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The urn was on the coffee table.
Jay had never thought much about cremation before. It wasn’t even his decision really- just the first thing that the coroner had recommended, and Jay wasn’t exactly in any right mind to make decisions for himself- let alone for Matt. Considering Matt had a plan for everything, he’s shocked he never wrote a will- that he’d leave it up to Jay. He supposed he never expected him to have to handle it.
The Seventh Inning Skydive was a disaster. Scratch that- ‘disaster’ was the usual outcome of Matt’s plans. A disaster ended with being banned from the premises or a hostage situation or someone getting a stomach pump. A disaster was the kind of thing that made them bristle and snap at each other for a week before they eventually hugged it out like they always did and things went back to normal. The Seventh Inning Skydive was a tragedy.
Jay should have seen it coming, should have listened to his gut that told him something truly horrible was about to happen. But Matt wouldn’t have listened to his gut, anyway- would have just told him to suck it up, stop worrying. Matt who was so headstrong and confident, Matt who was never held back by logic or sense, Matt who could talk his way into and out of anything.
He could not talk his way out of a fall from 1168 feet.
Jay isn’t sure why he got the working parachute and Matt didn’t. What had happened- if it was pure bad luck, or fate, or something worse. There was no way to know. He’d never find out. All he remembered was seeing him plummet and drifting after him, helpless. Scrambling to try and follow him without even thinking, but being unable to get the pack off. Useless as always.
He’ll never forget the sound Matt made when he hit the sidewalk.
He had pushed through crowds and cops and vaguely remembers assaulting someone in the process, but he at least got to Matt. He likes to think that he took his last breath with Jay present. His stomach twists but he hopes the last thing Matt saw was him. Deep down though, he knows that isn’t true. The coroner told him he died the second he hit the concrete.
The picture of Matt’s body is a permanent fixture in his mind. It wasn’t like in the movies. There was blood coming out of places he didn’t even think could bleed. His limbs weren’t supposed to look like that. Jay has the distant memory of trying to move an arm back into place, only to feel the bone practically disintegrate under his hands. He’d shattered like glass. He would later hear words like ‘ruptured organs’ and ‘blunt force trauma’ and ‘catastrophic internal damage’, but none of those held the weight he felt like they should. None of them felt right to say about the shattered mass of his best friend that seared itself into his brain matter like a brand.
He especially remembers his eyes. They were glassy and blank. It wasn’t right, seeing Matt’s eyes like that. They were meant to be angry or sad or ecstatic or manic. They were meant to look up at Jay and crinkle and say, gotcha Jaybird, pranked you good, you should see the look on your face. But they didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything.
Jay was talking, he thinks, but he doesn’t remember what he was saying.
Someone eventually wrenched him away from Matt and then he was being taken away and everything gets fuzzy. He’s drifting through rooms, being ushered in and out of places, people asking him questions he couldn’t answer or didn’t understand. Matt would know the answers, he said. He wished Matt was here to help. Jay hated being alone, hated dealing with other people on his own. He told them he wanted to see Matt and he remembers people looking at him with an expression he’d never seen before.
And then he ended up back home, a cold urn clutched to his chest. He put it on the table and rolled into the bottom bunk and went to sleep like nothing had happened. Just one long bad dream and tomorrow he would wake up and Matt would make him breakfast and they’d drink hot milk and laugh and he’d play the piano and then they could play video games all day.
He woke up alone.
Crawling out of bed like a zombie, he stared at the urn for an uncomfortably long time. Looked at it like it was going to vanish in front of him. It was- nothing. It was just a vase full of ash. This wasn’t Matt. Any second now, Matt was going to come running downstairs or bursting through the door with a plan.
Jay turned to look at the whiteboard. The Seventh Inning Skydive was still up there. Matt hadn’t erased it yet- Jay almost never touched the whiteboard, that was Matt’s territory. His eyes drifted along the steps of their foolproof plan and caught on his hazy reflection.
Broken bones. Cracked concrete. Hollow eyes. He turned around. The room was empty.
Matt was dead.
He doubled over and vomited all over the floor.
