There is Life After Death

I. I recall being afraid of the dark during the summers which consisted of camping outside on the forth of July. Instead of sleeping bags we sat in lawn chairs, and the only time I could see were when he rubbed a match against the sidewalk as though he didn’t have the box in his hand. Time seemed to stop for a second as a spark of fire arose, until what I swore were gun shots. Every time, I jumped and eminently took a swig from one of the many bottles of booze. Back then I'd been terrified that he would blow his hands off, and I'd somehow never see him again. My inner speech was correct, only his hands are perfectly in tact. II. I recall being afraid of the dark with only a lighting bug casually here or there. The blinking only occasionally died down in front of his two story house, though every time it did he was present. With rolled up black sleeves and a cross around his neck, he watched for hours. Worried that he had confused beauty for love, I asked how long he'd have them in that jar, but he kept his legs crossed and stared further into those tiny sparks of hope.
III. I recall being afraid of the dark every new years celebration without him. The scent was new, his hands weren't on a glass of champagne, I'd imagine him rather consumed in hard cover books. Instead of letting the loud, bass impact music consume me, I remember his Amy Winehouse lyrics blazing through those Apple headphones. The next song on that playlist used to be his favorite, each time singing "You're the only friend I need," echoing until we lost eye contact.
IV. I recall being afraid of the dark with a stair case as my witness. He pushed me down those steps many times in a laundry basket, and even when knowing the fun about to come, I was still scared. It was the same feeling I got on the first hill of a roller coaster, every memory flooding my mind while holding his painted nails. Evidently, everything that comes up must come back down, and his fingers slipped from mine.
V. I recall his fingers brushed upon every Christmas light as if holding insignificant flickering holiday traditions would keep us sane. If asked, I could name every moment off the top of my head, every feeling; every song. I recall being afraid of the dark which seemed to be consuming us, terrified of every firework with potential to harm him, yet his hands are perfectly in tact.