All This Life

He’s surprised that none of his fans are here. He thought he’d be immediately recognized, thought that his followers would crawl from the computer and meet him here, in person. He thought they’d want to meet flesh-and-blood Jake. He thought they’d line up for his finale.

He makes eye contact with lots of people, hoping they break into a smile and ask, “Are you TheGreatJake?” and he can nod yes, he is, and they can hug, take a selfie together. They’re the ones that followed him, not the other way around, so where is everyone? Why aren’t they here for him? Neil Armstrong would have been pissed if no one watched, if he went to all that trouble and no one turned on their televisions, if he endured all that danger for nothing.

Jake knows that mothers will leave the country for any reason, just to be away from him. Knows that fathers can freeze up, like a program, staying stuck for the rest of their days. Jake knows that right now everything makes him mad and everything needs to be hit with his baseball bat and he knows he’s carrying the brass band with him and followers should show up when they say they will.

He stops in the middle of the bridge and finally looks over the edge.

•••

OR WHAT ABOUT a drone strike? Something unmanned, unpiloted, a weapon streaking into your life, poised to deliver its deadly cargo, no matter what gets ruined. Who gets ruined. Without even contemplating the legacies, the impossible detritus of trying to inhabit a smashed existence.

It’s a drone strike, this blame explosion. Noah911 is engulfed in guilt.

This is the spot. He’s watched the video so many times that he’s sure this is the exact spot where the brass band jumped. He waits to feel close to Tracey, to feel her aura, her ghost, her kiss, but that’s not happening. He’s here alone with his Ziploc bag. He’s here alone and there’s only one way to feel close to her again.

Noah911 registers a kid standing nearby fiddling with his phone. Then Noah911 is right at the rail. In the middle of the bridge. Noah911 looks over the edge. Noah911 mutters more apologies, begs for mercy, clutches the Ziploc bag like it’s a Bible.

THE CAR BARELY stops before Rodney jumps out, and Sara tries to keep up. They are in the parking lot next to the bridge, on the San Francisco side. Rodney tries to run, but he’s limping really badly, slowing down with each stride. His foot must be broken.

“You. . run,” he says.

“What can I do?”

“Run!”

It’s comical to Sara: She shouldn’t be his proxy. She’s too small to do anything. But if she sees them, at least she will be there. Try and get a couple beefy guys to help her. She’ll figure it out. Whatever he wants. However she can assist. If Jumper Julie had the courage to walk this path and do what she did, then Sara can summon an unknown strength to help Rodney.

“I’ll find her,” she says.

•••

NOAH911 PUSHES AGAINST the railing, at the edge, and he is crying. This is goodbye and he fingers the bag, traces its contours cautiously. He squeezes it, not with any anger but as a last way to show love. Noah911 ponders whether it was his mother or father who found his plate of leftovers in the kitchen after the funeral. Are they worried, wondering what he’s doing, or are they lost in the arts and crafts studio, pretending not to remember?

He opens the Ziploc bag and shakes out the ashes. Her ashes. Tracey. He shakes her into the air, not seeing a drone strike but something with beauty to it. Tracey snakes from the Ziploc bag and for a moment the ashes circle and sit in the air like a swarm of bees.

Noah911 gets one second with all of the ashes frozen in the air. Face to face with them. Her. His sister. One last look in each other’s eyes.

Then they flutter off in every direction; she flutters off in every direction.

Noah911 was wrong before about needing that YouTube clip. This is better. This is what he needs, the memory of watching her cremains drift in the sky. She’s not that video. She doesn’t come to life with the click of play. She doesn’t die at the end. YouTube has nothing to do with his sister. She is a mosaic now, living in his heart, each tile a memory that if he stands back and examines their configuration, he sees Tracey.

He puts the Ziploc bag in his pocket and turns to walk away.