“He don't listen sometimes. Got to teach him manners. Guess we did the same thing when we were kids.”
“Looks like he got hurt recently.” Tim kept his voice calm.
Shrugging, Barry looked away. “He's careless. Clumsy, like I was at that age. You know how it is. Boys have scars.”
Timmy nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. He stared at the faded scar on Barry's cheek.
Boys have scars, he thought. Some of them fade-- and others don't. Some scars stay with us for life.
“Listen, Barry... I should get going. The kids are restless, and I want to check in on my mom. It's been a long drive.”
“Sure.” Barry met his gaze again, and smiled. His face was sad. "Funeral's tomorrow.
You gonna stay in town long?"
“A few days, probably.”
“Well, let's get together. Have a few beers. I'll have to show you how I fixed up the house, since the last time you saw it.”
“That sounds good. It will depend on Mara and the kids, of course. And Mom. I want to be there for her.”
“You can make time for a beer with your old bud.”
Timmy nodded.
Barry wiped the sweat from his brow. “Good seeing you, Timmy.”
“You too, man.”
Tim started to turn away, but Barry called out to him, his voice soft and sad. For a brief moment, he sounded like the old Barry, the Barry Tim had known from childhood.
“What happened to us, Timmy?”
“What do you mean?”
“We were supposed to be best friends. Remember? We promised ourselves that we wouldn't let each other down. Best friends for life.”
“I remember.”
“So what happened?”
Tim shook his head. “I don't know, Barry. Life happened, I guess. We grew up. Grew apart. I think of you a lot, though. You and Doug.”
“Yeah.” Barry wiped his eyes. “Me, too.”
They said good-bye again, and Tim headed back to the Toyota. He hadn't lied. He did think of Barry and Doug, and Katie, too. Almost every day, in fact.
But in his memories, they were twelve--and immortal. And they would be twelve forever, living out the happiest days of their lives over and over again. They were who they'd been at twelve and not who they were now.
He'd come to the cemetery and found new old ghosts. The happiest days of their lives had been nothing more than a defense mechanism.
Tim opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.
“Who was that?” Mara asked. “Old friend?”
“Yeah.” Tim turned the key. “An old friend. My best friend, actually.”
“What's his name?”
“Barry. We used to run around together. Me, him, and our friend Doug.”
In the backseat, Dane pressed buttons on his handheld video game, oblivious to the conversation. But Doug leaned forward in the seat. “You mean you had a friend named Doug, just like my name?”
Tim smiled. “I sure did.”
“And the three of you were best friends, just like me and Joey and Jesse?”
Tim nodded. He blinked the tears away so his family wouldn't see them. Mara noticed, reached out, and patted his leg.
“Sit back, honey, so Daddy can pull out.”
Doug complied. As he fastened his seat belt, he said, “I miss Joey and Jesse. It's summer. I want to get back home and play.”
“You will soon,” Mara said. “You've got the whole summer ahead of you.”
“I guess you're right,” Doug said. "Summer's last a long time. And me, Joey, and Jesse are best friends forever, so they'll be there when I get back."
Tim sighed. He wanted to promise his son that yes, summers were endless and that his best friends would be his best friends forever, but the truth was, life didn't work out that way. When he was twelve, he had believed that summers were endless and so was life. But he knew better now. Nothing was endless. Nothing lasted forever.
Nothing was eternal. Not life. Not summer. Not friendship. Not even love. Because the ghouls would gnaw away at those things until there was nothing left.
The only things that lasted forever were scars--and monsters.
BRIAN KEENE is the two-time Bram Stoker Award-winning author of books including The Rising, City of the Dead, and The Conqueror Worms.
Several of his short stories have been adapted into graphic novels, and many of his books are slated for film and video game adaptations. Keene lives with his wife and dog in central Pennsylvania, and communicates directly with his readers at www.briankeene.com.