“Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and desires.”

Sunday Morning--Wallace Stevens

Goodbye 2021—by Bobby Flores

Tommy’s husband, Jeff, died the day after Christmas. I found myself in St Petersburg, Florida the next day to be there with my cousin. This was not the way I wanted to bring in the new year, but when your family calls, you go no matter what obstacles lie in your way. Same goes for lifelong friends, that’s why Catherine is here as well.

After coffee and a donut, we decided a trip to the water would be good for everyone. We get to St. Pete beach within an hour, enjoying some beautiful sites along the way. It’s early in the day and we find parking right away. Within minutes our toes meet sand. The three of us spread our towels around a spot we claim for us to sit and chat. Before we enjoy the lazy Sun, we take a stroll on the beach. It's a short walk and we find ourselves back at our spot. Tommy and Catherine begin talking like lifelong friends do. My mind begins to wander and before I know it, I'm remembering fun times with people I lost in 2021.

Preoccupied with own grief, I decide to give Tommy and Catherine some privacy so they can catch up after a decade apart. I walked to the water to watch people that I can only imagine are from Minnesota or Canada, because it's January and the water must be freezing. Only thick blooded humans can withstand winter-swimming in the Gulf of Mexico.

As I stepped to the edge, the water splashed up to my ankles. I stand there for a second and notice the water isn’t as cold as I thought it would be at this time of year. I also noticed its’ power right away. I think for a minute and decide to let go the feelings I harbored from, what I will remember as, the worst year of my life.

I think about Chris—MY lifelong friend who died at the beginning of 2021—and said goodbye to him. I told him that I loved him and I was sorry for the pain that was never resolved in his life, and wept. The salty tears met the salty water and became one. I feel some pain subside a smidge, but there’s a twinge still there in the background. I touch my heart and know what I’m feeling is a love I have for him that will never go away.

I take a few more steps and now the waves are splashing up to my knees and I think about my mom, Marta, who died on April fool's day. It’s just like her to pull one last joke on us by dying on such a humorous day. I will laugh and smile again on April fool’s day, but it won’t be anytime soon. I ask her to forgive me for not being a better son, for any hurt I may have caused and not apologized for. I thanked her for raising me, loving me, and giving me absolutely everything I ever wanted.

As I stand in thigh-high-water I ask Gaia to take my pain away and to give me strength and perseverance. I ask to use the tides to give me calm and pause. For the ebb and flow to help me understand where my family is now that both my parents have left this world. I ask the surf to wash away my guilt and to help me wade through my feelings to emerge a stronger person for my husband, my family and myself.

I take a few more steps toward the deep and now the water is waist-high. I think about the reason I'm in Florida. I look to the sky and ask it to help Tommy find peace. To give him comfort, calm, wisdom and strength to move forward without his partner.

I close my eyes and sob. I put my hands over my face. Tears stream through my fingers, down my arms and drip from my elbows into the ocean. They are flowing from my eyes like the Rio Grande into the gulf, returning to Earth—full circle.

I cry for Chris, Mom, Jeff, and everyone who experienced any great loss in 2021. The moment I catch my breath; a powerful wave washed over me, knocking me off balance, submerging me in the elements the rivers and streams have deposited into the gulf.

I am weightless. I can hear and see nothing. I feel an energy release from my body, mix with the ocean, then fall to the sea floor as I drift away from it, cradled in a quiet salty womb.

I feel another wave pass and, in an instant, it’s over.

I stand and raise my hands to the sky and thank Gaia for her light. I stand in that spot and collect myself before turning to Tommy and Catherine—sitting and chatting like lifelong friends do—and I breathe deeply.

The relief I feel is overwhelming and my eyes no longer swell with tears.

Just then, a fish jumped out of the water five feet in front me. It jumped so high that it remained in suspended animation for a second or two before splashing into the water. Then another fish jumps out in the opposite direction. Another one jumps toward me. Suddenly I find myself surrounded by a school of fish. These fish are a foot in length and there’s at least a thousand of them. They swim around me and when I move, they move with me. I think about touching one, but I don’t. I keep moving with them. With each wave that passes, I can see hundreds of fish in it. I’m fascinated and preoccupied with the moment that I fail to notice I’m only a few steps away from the shore.

I step out of the water and feel as light as air and my mind is clear. I feel less guilt than I did before—a feeling I don’t think will ever pass—and I take a deep breath, then smile.