Bile surged up from somewhere deep inside him and his hands clawed for the table for stability, sliding through something undigested. He heaved, again and again, and in the smell and taste and pain of it all he found himself blissfully unable to think about reality. Only for a moment, though- he caught his breath once, caught a glimpse of the urn on the table, and retched again.
It carried on until there was nothing left, and long after that. Doubled over on the couch, body quivering like a cat trying to cough up a hairball, his throat raw and a sound he didn’t even realize he was making trying to claw its way out of him. Something strangled and sharp, cutting his windpipe open. Oh. He was crying. He didn’t realize he was crying.
Acid stung his throat and nostrils and he wailed something. Distantly he thought he was going to get a noise complaint, and wouldn’t Matt be mad, and then he realized all over again and he howled longer and louder. His hands clawed into his face, scratching at his eyelids and finding no purchase. Eventually, after god knows how long, he could look at the urn without screaming like he’d been pierced with something. Only after his lungs had been yanked out of his chest and wrung dry.
No sound would come out of him anymore. He sat there, shaking. Shaking harder than he had the day they were up the CN Tower, the scariest day of Jay’s life even before- even before…
Snatching the urn off the table, Jay pressed it to his chest like it could open up and swallow it. He wanted to walk over to the kitchen and get a knife and cut open his ribcage and cram the ashes in there next to his stupid useless lungs. He didn’t need them. He could cut them out, cut out all of his stupid useless organs to make room for Matt. He wanted to bleed out on the dirty linoleum with what was left of Matt inside him.
He hugged the urn tighter. That’s right. This was what was left of Matt. Just- this. Cold. Impersonal. It wasn’t right. He had hugged Matt before- many, many times. He was warm and soft and smelled kind of bad but Jay didn’t even care, no matter how much he bitched and whined he liked that about him, he liked everything about him. This wasn’t the same, this wasn’t Matt. It needed something. It needed-
Jay’s eyes flickered around the room, looking for something- he spotted it on the edge of the top bunk. He rose to his feet, nearly collapsed in an instant, but felt pulled along on invisible strings as he clambered past his own vomit. Drifting across the living room like a ghost to the bed they shared. Matt usually slept in the top bunk, though they swapped whenever it suited their fancy. The sheets were cold, but it smelled like him.
One hand, still shaking, reached out and found what he was looking for. Matt’s hat. He’d left it here- said he didn’t want to risk losing it during the jump. WIthout thinking, Jay’s hand gripped it tight enough to crush the familiar fabric in his hands.
He put the hat on the urn.
‘Matt.’ The voice that escaped him barely sounded like him. He didn’t know his voice could be so strained. He shut his eyes, the press of the jar into his ribs bordering on painful. He tipped his head down and pressed it against the hat, against the urn, against him.
‘Matt.’ He repeated. ‘It’s you. Matt, it’s you. It’s- it’s you.’ Like if he said it enough times, he would believe it. Like it was a spell, and if he said the words enough times the right way, Matt would spring back to life.
‘It’s okay, Matt. It’s okay.’ And the more he spoke aloud and felt the brush of the material against his cheek, the closer it felt to something slotting into place. ‘Nothing has to change. We can- we can get the show. We can still get the show. You’ll come up with a plan. You always have a plan. Tell me you have a plan.’
Of course I have a plan. I’d never leave you alone for this long, Jaybird. Just trust me. I’ve got it all figured out, okay?
The voice of Matt in his head broke a smile out onto his face, crusted with snot and vomit and tears. ‘I know. I know you- Matt. Matt, I need you. I need you, Matt.’
Yeah, I know, buddy. I know. Hey, quit crying. Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up. Let’s rehearse, yeah? I want to hear that piano.
‘Piano.’ He repeated to himself, drifting back across the room. ‘Ye-yeah. I’ll put you- put you down here. Right here.’ He placed the urn tenderly on the top of the piano, where Matt could see him. Where Jay could look up at him, like he always did. His smile was starting to ache.
That’s good, Bird. A little music. Something lighthearted. Inspiration. To come up with the plan.
