This is Grant.
(Kid, Grant, left of frame, casually, smiling at reader. White background.)
He was my best friend.
(Two kids, Grant and Narrator, one with arm around other’s shoulder, casual. Looking at reader.)
And now Grant’s gone.
(Narrator left looking at space where first kid was.)
We did everything together!
(One kid with goggles and pilot’s leather helmet in poorly made glider frame. Other kid dressed as a bird, both trying to fly.)
(Splashing in mud!)
It was amazing.
(One kid on top of chimney, flexing muscles comically. Other kids lying back against chimney base, lazing. Both of them above the world.)
We could be stupid around each other.
(One kid, dopy smile, wearing a colander for a hat, but is too big. Other kid farting into a jar, several more jars at his feet.)
And now he’s gone.
(Just text on white background. No image.)
I could tell Grant things I would never tell anyone else.
(One kid lying chest down in tree tire, looking up at other kids, who is passionately talking, hands animated, as if pouring out his soul.)
Important stuff, dumb theories…
(One kid standing in front of blueprint paper showing using a slingshot to propel rocket to moon. He is explaining his theory to other kid, who is sitting on grass, eating apple, watching.)
We would talk a lot about nothing.
(One kid lying on back of diving board, talking, looking at clouds, while other casually hangs off its end.)
But best were the things we didn’t have to say.
(Big, older, barrel-chested bully on small scooter that has hit a rock, tipping him into air. Behind bully, one of our kids sitting on backrest of a bench, the other leaning back against a pole, giving each other a knowing look.)
It was the greatest.
(Both kids kicking dead leaves into air around them, one of them with his hands up in lazy victory.)
And now Grant’s gone.
(Only narrator left, standing in pile of leaves, looking at where friend was.)
It makes me want to cry and cry…
(Kid hunched on rock, crying.)
As if I’ll never stop.
As if tears could fill oceans.
(Image of a grave. Shadow and light.)
But Grant wouldn’t want that.
(Image of Grant, on one side of page. No other kid. He is casually juggling.)
I’m not sure if there’s an afterlife.
(One kid shielding eyes, looking up. Other kid is not really looking at anything, just scratching head.)
But I do know a way I can keep a bit of Grant alive.
(Narrator walking along a fence, with arms out, and a helium balloon tied to each arm.)
As long as I’m thinking of him, he’s not gone.
(Narrator on bottom, shoulder-riding Grant, who is not quite solid, almost like a memory.)
That’s why it’s important I think of the good things.
That will be the bits of him that keep living.
(Two kids, one lying down, reading one of several comics scattered on floor. Other kid sitting, drawing a comic of their own.)
And keep doing stupid stuff. Like he would.
(Narrator in swimming shorts, falling through air with big inner tube.)
Grant’s gone. But he’s not.
(Two kids hugging.)
I’m grateful for the time he was around.
(No image, just text on white background.)