I look up and spot Tommy and Catherine—sitting and chatting like lifelong friends do—and walk over and sit down.

Without death, there is no beauty. You can’t have beautiful things if they don’t die. Life is about moments; they come and go, everything is temporary, if you don’t stop and notice moments happening right in front of you, the chance to grow is gone.

A few words about a friend—By Bob Flores

At Whittier middle school there was a section on campus called “the pyramids.” They were sets of concrete stairs that were used for the either exercise or to put trash in the dumpsters. Whatever their purpose was, this is where I met Chris in the fall of my 6^th-grade year back in 1984.

My earliest memory of Chris is forged in my brain at the pyramids. The derelicts of Whittier, the “Cons”—short for convicts—used to hang out by the pyramids to smoke weed because it was far from the building and you had a view of anyone coming. This isn’t why we hung out here. One day the Cons came by and started smoking pot. I have to admit, I had never seen someone smoke pot before and I was a little scared, but not Chris. Chris was never scared.

As they lit-up, one Con turned to Chris and said, “If you see Mr. Probst say something.” Mr. Probst was the assistant principal who believed in capital punishment. Sure enough a minute later Chris said, “Here comes Mr. Probst.” They ditched the joint through a crack in the pyramid and avoided not only suspension but the belt. When the coast was clear, they asked Chris to get the joint—still burning—out from the pyramid through the crack with his skinny arm. This is why were we were such good friends, we were both little. Well, I was short and chubby but Chris was little and skinny. I remember Chris crouching down, his t-shirt sleeve tucked up into his armpit, reaching into the crack in the pyramid, retrieving the joint so the Cons would leave us alone. We would remember that moment and laugh about it for the rest of our lives.

In high school, we were both in the drum line. We had many adventures in band but eventually Chris got catapult into popularity when he landed a job at the Gap at North Star Mall. It was a job that he absolutely loved. He excelled there and after high school, he would became the assistant manager, and eventually became store manager at Ingram Park Mall.

Chris was high fashion. I remember him always looking dapper and sharp. He always wore the best clothes. To Chris, the world was a runway. My favorite place to shop was his closet. He used to get so mad when I would say “This doesn’t fit you anymore lemme have it.” Because he was always thinner me he’d tell me, “Take it off you're stretching it.”

After high school I went missing from his life for the first time when I joined the military. We didn’t speak much during that period, but when I got back, we were inseparable. This was the first I realized what a true friend is. It's someone who is there for you no matter how many years you spend apart. It’s a friendship you can jump right back into without missing a beat. He was that person for me and the first friend I ever loved like family. I’m so glad I told him that I loved him many times throughout our lives.

While we cut our teeth through life together, one thing we both enjoyed was rollercoasters. For as far back as I can remember, we would go to Six Flags or AstroWorld to ride big rides. Chris called the feeling of butterflies in your tummy as ‘the tickle’ And if the ride was really good he would say, “tickle for your nerve.” The bigger the ride the better the tickle. The tickle was a good thing. I have many memories searching for the tickle with Chris. We would brave the dangers of the Fiesta Carnival in search for the tickle. He had many favorites, the Kamakatze—with a ‘T’ as he would say—The Fireball, The Zipper, OMG The Zipper. There were countless times we almost died on carnival rides.

One of my favorite memories is at AstroWorld. One weekend we went to visit our friends Jen and Craig in Houston and went to AstroWorld to get a tickle before our night out. While in line for the Texas Cyclone, we talked about riding in front after realizing we had never ridden in the very front car of the cyclone, we liked the tickle from the back. We waited an extra long time for the front car. We got on it and went up and up. tick-tick-tick-tick-tick

And then right as we got to the top, like right when when we were going over the arch. It stopped. It was one of them moments everyone dreads, getting stuck at the top. I mean, if you happened to see it from other areas of the park you’d say, “Sucks to be them.”

We heard a voice from a speaker mounted to the track say, “We’re having difficulty please remain seated.” I was like, “Oh no.” Honestly I was scared. But Chris, just like back at the pyramids at Whittier, was unflappable. Then suddenly we heard a cry from the seats right behind us. It was a couple of teenage girls of color. They reminded me of us in a way, one was chubby and one was skinny. The chubby one started to cry, just like I wanted to do, and started to pray.

