Nick
had the answer.
Maybe
I just
decide.
May be
right now,
in this moment,
I decide
that it’s sad
and tragic
and painful,
but feeling bad
and blaming myself
won’t
bring
him back.
And maybe
there is one more thing
I can do.
Letting Go
I sit down at the computer.
I open Word and start typing.
The words come freely,
easily, as if
my hands
have been waiting for the opportunity
to speak.
Dear Mom and Dad:
You know those nights, when you look up, and it’s so clear
you feel like you can see every single star in the universe?
And there’s always one star that shines the brightest. The star
we focus on when we say, “Star light, star bright...”
Jackson was that star in my world. He made my world brighter.
I miss him so much.
When I look out at the stars now, I wish with everything I have
that Jackson was still here. Every day, I’ve wished.
But today, I’m wondering something. What is Jackson’s wish for me?
I think his wish for me is this:
Joy, not sorrow.
Laughter, not tears.
Life, not death.
Love, not blame.
I want to make his wishes come true.
Thank you for being the best parents a girl could ever have.
Love,
Ava
I could leave it on the counter,
but something tells me
to make it official.
So I seal it in an envelope,
address it,
and find a stamp in the desk.
And then I walk outside
into the warm and inviting sunshine
and mail my letter.
I See You
I turn to head inside
and I see him.
I stop.
My feet won’t move.
He is floating behind
the window.
He looks different
than before.
More at peace.
Not so sad.
More like
the Jackson
I used to know.
That’s my girl.
Live a good life, Ava.
And then,
he disappears
and I’m left looking at
my own reflection
in the glass.
I look
more at peace.
Not so sad.
More like
the me
I used to know.
Good—bye Forever
When I come back inside,
the music has stopped.
The house
is peacefully
quiet.
I sit down
and the tears fall
softly this time.
I don’t have to go looking,
searching the house,
standing by mirrors,
waiting.
My heart knows.
He’s gone.
He loved me enough
to let me go.
Now I have to do
my part.
No guilt.
No regrets.
No shame.
I must
start living
again.
Good-bye, Jackson.
I will LOVE you 4ever.
Wake—up Call
I think I cry
myself to sleep.
I wake up
to the sound of the doorbell
ringing
over
and over
again.
I barely make it to the door.
It feels like I’ve taken
twenty pills
and can’t wake up.
As I open the door,
I remember.
Lyric.
“You were sleeping,” he says.
I smile. “Yeah.”
I invite him in,
rubbing my eyes,
thinking how terrible
I must look.
“So, you still want to go?” he asks.
“Can you wait right here?
I’ll be back.”
He smiles and nods.
And then I run upstairs
to the bathroom
because my breath
has got to be
atrocious.
Matchmaker
I brush my teeth,
brush my hair,
brush a little blush on my cheeks,
and call it good.
It doesn’t really matter.
I know that.
But it gives me the confidence
to do
what I realize
I have to do.
I go back down
and he has the remote in his hand,
flipping through
the channels.
I sit down.
He turns it off.
I smile.
He smiles.
“I’m guessing, by the look on your face,
you’ve changed your mind,” he says.
This is one
insightful
dude.
“Lyric, you are such a great guy.
And you know, you and Cali would make a fantastic couple.
She loves tacos and dogs and football, just like you.
I want you to call her. Get to know her.”
“But—,” he starts.
“No.
Please.
Don’t.
“My heart has lots of stuff it has to work through.
Throwing you into the mix, it just wouldn’t be fair.
For me or for you.”
He reaches over
and hugs me.
“Still friends, right?” I ask.
He smiles. “Yeah. Still friends.”
I walk him outside,
and as he gets in his jeep,
I don’t tell him
good-bye.
I yell out,
“Call Cali!”
I’m Definitely a Dog Person
Guilt reminds me
of a stray
cat.
You chase it away
and yet,
it comes back
when you least
expect it.
If you let yourself
feel pity for it and
feed the thing,
it parks its ugly,
puny,
lonely-for-attention
butt
on your doormat
and
won’t
go
away.
Mom and Dad
watch me
write notes
to myself
and stick them
around the house.
Joy, Not Sorrow
Laughter, Not Tears
Life, Not Death
They smile at me.
They got the letter.
They understand.
Scat,
kitty cat,
scat.
I don’t need you
sitting around here
like that.
The Perfect Gift
On my birthday,
my girlfriends
take me out
to a Mexican restaurant,
where we sip on virgin margaritas
while the waiters put a sombrero
on my head
and sing to me.
It’s definitely
a sweet birthday
and I’m so blown away
by my friends
being there
and loving me
through everything.
Maybe Mom did ask them
to check in on me.
But maybe they would have anyway.
Maybe they weren’t sure
what to say to me
or how to help me.
They tried,
and I love them
for that.
As I look at my gifts,
the bracelet Cali made for me,
the new books Zoe bought for me,
the framed drawing Jessa made for me,
I feel thankful
for the best gift of all.
It’s the one wrapped around my heart
with a big, pink bow—
the never-ending gift
of friendship.
Another Good Friend
I return,
accompanied only by
my new driver’s license,
for a visit
before summer
takes its final bow
and autumn
hits the stage.
The water glistens
as the rays
of the late afternoon sun
shine down
upon it.
It’s more inviting
than a down comforter bed
on a cold, winter night.
I’ve stayed away
from my old friend
far too long.
I didn’t visit at Zoe’s party.
I didn’t visit at the beach.
I didn’t visit the last time I was here.
I’ve missed you, friend.
I don’t blame you.
I never did.
May be I was scared.
May be it needed to mean something.
May be it just didn’t feel right.
