A good friend of mine walked across the united states, from San Francisco to New York. Before setting out, he swam in the Pacific, saying, "It'll be awhile, salt water". His name was David, and he looked like a painting of himself, always, but especially when he swam. He bought me a German dictionary once, after my brother committed suicide. David said, "You're going to need to know how to say 'bridge' in many languages". He believed that it was impossible to truly express grief in just one language. He believed that I'd go everywhere some day and that I'd tell everyone I met about Jonathan and how he jumped. He believed that because he still had hope, then. 

It was a grey day, the day he set out. I drove him to the beach, and he got out of the car, wearing only his shorts, and walked straight into the water. I thought he'd never come out. I sat in the bed of my pick-up and smoked cigarettes and watched him splash around. After a few hours, he came up and stood next to the truck. I handed him his backpack and touched his forehead. I said, "Call me, David. Send me pictures." He nodded and then he walked towards the Atlantic.

He did call. He called me from a pay phone in Illinois. He said, "It's me," and I burst into tears. I put my hand over the receiver so he wouldn't hear me. He said, "It's been awhile, huh? How's that salt water doing?" I stopped crying after a few minutes, and I said, "David, it's time to come home." I could hear him nodding. He just nodded and nodded, and then finally he said, "I'm in a little trouble."

When he said that, I knew why he'd called. "In a little trouble" was code for, "I got into a fight and my face is all fucked up, and I had to call, because I did this so that I could call you about it. So picture it, Elizabeth, picture how fucked up my face is. I haven't even washed the blood off yet." I have known David a long time. I said, "David."

He said, "I know."

He said, "You never saw his body, though. You never saw what'd happened to it."

He said, "Listen, Elizabeth, you needed this."

I hung up. A few weeks later, maybe a month, month and a half, I got an envelope in the mail and it was filled with pictures. He'd been right, I had needed that violence. I put those photographs between the pages of the German dictionary and put that under my bed. The picture on the page, Bean to Bright, was of David in the Great Salt Lake.