“Oh lord...I ain’t never gonna ride again oh lord."

She continued

"Oh please help me lord”

Chris and I begin laughing hysterically, but a moment later Chris slaps my leg and says, “Be nice!” very seriously. Because he knew everything would be okay even though this was our first time ever getting stuck on a ride, Chris turned to that little girl and said everything would be alright. He had a way with people, that’s why he was a good manager. He talked and joked with her, got her to calm down and soon enough we were all laughing and giggling about the situation.

A moment later, the voice from the speaker said, “hold tight.” Then coaster train started to inch forward and we heard 1-more ‘tick’.

Literally one, “TICK.”

Then we swooshed down the hill. When we got to the end that scared chubby little girl turned to her friend and said, “Lets do it again!”

I turned to Chris and said, “What do you say what do you?”

We bought the picture that day. In it, Chris and I have our hands straight up to the sky with the biggest smiles on our faces from the biggest tickle I think we’ve ever got. And right behind us were those two little girls with their hands in the air with smiles as big as ours. We always wondered if they were still friends like we were. That would be the last time I shared a tickle with Chris.

Just like that one day on the cyclone, our relationship got stuck in a scary spot. The same way that picture faded over time, so did our friendship. I always held onto the idea that I’d have a chance to drop-in and pick-up where we left off, regretfully, I find myself holding back tears and using these words to convey that the friendship ride I took with Chris, was definitely one of the all-time best, "tickles," of my life.

Artifacts—by Bob Flores

The place where the Pecos River and the Rio Grande come together created Seminole Canyon state park. The best time to go is Winter. Walk the canyon and you’ll find fossils embedded in the landscape, proof that Texas was once a shallow ocean millions of years ago. The evidence of these animals is everywhere. When I see creatures this old, geologic time becomes a little clearer, but just a smidge.

Hiding from the relentless Texas sun under rock shelter are 4800-year-old petroglyphs from an ancient nomadic civilization. Rock art made from the marrow of wildlife depict Shaman, animals and cartography. They cover the walls of the rock shelter named Fate Bell. In the face of time they slowly deteriorate but refuse to give in to the geologic timeline seen in the surrounding landscape.

Seminole is a nice getaway for me. It’s few hours away from my home in San Antonio. I have been there several times. The last was in April 2019, when the spring weather in Texas is perfect. My husband and I set up camp in record time, made sure the fur babies were cozy, then went on a bike ride around the canyon rim. This didn’t take very long, a couple of hours at most.

Getting back to camp, Duff, my 16-year-old dachshund Jack Russell mix was unresponsive and had soiled himself. I went limp holding his limp body in my hands. “Was it his time, is this the place he wanted to be?” I said to Joel as I sob holding Duff in my arms.

Every memory of Duff flash before me as if my life was ending; my ex walking up to me with him on a leash, taking him to work with me, walks around the neighborhood downtown. I realized these memories of Duff were from a life I used to live. I’m married now, in school in a different town with different friends and experiences. I realized that Duff, with his little sausage body, was the last artifact of that former life. I let it all go with tears and a deep exhale. And when I could breathe again, he was gone.

Duff made me laugh, got me through heartbreak and helped join families when the time came to start something new. I began to think about my life now and how so much has changed. With clear intention of moving forward, I knew I had to leave my Duff behind.

We placed him in my backpack and got back on our bikes to find a place we could remember. I spot a hole in the fence for jack jackrabbits that is big enough for me to fit through. I cross over while Joel stood lookout.

A stone’s throw away from the fence I came across a beautiful ocotillo with thorny branches stretched up to sky like the shaman at Fate Bell. I placed him at the base of it as if he were resting, squeaking his toy and began to sing to him while searching for rocks to cover his body. I sing and search and think about that fossil in the bedrock, and how it too was once alive, but is now an artifact from millions of years ago. I sing and think about the nomads from thousands of years ago and the artifacts they left behind. Then I think about my artifact. I sing about how they all come together in a pile of coquina and fossiliferous limestone to create this beautiful simulacrum about connection and time.

It takes a few moments to no longer see Duff beneath a pile of rocks, so I stand and raise my hands to the sky and finish singing my song, then slip back through the fence. I hugged and thanked Joel for the moment, pulled myself together, then got on my bike and quietly rode to camp.