I was cleaning out the truck and found the ice scraper still in the glovebox. July. Always a reminder of how late our winters hold on up here.
Then I found the clipping. Your horoscope from the day we won the state title, tucked in the sun visor. 'A long-held wish may come true today.' You laughed when you read it out loud.
I still call your number sometimes. It goes straight to a voicemail I never delete. I don't know why I keep leaving messages. Maybe you can hear them wherever the plows don't go.
The kid subletting your room asked me about the framed photo on the dresser. I told him that was you. He practices your footwork in the backyard after practice. You'd like him.
I don't say all this when I call. I just say it's been a good season, and the first snow is coming early. I don't say I miss you, but you'd know anyway.