Dear Lucca,
I’ve been holding on too long. Afraid to let go. Afraid to keep living.
Afraid.
Afraid.
Afraid.
Gabe could see what was happening when I couldn’t. He knew he had to get me to face my fears.
It must have been hard for him. But I’m thankful for what he did for me.
I hope somewhere, you two are together. That would make me very happy.
Love always,
Brooklyn
Sat., Feb. 11th—Nico
I go in his room
and as I look around,
I think about how we’ve been trying to keep things the same.
And yet, nothing will ever be the same.
We can stay stuck in the past,
acting like he’s going to walk through that door any minute.
Or we can move forward.
Motion vs. stagnation.
Gotta keep things moving.
Ma comes in and asks what I’m doing.
I take a deep breath. And I move forward.
“I thought I might pick up in here,” I tell her.
She looks at me. Looks around at the room.
And even though tears fill her eyes, she nods.
“Would it be all right if I help?” she asks.
“Sure. But, Ma, can I ask you something first?
About a girl?”
She smiles. Sits on his bed and pats the spot next to her.
“Absolutely.”
Sat., Feb. 11th—Brooklyn
When I was little
Mom would read a book to me
every night before bed.
We’d crawl into my twin bed
with the pink and white comforter
and read about Laura on the prairie
or Anne on the Green Gables farm.
I loved her voice as she read the words.
I loved the smell of her strawberries and cream shampoo.
I loved having her all to myself.
When she calls to talk,
I tell her I miss her.
That it’s really hard not having her here.
We get a lot of things out
that should have been said a long time ago.
Before she says good-bye,
she says, “I love you, Brooklyn.”
It makes me cry and I hang up,
longing for my twin bed
with the pink and white comforter
and the books stacked high on the nightstand.
Those were the days
when dreams were sweet
and life was sweeter still.
Sat., Feb. 11th—Nico
So, we’re confused.
It’s a mixed-up place to be,
on the one hand, falling for each other,
and on the other hand, wanting to stay loyal to Lucca.
Do we have to make a choice?
Is it one or the other?
I remember that kiss,
and how alive I feel when I’m with her.
How could Lucca want anything less than that
for either of us?
Sun., Feb. 12th—Brooklyn
It’s Sunday.
Comic book day.
For so long,
it was the highlight
of my week.
But he’s not here.
And superheroes aren’t real.
No matter how hard
I might wish for someone
to jump in and save the day,
it’s not going to happen.
It’s all up to me now.
I put on the Joy, Not Sorrow CD
and jump to the second half.
The half I’ve never listened to.
I clear off my drawing table.
I find pens and paper.
“Boys, you want to color with me?”
After all, it’s not just superheroes
who can choose to use their powers
for the good of mankind.
Sun., Feb. 12th—Nico
When I go for a run,
I notice the crocuses peeking out
of the ground.
I take pictures with my phone
and when I get home,
I e-mail them to Brooklyn
with a quick note that says,
“I saw these and thought of you.
Hope you’re okay. Can we meet?
Tomorrow morning at the track?”
She’s had time.
She’s had space.
We need to figure this thing out.
It’s lame doing it over e-mail.
What a guy.
But at least I’m doing it.
That’s the important thing.
Sun., Feb. 12th—Brooklyn
I ride
with the wind at my back,
my legs pumping
hard and fast,
stronger now
than they were a month ago.
I remember
the first day of training
and how I was scared
and excited
all at the same time
to do something
out of my comfort zone.
I said yes.
The nightmares stopped temporarily.
It was a step in the right direction.
Now I understand
I have to keep going.
I have to keep taking
steps in the right direction.
Always going forward.
Never going back.
I breathe
as I walk up the steps
to Gabe’s house
and knock.
Scared.
Excited.
Intense.
But that’s life.
When Audrey answers the door,
I give her my warmest hello
and remind her who I am.
Then I hug her,
and give her a CD
called Joy, Not Sorrow
along with a drawing.
Hyacinths, the flower of hope.
I ask if she has time
to sit and talk.
She does.
And so we do.
Sun., Feb. 12th—Nico
At dinner
Pop asks, “How’s the training going?”
I look at Ma. She knows. But she keeps quiet.
“It’s fine, I guess. A little bumpy.”
I look at him. Really look at him.
His hair is thinner. Grayer.
The deep lines in his forehead
tell the story of the past year.
He smiles. “Well, don’t give up.
Whatever you do, don’t do that.”
Ma passes the salad around.
The smell of soup and fresh-made bread.
The comforting hum of conversation.
The sun just setting in the distance.
Man, it feels good.
I glance at Lucca’s seat.
Empty for so long.
I think of our hearts.
Empty for so long.
“Don’t worry, Pop.
The last thing I’m gonna do is give up.”
Sun., Feb. 12th—Brooklyn
The twins ask me
to play Chutes and Ladders
before they have to leave tomorrow.
Moving across the squares,
climbing the ladders for good deeds,
sliding down the chutes for bad ones.
When I land on the square
and slide down the longest chute of the game,
Matthew says,
“I hate that one.
Sorry, Brooklyn.”