I tear off my tank top and shorts,
but before I jump in,
I look up.
I swear he is there,
his arms outstretched,
the waterfall beneath him,
cascading into the
cool
blue
water
below.
Go on, Ava. It’s going to be great!
It’s not a dare.
Not this time.
But it’s almost like I’m on that high dive again,
scared of what comes next,
yet knowing at the same time
it will all be
okay.
The water’s cold,
but I can feel
Jackson’s smile
shining down on me,
as bright and warm
as the summer sunshine,
when he sees me wearing
the black-and-pink
bikini.
Ava
“Tell me about yourself,” Dr. Andrews asked me,
during our first session.
I thought Dr. Andrews
would be a lady
with ugly glasses
and hair in a bun
and a clipboard
where she scribbled things
like
LUNATIC
CRAZY GIRL
GUILTY AS HELL.
Instead
she is pretty,
with curly red hair,
and there isn’t any
clipboard.
When I visit her,
I sit in a comfy brown chair
and we talk.
I’ve realized therapy
is incredibly
therapeutic.
When she asked me
to talk about myself,
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“You mean things I like?”
“I’d love to know what’s special about Ava.”
I thought,
I could tell her how I’ve always loved to swim,
how I love music, movies, and shopping,
how I loved having a boyfriend
who clicked with me
from the very first second,
and how my friends
mean everything to me.
Then I thought,
too bad I’m not as much fun as Cali
or as determined as Zoe
or as brave and confident as Jessa.
They’re each so special.
“I don’t know,” I told her.
“There’s nothing special, really.”
“Was it special being Jackson’s girlfriend?” she asked.
“Very.”
She leaned forward in her chair,
like a flower in a vase,
reaching for a glimpse
of the sun.
“There are other things special about Ava Bender.
You just need to discover those things again.
Will you make a list?
And then you can share them with me when you’re ready.”
Now, as I drive along
the curvy roads
heading home from
Jackson’s Hideaway,
I remember the list
I have so far.
I am warm-hearted.
I am affectionate.
I am reliable.
I am generous.
I am smart.
I am strong.
Today,
I add another one.
I am hopeful.
And don’t miss the companion novel to
I Heart You, You Haunt Me:
Chasing Brooklyn
Mon., Jan. 2nd—Brooklyn
Gabe was one of those guys
who was full of life.
Always talking.
Always laughing.
Always wanting to be the center of attention.
Big guy
with a bigger smile
and the biggest heart.
After Lucca died,
it changed Gabe.
Of course it would.
He went from front and center
to just fading into the background.
after it happened.
Didn’t talk much.
Mostly we sat in his room,
me writing letters,
him strumming on his guitar.
Still, we promised
we’d help each other through it.
But then, something changed.
I don’t know what.
Was it him? Was it me?
He joined a different band.
Stopped coming around.
I just lost track.
We lost track.
I try to remember
the last time I saw Gabe
and I can’t.
He didn’t just fade
into the background.
He pretty much
disappeared.
#278
Dear Lucca,
Can you believe this? I can’t.
I can’t believe he’s gone.
Remember that one time the three of us went to see Kings
of Leon? Gabe sang every song. He knew every single song.
I seriously feel sick Gonna go lie down.
Love always,
Brooklyn
Mon., Jan. 2nd—Nico
Gabe and my brother
had been friends
since fourth grade.
They’d grown apart in high school
when Gabe chose music
and Lucca chose art.
Still, they had that connection,
the kind that stays strong
despite the differences.
No matter how long it’d been
since they’d seen each other,
they’d pick up right where they left off.
Gabe made Lucca laugh like no other.
Gabe with his wild hair that stuck every which way,
his pierced lip
and the
black leather jacket
he wore everywhere.
He was a character.
A character who should still be here.
Damn it all to hell.
He should still be here.
Tues., Jan. 10th—Brooklyn
I fall asleep hoping to dream
of Lucca.
Instead I’m standing in the hallway at school.
In the dark,
Alone.
I turn around
and around,
wondering where everyone is.
I want to turn on the lights,
but where do you find the lights
for a school hallway?
There’s the faint sound of footsteps.
Someone is far away.
But coming closer.
I listen.
They get louder.
I open my mouth.
I try to speak.
Nothing comes out.
I walk forward,
my arms in front of me,
trying to see my way.
There’s a faint light ahead.
I think it’s the light to the office.
If! can just make it there,
it’ll be okay.
The steps are coming faster.
My pace increases.
Just get to the office.
Nothing can hurt you there.
They’ll help you.
The light gets brighter.
I start to run.
Faster and faster
I run,
the beating of my heart
almost as loud
as the pounding of my steps.
I reach the door and look behind me,
I see someone.
Someone’s coming.
Right behind me.
I turn the doorknob.
Locked tight.
My fist pounds on the window.
I pound and pound
and open my mouth to scream.
Then, he’s there.
In front of me.
Gray skin with eyes
black as the darkest night,
and lips blood red.
He lunges for me
and I scream his name.
“Gabe!”
When I wake up
with my sheets soaked
and sticking to me like bandages,
I can’t stop shaking.
Even though I know it was a dream,
something about it
was so much more
than a dream.
A lot more.
Wed., Jan. 11th—Nico
Something happened last night
and I am freaking out.
It was almost morning. I was asleep.
I heard a noise.
A scraping noise.
I sat straight up and noticed the window was open, just slightly.
The room was freezing.
I ran to the window and closed it.
I was about to turn on the light, when I felt something.
Like someone was tight there.
I lunged for the baseball bat under my bed and started swinging.
I made my way to the light and turned it on.
No one was there.
Nothing was there.