Calvin’s sorrow was a big part of why we took a quick trip to the dunes on a random weekend in October when the weather was colder than shit and when all three of us together barely had the money we needed for the mandatory gas, beer, and chew. The dunes by the coast was our dad’s favorite place to take us when we were kids to get away from the torture of low-class rural life, and a yearly pilgrimage there to the memorial we made where we spread his ashes always seemed to buy Calvin, and Roger and I to an extent, a little bit of salvation.
“God damn’t Cal,” Roger’s raspy scolding snapped me out of my temporary daze. “Knock that shit off.”
I focused back on the world in front of me and saw Calvin stick his empty silver beer can on the point of dad’s cross.
Calvin let out a gut laugh and pulled the can back off of the cross. He trudged through the thick sand and took a seat next to Roger and I as the sun finished its bow, and the windy world around us turned the lights out.