Alice's Kite

This isn't a photo of Alice's actual kite, but I think it's close. Sjoekje, is this it?

I've had the privilege to get to know or reacquainted with a good number of Alice's friends. The afternoon of Friday, September 22nd will stay in my heart as a very low, and very high point of my life. I was at Pavillions with Sophie and my mom, carrying Alice's mobile phone with me, when it rang. "Sook" appeared on the screen.

I answered it, and heard Sjoekje's vibrant voice on the other line. "Is Alice there?" she asked.

We had never met, even though Alice had talked about her often. I felt immediately close to her.

"This is Haig, Alice's brother. Who's this?" I asked, as I walked from the pumpkins and broccoli closer to the front door of the supermarket for better cell reception.

"It's Sjoekje, Alice's friend. Is she OK?"

"No, she's not. I'm very sad to tell you that on Tuesday night Alice was in San Diego, driving from the 8 Freeway East to the 5 South, when she hit the center divider and her car rolled, and she died."

Sook's exact response is cloudy; she said "Oh my god" as well as "No, I can't believe it." I know she said "f`ck" at one point, and it made me feel better, that indeed I was talking to one of Alice's friends.

It was an auspicious first meeting, and we had many conversations thereafter preparing for Alice's funeral. I know, I know -- the kite. She told me that she and Alice had bought butterfly kites together for $12 each, and they kept them in their respective car trunks for spontaneous kite flying. Alice loved flying her kite at the beach.

"You should get Alice's kite and fly it," Sook told me.

It was I'm sure in Alice's trunk on September 19th, yet one of the investigative sergeants didn't retrieve it for us when we asked her to provide us all the contents of Alice's car. The officer said she didn't go into "detail" in gathering Alice's belongings. Today I wonder what she meant by that, if she was protecting us from something we'll never know about the condition of the car after the wreck.

Flash forward to the funeral, a beautiful September day in the California southland. At Rose Hills Cemetary, we all blew bubbles into the gently blowing wind in Alice's honor -- it was a tranquil, playful tribute to her buoyancy, and how easily she moved with the rhythms of nature.

Sjoekje approached me at the tent and said, "Haig, I have the kite with me. Do you want to take it, or maybe fly it right now? There's enough of a breeze for it."

I hadn't flown a kite literally in about 20 years. Alice had that one on me, by a longshot. I asked Sjoekje to help me, and she constructed the kite while I took a few steps with the kite string for the launch. I went too far, though! Sookie suggested I get closer to her, so I reeled in the string.

She threw the butterfly up in the air, and I started to run. I let the string go, allowing the kite to reach higher into the sky. Up, up in went into the sunny limits.

I took a break, to take in the sight of the skyward butterfly. Within a second, it started to descend. No! I had to run more, to create enough tension to keep the kite airborne. I ran as fast, and as far as I could. Alice's friends and family watched the kite soar, as she herself had loved to do. I became this dark blue figure getting smaller and smaller on the horizon as Alice's butterfly took off.

Exhausted, I kept running for Alice's sake. She was so physically fit -- how could I, as her brother, be panting so soon? To be sure, I was running uphill. Within a few paces, I ran out of breath and stopped. The kite glided downward, while I wished it wouldn't hit ground. It did, and the sweet spontaneity of the moment faded.

The memory, and the rush of joy and despair I felt flying Alice's kite, still linger.