Everyone hates that one.
It’s the square nobody wants to land on.
But it’s there.
And when you land on it,
you slide down,
practically to the beginning,
and all you can do is keep going,
&nbs
p; wishing and hoping
for a ladder to push you back up.
As I think of that,
I realize losing Lucca
was my chute.
After that, I gave up,
so sure a ladder would
never show up.
When it’s my turn,
I roll the dice.
I’m not giving up.
Sun., Feb. 12th—Nico
To: nicoferrari@remstat.com
From: brooklynbaby@sosmail.com
Subj: Re: Flowers and You
Hi, Nico:
I know we need to talk. Thanks for giving
me some time. I’ll see you tomorrow
morning at the track.
And thanks for the pictures. I’m drawing
again. I’ll have to draw a crocus next!
Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn
Dad’s up early
to fly home with the boys.
He’s scrambling eggs.
Eggs are his specialty.
“Want some?” he asks.
“No, thanks.
I’m going for a run.”
He slides his eggs onto a plate.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He brings them to the table
where I’m sipping orange juice.
They smell good.
“You know,” he says, “I get the feeling
something is going on.
I’m not quite sure what,
but I just want you to know I’m here.
If you want to talk.”
“Thanks, Daddy.
I actually did want to tell you,
if that offer for a tutor still stands,
I think I could use some help.”
He nods.
“Of course. I’ll call today.”
I watch him take a bite,
his face telling me
he wants to say more.
“Brooklyn,” he says.
Slowly.
Carefully.
“If you aren’t happy here with me—”
“Dad!”
“I want you to be happy, honey.”
I think of him that night,
sobbing because he missed them
in that moment.
Sometimes life is a feast
with eggs Benedict and hollandaise sauce,
waffles and strawberries,
sausage links and hashed brown potatoes.
And sometimes life is scrambled eggs.
In the end,
your stomach gets full all the same.
And years from now,
you may not remember exactly what you ate.
But you’ll remember who you ate with.
“Things are fine the way they are,” I tell him.
Slowly.
Carefully.
“I just need to work some things out with Nico.”
His eyes hug me across the table. “I see.”
“Your eggs good?” I ask.
He nods. “Not bad.”
And I think,
maybe in the end
that’s really
all you can ask for.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico
I find her on the track,
running as the sun rises in the distance.
I sit in my truck, watching, wanting to join her
but fear keeping a firm hand on my shoulder.
So I just watch.
And wait.
The sun getting brighter.
My desire getting stronger.
Her strides getting slower.
Finally, she stops.
She turns.
She waves.
Fear’s hand is still there.
But desire is stronger than fear as it pushes me
right out of my truck.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn
I zoom in,
frame the shot,
and focus on Nico,
walking toward me.
Photography is all about
perspective.
The angle good.
The subject perfect.
For an instant,
I want to go for it.
I want to take the shot.
I start to move,
my whole body wanting it.
Wanting to capture
what we are
and all we can be
in a single moment.
And yet, as he gets closer,
my perspective changes.
It all changes.
Because no matter how I frame it,
I can’t take it all in.
It doesn’t fit.
Does it?
Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico
Man, she’s beautiful.
In the morning light,
her eyes bright and
her cheeks red
as she stands there,
catching her breath.
“Hey,” I say.
“Good morning,” she says.
“I changed my mind,” I say.
“Instead of a run, can I take you to breakfast?”
She shrugs. “Sure.”
“Beautiful sunrise, huh?” I say, pointing.
I glance at her and see her face, eyebrows raised.
“Dazzling,” she says.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn
We’re back
at the Whistle Stop Café
but how can I eat anything?
There’s so much to think about.
To talk about.
To figure out.
We’ve traveled to hell and back,
different paths but the same journey.
Now we’re on a different road.
The people from the photos
smile down upon us
as if to say “safe travels.”
But I just don’t know
if I’m ready to go.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico
I take a deep breath
and I tell her
I’ve been thinking a lot
the past week, about me, about her,
about us, about Lucca.
I tell her
I love how she tries hard to make life fun even when it isn’t,
like having a picnic on a stormy day.
I love how she takes time to stop and enjoy the view,
like on our bike rides together.
And I love how she makes me want to do something
other than run all the time.
She makes me want to live, play, have fun.
I tell her
I know it’s weird because I’m Lucca’s brother
but he would want us to be happy
more than anything else.
And I tell her
I actually know that’s true
because he’s been visiting me
in my dreams and begging me to help her.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn
I listen to what he says
trying to take it all in.
He’s laying his heart on the table for me.
It’s unbelievable, really,
that after all that’s happened,
he wants to do this with me.
When he says Lucca
has been visiting him in his dreams,
I let out a small gasp.
While Gabe was visiting me,
Lucca was visiting him to help me.
This means I can
tell him about Gabe
and he’ll understand.
He won’t think bad things about me.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico
I tell her
to please give us a chance,
because we’ll always wonder
what would have been if we don’t try.
When I’m done telling her all this,
I pause, take a deep breath,
and ask her what she thinks.
Mon., Feb. 13th—B
rooklyn