‘The plan.’ He echoed. Even like this, Jay could play. The piano was an extension of his body at this point, sitting in the chair and hunching over felt just like slotting right back into where he was supposed to be. Shaking hands found the keys and started playing something. He didn’t remember where he had heard it, but it drifted gently across him. Something soft. A song about the spring.
Matt didn’t even mind when he messed up chords, which was nice. He was being so nice to Jay today.
There we go! That’s good. You sound more like yourself again already. Alright, plan. Let’s think about the plan, Bird.
‘Plan.’ Another echo. ‘Plan to- get you back?’ He faltered on the keys for a moment- oh no, he shouldn’t do that. He didn’t want to ruin Matt’s flow. He fumbled to keep playing.
Better than that, Bird. But you- you gotta promise me something.
‘Anything.’
Nuh-uh, dude. Pinky promise. No- no take backs.
He croaked something that might have been a laugh if it didn’t taste like acid. Oh, Matt. ‘Anything. Anything for you. What- what is it?’
Good. You gotta promise me that this time- no matter what- you gotta go through with the plan, okay? You gotta see it through to the end. No pussying out. No last minute cold feet. One plan. One last plan, the last plan we’re ever going to need.
‘I promise.’ And something dislodged inside him, something sharp and angry had finally been pulled out- like a stubborn thorn, like a rotten tooth. A sense of relief threatened to encroach. His face ached less from the smile at this point. He was getting used to it.
Good.
He felt Matts smile. Jay’s eyes closed. The music drifted over him.
All you have to do is listen. I’ll be there with you the whole time, okay? I’m not leaving you, Bird. You’re not leaving me. I’m gonna need you to go upstairs into my room and find something. I kept it since- shit, remember when we broke up the band, way back when we were like twenty? Crazy times, man.
Of course he remembered. The battle of the bands. When Matt had pretended to- his breath hitched. Haha, oh, Jay remembered the look on his face when he realized Matt was okay, when he showed Jay how he did that little hanging trick. They had laughed so hard. It was so funny. It was so funny that Matt hadn’t actually killed himself. It was so funny.
I kept it, Bird. It’s in the closet. You don’t have to do anything. Just gotta pull up a chair, and- well, you know. You’re smart, Bird. You’re a clever guy. You can figure it out.
He sniffled. Nobody ever told him that. Nobody thought he was smart. Nobody but Matt. ‘What if-’
What if you mess up? You won’t, man. I’ll be right there. I’ll help. I’ll show you what to do. I’ll tell you what to do, you love it when I do that, don’t you Bird? You love it.
‘Love it. Love- you. I love you.’ It slipped out of him like he hadn’t even intended it to. He expected Matt to laugh at him, to call him gay or something, but all he felt was his presence washing over him and all at once it was okay. Oh. Why had Jay been so scared to say that, all these years? Why was he so worried? Of course Matt understood. He knew Jay better than Jay knew himself. ‘I love you.’ He said it again and it felt so normal. This was so normal.
Took you long enough to say it, Bird. Geez, had to wait until I died, huh?
He could hear the eye-roll and the snort of laughter, and without even thinking he heaved a little again. Luckily, nothing came out. The last thing he wanted was to get puke on the piano. Gross. Matt would yell at him. He didn’t want Matt to yell at him.
Sorry, man. I’m kidding. I love you too. Always have.
Jay nodded, and something inside him felt as if it were being unscrewed. He felt light and easy. His throat tightened, involuntarily. ‘And- and when we do this, this… we’ll get a show? At the Rivoli? Right, Matt?’
For a moment, even the Matt in his head was silent.
As far as I’m concerned Jaybird, we’re playing the Rivoli tonight.
Tonight. This is it. This is actually it. Jay stood up and beamed at Matt. He blinked, and for a moment he could see him. Not his body- not his broken bones, his ruptured organs, his cold dead eyes- no, he saw the real Matt. He saw him smiling at him, wrinkles by his eyes, grin sparkling. Matt was right here. He wouldn’t ever leave him. He laughed. His chest felt light, lighter than it had in years. He felt twenty years old again.
Jay took his hat and perched it on his head. ‘Wait up for me, Matt. I’ll only be a minute.’
Wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind, Bird. I’ll be right here.
He left the urn on the piano.