United

Long before they rolled the die, they had been friends.

Twenty four summers to the day when they rolled the dice for the last time, two of them had been swinging on tires in a backyard. It had been a warm summer day. There was a phrase for it in a language the elder of the two would need three dozen years later. Dhoop sekhna. More delicate than just plain old basking in the sun. It meant to inhale the sunlight, have it glow from every pore of your skin, warm you better than a hot shower, better than a steam room. Make your cells sigh with delight, smell the rays of light with every inch of your body, take it all in. The tingling runs through your spine, in both directions, going down it relaxes your legs, goes all the way to your feet, the toes tingling. Going up, it enters your brain, goes through your bloodstream and back into your brain, ending in bliss. A cloud lounging in the sky, warm, at peace. Dhoop sekhna. More delicate than just plain old basking in the sun.

A truck had rolled up the old dusty road, heaving as it neared the end of its life. The engine sputtered every time it turned on. Hacking coughs, exhaust coughing up clouds of black gas. The windows were cracking and dusty. It was the only car in town though. It belonged to the family that lived up the hill on the farm. Birds flapping lazily, soaring on currents of wind. The two boys, one had a messy blond mop, blue eyes, the other brown hair, grey eyes that twinkled in the light. They sometimes looked like they were almost changing color. A fine jewel turning over as it let light through, sparkling with different flavors.

Minutes after the truck had passed, a boy huffed along. He stopped by the fence to catch his breath. He was tall, lanky, his brothers had left him behind because he had refused to kill anything with the shotgun when they went to practice in the woods. He would outgrow that, they thought. Until he jumped on the shotgun as the eldest aimed, the gun went off, the animals bolted. They had beat him, a little. Carefully, with precision. He wouldnt tell their parents, but bruises spoke a different story.

He was good natured, looking ahead, watching the truck sputter on. He turned and looked at the boys swinging by the old tree. His eyes were green like a cat’s. Piercing. Kind. his smile was contagious. He leaned on the fence, calmly, all the poise and tension of a mountain cat. Ready to spring, ready to take a nap.

He looked back at the truck, and looked over at the boys who had stopped swinging, and were looking at him, heads tilted in a question. One last look at the truck, and he joined the two boys.

The sun shone bright, and warm. An invitation to a better tomorrow. An eagle circled overhead, an ancient one, watching over the friendship that would define the next and last few years. Clouds lazed up ahead. Trees shook, an invisible earthquake only they felt. The three were united.