We took the morning off,
but tomorrow, it’s back to it.
“What are you guys doing?” she asks
after he leaves.
“Training together.”
“Is that all?” she asks,
her eyebrow raised.
“Yes, Kyra.
That’s all.”
“It’s okay.”
“What’s okay?” I ask.
“Just, you know,
whatever happens, it’s okay.
Don’t be afraid.”
And I think,
what a weird thing
to say.
Mon., Jan. 23rd—Nico
I feel eyes on us
in the hallway as we talk.
Like talking to someone
means something more
than just talking.
Jesus.
Like she would ever want
anything to do with me
after she had the greatest boyfriend
in the history of mankind.
Talking is just talking, people.
Get a grip.
Tues., Jan. 24th—Brooklyn
I’m in a castle,
standing in a tower,
looking down through a window
at the beautiful garden,
the sun setting in the distance.
The beauty in the moment
brings tears to my eyes.
Sky blue pink,
the backdrop for
roses in every color
blooming in the garden.
When Lucca
comes running up the walkway,
beside the gardens,
I gasp.
His eyes scan the area,
as if looking for someone.
“Lucca,” I yell, waving.
“Lucca, I’m up here!
He comes closer to the tower,
still looking around him.
“Brooklyn, don’t be afraid,” he yells.
“Afraid?” I say, laughing.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“It’s not about me,” he said.
“Please, Lucca, come up here.
Come and see me.
Please?”
He shakes his head
and looks around some more.
“I can’t.
I’m not supposed to be here.
Remember what I said, okay?”
In an instant,
he’s gone.
Not the first time.
My heart breaks.
Also not the first time.
I long to go after him.
To find him
and hold him
and kiss him
in the loveliest of gardens.
Behind me,
I hear a noise
and when I turn,
there’s Gabe,
standing in front of
the only exit.
“No,” I say.
“Please, no.”
“Stop the fear,” he says,
his eyes fierce.
He takes a step toward me.
And another.
“Please,” I say,
backing toward the window.
“Leave me alone.”
He’s just a step away now.
The window’s here,
my only way out.
I don’t hesitate.
I
y jump.
For hours after that,
I’m awake,
writing in my notebook
and reading comic books.
The last time I look at the clock,
it says 4:30.
Like I can sleep.
My alarm will go off at 5:00.
I wonder
if I’ll hear it….
#288
Dear Lucca,
I can’t believe it. You were there in my dream.
For only a second, but it was you. I loved seeing
you. You said you weren’t supposed to be there.
What does that mean? Of course you should be
in my dreams. You more than anyone should
be in my dreams. Don’t say things like that.
I’d actually hoped I was done with those dreams.
But I guess not. Why can’t he just leave me alone?
Anyway, if I’m going to keep dreaming, I hope
you come back.
Love always,
Brooklyn
Tues., Jan. 24th—Nico
She doesn’t show up
at the swimming pool.
Maybe she forgot.
Maybe she went to the track instead.
I swim alone,
trying to block out the other maybes
popping up in my brain.
The ones that make me want to climb out,
drive to her house,
and make sure she’s okay.
Maybe she overslept.
That’s got to be it.
She just overslept.
Tues., Jan. 24th—Brooklyn
At lunch, I wander outside,
needing fresh air in my lungs
more than greasy food in my stomach.
Kyra’s in the library
studying for a test.
I see Nico,
or part of him anyway,
sticking out of the hood of his truck,
like a skilled lion-tamer
in his lion’s mouth.
“Hey,” I say.
“Nice engine.”
He stands up and gives me a look,
as if I’ve just told him
he has a nice ass.
A little taken aback.
“You know a nice engine when you see it?”
“Not really,” I tell him.
“Just thought it sounded good.”
He walks to the cab
and grabs a quart of oil.
“Where were you this morning?”
“Rough night.
Didn’t sleep well.
Sorry.”
I let out a deep breath
as he puts the oil in.
“I wish life was like a car engine,” I say.
His eyes squint
in confusion.
“When something’s wrong,” I explain,
“you get a mechanic, and it’s fixed.”
He stands up. Looks at me.
“Is something wrong, Brooklyn?”
I shrug and turn my face
toward the shining sun,
wanting it to shine forever,
keeping the darkness at bay.
“It’s a lot of things, I guess.
Mostly, I just wish we could go back.
I miss him, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
“I better go.
See ya, Nico.”
“Brooklyn?”
I turn around.
He’s smiling.
I feel warmth.
Is that the sun?
Is that a dimple on his left cheek?
“I’m a pretty good mechanic.
Just keep that in mind, okay?”
Tues., Jan. 24th—Nico
I can fix cars.
I can fix fences.
I can even fix a drippy faucet.
But if this is a broken-heart issue
and Lucca is relying on me to fix that,
I don’t know if I’m the right guy.
I’ve never fixed a single
broken heart in my whole life.
Been the one to do the breaking
a time or two.
But fix one?
Whole new territory.
Wed., Jan. 25th—Brooklyn
I sleep well
until rancid breath
on my face
wakens me.
