Light of Day by Jamie M. Saul

was uncoordinated “and was always tripping over himself.”
    â€œDanny was awesome,” Rick said.
    â€œHe was the best friend we ever had,” Brian whispered.
    â€œHe was the best, period,” Rick added.
    Jack waited a moment before he asked, “Did he ever talk about—Danny asked me which was more important, honesty or loyalty? Did he ever talk to you about that?”
    Brian shook his head and looked over at Rick, who shook his head silently.
    C.J. whispered something, unsnapped his backpack and pulled out a blue Hawaiian shirt. He might as well have pulled out a ghost, the way the other boys stared at it. “Danny lent this to me,” he said, in a voice that made Jack shudder and the other boys sit back up in their chairs. “I guess you want it.”
    â€œWhy don’t you keep it,” Jack answered. “I think Danny would have liked that.”
    C.J. held the shirt tightly, bunching it in his fist. His hands were trembling and he started to cry. Brian and Rick got very quiet for a minute or two, then Rick said, with adolescent certainty, “I know Danny’s in heaven right now looking down at us and he’s at peace.” This did nothing to stop C.J.’s crying and the other boys stayed quiet and still for a minute longer, except for their eyes, which darted from one to the other. Brian and Rick mouthed something to C.J., C.J. cried and clutched Danny’s shirt. Rick got all fidgety while Brian glanced over at him and glanced over at C.J. Then they were hitching in their chairs, sitting forward and back like they couldn’t wait to get the visit over with, all the while their eyes kept on working, Rick glancing over at Brian, Brian glancing over at C.J., who returned the shirt to the backpack and looked even more frail and mournful.
    Jack realized their sadness was making them restless and his was making them uncomfortable. He was sure they could see his sorrow, that they knew how much he wanted them to sit with him. That must have been why they didn’t know what to say or how to act, why they looked from one to the other. Why they didn’t know how to leave. Or were they waiting for Jack to dismiss them? But Jack wasn’t ready to let this small piece of Danny walk off his front porch. He wanted to invite them inside and stand with them in Danny’s room and breathe the airthat had been Danny’s air. But he didn’t invite them inside. He only tried to find Danny in their faces and hear Danny in their voices. To see Danny in their eyes, in the jeans and T-shirts and the sneakers they wore. But all he saw were the faces of three boys who were not his sons, trying to figure out what to do next, waiting for Jack to let them go, but he kept them there a moment longer before he finally said, “Goodbye…Take care of yourselves…You know you’re always welcome here…” and watched them hop on their bikes and ride down the road, further and further away from their friend and his house, leaving their childhood behind.

VIII
    I t wasn’t Danny in the casket, it was only an empty body. All the things that made Danny Owens Danny Owens had been sucked out and emptied into the plastic grocery bag four days ago. The living Danny was gone, and if there were such things as spirits and souls, they were far removed from this graveside where Jack and his father, Grace, Lois and Aunt Adele stood with their mouths set tight, their heads bowed. The old man leaned on his cane with one hand and gripped Jack’s hand with the other. He read from e. e. cummings and Dylan Thomas in a halting, quaking voice. Jack read from Shakespeare. They weren’t crying. There had been nothing but tears last night and this morning, but here beside Danny’s grave, tears were not sufficient.
    The casket was lowered into the ground. Jack tossed a fistful of dirt into the grave, his father tossed another…
    Â 
    â€œBreathe…