Dad was dead, but that was beside the point. We were on the way to Frenchman Lake to release his earthly ashes. Balloons in a Saturn sedan down a dusty dirt road. The sun was shining and I’d lost my right shoe in the mud. We laughed so hard my ribs hurt. We let his yellow balloon soar into an endless … green lake. To our dismay, dad weighed too much to fly, and instead we saw him slither into the sludge. We got back in the car and returned to town. So often things are heavier than they seem.
Krystal Tyree lives in West Virginia and grows tomatoes in the warm months. Her favorite word is lugubrious.