Fear creeps down my spine
and I gasp, sitting up.
I wait
and watch.
What does he want?
Will he ever tell me?
Or is he just tormenting me
for the fun of it?
Out of the corner of my eye
I see something move.
A little white moth
flying here and there,
around my lamp,
seeking the light
like a lost child
seeking his mother.
And then,
in an instant,
the moth disappears.
Gone.
Until it miraculously
appears from nowhere
dropped on my blankets
right in front of me.
Dead.
Wed., Jan. 25th—Nico
Last night
I had a dream.
Lucca and I sitting in a baseball stadium,
the only ones in the stands,
with the field spread out before us like a feast for a king.
Baseball hats on our heads.
Blue sky and warm sunshine.
The smell of hot dogs in the air.
Two brothers, side by side, waiting for the game to start.
“Who’s playing?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“No. Not really.”
Me and him together, that’s what mattered.
“Brooklyn misses you,” I said.
He looked at me, his blue eyes stern.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re there. I’m not.
Don’t give up on her. Please, Nico.
I gave up on him. And look what happened.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Gabe. I gave up on Gabe.
Those last days when he was spiraling out of control.
I didn’t know what else to do. So I gave up.
And look what happened.”
“Lucca, if you tried to help him,
why can’t you try and help her?” I asked.
“She’s too emotionally dependent on me as it is,” he said.
“You know those flowers she draws?
She’s like them in so many ways, Nico.
Bright and beautiful.
Lights up the world with her colorful way of seeing things.
And she’s fragile. Right now, really fragile.
Handle with care, you know?”
I know.
A flower girl indeed.
Wed., Jan. 25th—Brooklyn
Ghost in my bedroom.
Ghost in my dreams.
Is there something to tell me?
Or is he making me pay?
Is he stuck in the past?
Is there comfort in this?
Can’t he see what he’s doing?
Making life hell on earth.
If that’s the main point,
then I won’t let him win.
He simply
can’t
win.
Wed., Jan. 25th—Nico
As we run around the track,
a stray dog finds us.
A black Pomeranian,
groomed and healthy, but no tag.
We sit on the damp grass, petting him.
“Should we take him to the shelter?” Brooklyn asks me.
“Nah. I’ll go door-to-door.
He’s gotta live around here.”
“But what about school?” she asks.
I shrug.
“Some things are more important.
Someone must be missing him.
Imagine if it were you.”
She tilts her head and smiles.
“You are good at fixing things, aren’t you?”
I feel my cheeks get warm.
“I don’t know.
All I can do is try.”
Wed., Jan. 25th—Brooklyn
After dinner
my thoughts are here
and there
and everywhere
and I give up on math
before I even really start.
I keep thinking about that dog.
About Nico.
I don’t know that
I’ve ever seen
such determination
to be good and kind
and helpful.
How often do you find
a combination of strength
and goodness
rolled into one?
And then,
it hits me like
a ton of comic books
alongside the head.
Tom Strong.
Nico is a real-life
Tom Strong.
Wed., Jan. 25th—Nico
When she calls me
I half expect to hear
a crying girl on the other end.
But no tears tonight.
“Did you find the dog’s home?” she asks.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Oh, good,” she says. “I’m so glad.
“So, the pool tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Five thirty. Got your alarm set?”
She laughs. “Yes, my alarm is set.
I promise I’ll be there.”
“Okay, good. Try and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Hey, Nico?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you still like to cook?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just curious. Maybe we can have pasta
the night before the race.
That’s what runners do, right? Load up on carbs?”
“So you an expert on racing now, Brooklyn?”
“Hardly,” she says. “But I’m gonna do this thing.
I want to know what it feels like
to run across a finish line.
Despite all the obstacles and setbacks,
to go out and do it. You know?”
“Yep. I know.”
“Bye, Nico.”
“Bye.”
Wed., Jan. 25th—Brooklyn
I wake
to something in my hand.
My notebook
with letters to Lucca.
On the front cover
in big, black ink
in ugly, scribbly handwriting
it says,
Love is the answer. Not fear.
I toss it on the floor,
thankful he didn’t give me something
dead this time.
Thurs., Jan. 26th—Nico
When we meet at the pool,
she asks me for details on getting the dog home.
It was an hour and a half of knocking on doors.
I was starting to worry I’d been wrong
when a car pulled up beside me with an old guy and his wife.
They jumped out yelling, “There you are!”
Brooklyn leans against the door
leading to the women’s locker room and smiles.
“I love happy endings.
So what was his name?”
“Lucky,” I tell her.
“His name was Lucky.”
She winks at me before she pushes on the door.
“Lucky indeed.”
Thurs., Jan. 26th—Brooklyn
While I change
into my suit,
I think about that little dog, Lucky.
I was ready to give up right away.
Take him to the shelter.
Let someone else deal with him.
Not Nico.
He’s not the kind of guy
to back down.
He holds on tight
when he cares strongly
about something.
Or someone.
I know Lucca
loved that about him.
I can see why.
Thurs., Jan. 26th—Nico
I’m a guy.
I tell myself this every time I see Brooklyn