In the darkness, I follow.
“Come. We’re almost there,” she says, brushing aside low hanging branches.
There’s wonder and fear in her tone, but I don’t worry. My dear friend’s adventures always have a purpose.
She starts to run. I do too, until we burst from the trees. We slip down a sandy hill, hearing the Pacific Ocean’s mighty roar.
And then we stop, as thousands of grunion mate, illuminating the sky with their silver glow.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“This spot. This is where I’ll be.”
I turn to my friend of twenty-three years and I know.
The cancer came back.