Caitlin’s basement had an unfinished ceiling lined with thick wood beams. In the middle of the room, her father installed a hanging bar and a set of rings.

We practiced gymnastics down there every day after school—Caitlin somersaulting through the air on the rings and me hanging upside down, knees clinging tight to the metal bar, growing lightheaded.

I lost touch with her after I moved, back in the days of handwritten letters and phone calls.

“Who else do you want to see while you’re here?” Sarah asked when I finally came back to visit.

We were parked in the field behind the elementary school, my legs tangled up with Ryan’s as we lay in the bed of his pickup truck. Later that night, I would turn and press my mouth to his, part my lips to discover his tongue piercing, clamp my teeth around it and gently tug.

Sarah passed me the bottle of Jack ,and I propped myself up on my elbow to take a sip.

“It’d be nice to see Caitlin,” I said. I held the bottle back out to her, but Sarah didn’t take it.

“You didn’t hear about Caitlin?” she asked. “She hung herself last December. Just before Christmas. Her mom found her in their basement.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s hanged,” Ryan said. Sarah ignored him. “Isn’t it hanged?” he asked me, but I didn’t answer.

I was picturing Caitlin’s basement. The thick beams in the ceiling. The rings swaying through the air.

Our bodies dangling side by side.

*