Mile Marker 115, 6 Miles West of Ted’s Place

His face always pops into mind when I need to know something. It's been six months, maybe, since he asked how the kids were. I'd written back, "Wild. Kiss some mountains for me, particularly at sunrise."

He had one condition when he left for Afghanistan. If I can't ride my motorcycle when I come back, smother me with my pillow. I'd agreed--it was the least I could do after loving him for so many years.

Now, sitting in front of a screen, his face blipping across my eyes, I reached for the Facebook to write. His profile was gone. Disabled. I pulled up our messages, years of conversations now sent from "Facebook User" instead of him.

I googled his name, not expecting anything, just missing him. He liked to go incognito without explanation, even when it meant sweet agony for the rest of us.

During his stint in the Marines, he'd show up for a moment on screen only to drop a phrase like, "I spent the day tempting Afghani kids with cigarettes after we got back from patrol. The Koran burning happened quite nearby." His skin never seemed like it wanted to stick to his soul; he was always flying at the face of the sun, turning back at the last second for reasons sounding like dreams.

Joe Andrianov, 27, dead from motorcycle crash in Poudre Canyon, 6 miles west of Ted's Place.

Fort Collins Man, dead after motorcycle accident on Hwy. 14.

" I saw this before the cops or ambulances came. It was a horrible sight! Not something I EVER want to see again! I also had a car full of kids. Prayers for everyone involved."

Joe drifted out of his lane and hit an oncoming pickup truck head on. The report sounded more like an afterthought than an intention. The middle-aged lady driving was fine--his soul jumped ship on impact.

I pulled up Google Earth, counting off miles from Ted's Place using my thumb as a ruler. The road wound through Roosevelt National Forest, two lanes tracking a river that lapped at the foot of mountains. The sun created light halos behind the hills, shards of the day lancing over concrete. His laughter shook my shoulders. I mistook it as my own radiant grief.