The grass pressed cold and wet against the back of our bare arms and legs. Bren and I shared binoculars—our gateway into the evening sky—both trying to sneak in one more peek before going to bed.
“Emmie, what do you think happens to us when we die?”
“We go to heaven, silly.”
“Up there?” Bren pointed toward the night sky.
“I don’t know. I don’t know where heaven is. I’m not sure anyone does.”
Bren rolled onto her side, handing me the binoculars. Her arm tangled in the long, thin strap.
“Mom’s eyes always turn to the sky when she talks about heaven.”
“They all do that,” I said.
“Who all?”
“All the grownups. They don’t know either.”
The moon hung full in the nighttime, unblemished by things it didn’t have to understand. It had no concern for its future, about what would happen to it or where it was going-content just to have a place in time.
“Do you think there really is a man on the moon?” Bren asked.
“What? That’s a made-up thing. You sure are full of questions. Besides, men can’t go there.”
“Last year my teacher said it would happen, probably soon.”
I continued looking through the lenses.
“Emmie?”
“What,” I sighed.
“What do you think it’s like to die?”
I handed the binoculars back to Bren and rolled onto my stomach. “I don’t know.” I crossed my arms and rested my cheek on my forearm, looking away. “Try not to think about those kinds of things.”
Crickets sang around the perimeter of the yard and dogs barked from unknown locations. Sheets flapped on the line. Their fresh scent lingered on the breeze. Our mother had so much on her mind she’d forgotten to take them down.
The only lights coming from the house were a nightlight in the kitchen, the soft glow of an un-watched television in the living room, and a small bedside lamp from our parents’ room on the second floor. Outside we didn’t need lights. The moon shone so bright even the fireflies had to compete to be seen.
***
I regret not giving Bren something more to hold onto that evening, something she could have kept close, something of comfort. But I didn’t know how.
That summer we spent hours gazing into the night sky. Her questions ceased only when she did. Our family was no longer whole, no longer complete. When she left us, the air stood still against the backdrop of a jagged-crescent moon, and I wondered if heaven was anywhere at all.
Grey Sparrow Journal 