach bundles with nerves.
I sit beside Asher and grab his hand. He looks at me and smiles, his kind comforting smile, but now with sadness behind it. And his eyes. They used to be filled with light. Now they are dim. It kills me inside to see him this way.
“I want to leave.” I say but immediately regret it, knowing it’s selfish. I need to be here. Not just for Mason, but for my parents, and Asher too.
Asher doesn’t judge, he never does. “Let’s go.” He starts to turn when I tug him back.
“No. We can’t.”
He gives me a weird look, but I don’t have time to say more before the row in front of us fills up with our friends.
Everyone is here, Tyler and Chloe, Lennox, Everleigh, Maia, Rhett, Landon, and Holden. Remi is down on the field, as he plays too.
“Oh, Mads. I miss you.” Chloe says in my ear as she hugs me and squeezes tight. “Can I do anything?”
I shake my head and wipe away a tear. “I’m just so so sad.”
“I know.” We hug and cry some more before I’m hugging the rest of the girls and even the guys. Asher nods his hellos and we all sit.
A voice comes over the intercom soon after. “Welcome everyone. Thanks for coming out to tonight’s game. We’re going to open with something a little different. As you may have heard, one of our own students here at Sierra Cove University, recently passed away in a car accident. He was also one of our wide receivers and star players on Sierra Cove’s football team. So we wanted to take a moment to remember what a great person, friend, son, football player, and student Mason Blackwell is and always will be. All of our players are wearing number twelve in remembrance of Mason and now may we please have a moment of silence.”
Tears leak down my face and I swat them away with my free hand but they continue to fall. The football team now turns and faces the other way, so we can all see the backs of their jerseys. Every single one has a number twelve on it. They hang their heads in silence and I do the same.
Oh Mason, if only you could see this.
We’re all here for you, remembering you.
You are so loved and so missed.
I cry harder now and Asher squeezes my hand. It’s become our sign of comfort to the other and I respond with a squeeze of my own.
My mom cries besides me as well and I wrap my arm around her waist and rest my head on her shoulder.
“My baby, my poor baby…” Mom whispers over and over and my heart just keeps on breaking.
How much more can it break before it’s nothing but dust?
After the moment of silence is over, the team turns to face us again and one of them steps forward.
He walks over to the guy with the microphone and takes it.
“Hello. My name is Remi Morris and I’d like to read a poem in honor of Mason Blackwell. But first I want to say Mason was one of my close friends. We often bumped heads, our competitiveness in football and our strive to do the best for our team battling against each other. Friends say it’s because we are so much alike which I like to think is the reason to. RIP Mason. You’ll never be forgotten. Now a poem by Ellen Brenneman calledHis Journey’s Just Begun.
