I Heart You, You Haunt Me (2 page)

Broken Promises

My mom reaches over

and pulls my hand

from my mouth

where I chew on

the little flap of skin

along the side of my thumb

since I have no more nails

left to chew on.

An ugly habit.

One I promised Jackson

I would break.

I wonder,

do you have to keep a promise

to a dead person?

Mom holds my hand

in hers as the

music starts to play.

Jackson’s

smiling face

appears on the screen

as we hear Eric Clapton’s

haunting song

Tears in Heaven.

It’s not long

before tears in heaven

make their way

to my eyes,

so I close them

for a second.

From out of nowhere,

I’m in his car, by his side.

Music playing.

Windows rolled down.

I kick off my shoes,

put my bare feet on the dashboard

and put my hand in his.

“Never leave me, okay?” I say to him.

“Okay,” he tells me.

He squeezes my hand,

like that seals the deal.

My gaze

returns to the

beautiful boy

on the screen

while

my thumb

returns

to my mouth.

He broke his promise.

I can break mine.

I Will Always Remember

The minister speaks.

“It is hard when a young life is tragically cut short.

“But we must celebrate the life that was Jackson’s.

“Look around at the friends and the family

who loved Jackson Montgomery.

“You will keep the memory of him alive.”

There is
one
memory

that floods my brain

every five minutes.

It reminds me

over

and over

and over again,

I’m the reason

my boyfriend

is gone.

Memories might keep him alive.

But they might

kill

me.

No Words

After the service,

people get in line

to tell the family,

“I’m sorry,”

“He was so young,”

and

“Let me know if I can do anything.”

I’m one of the

first people

in line

because

I want to get it over with.

His mom is there

and I try to say

“I’m sorry”

like I’m supposed to,

but the words

won’t come

from my brain

to my mouth

like they’re supposed to.

She looks at me

and I feel her eyes

piercing my heart,

making it hurt

even more.

She probably blames me

like I blame myself.

I can’t blame her

for that.

She tries to smile.

She asks politely,

with no feeling,

because she has to say

something,

“Are you okay, Ava?”

I nod,

but inside

my heart is screaming

and kicking

and stomping,

throwing a tantrum

like a two-year-old

because

I am definitely

not
okay.

She hugs me.

A quick hug.

A fake hug.

An I’m-only-hugging-you-because-I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do hug.

Next,

I hug

the people

Jackson loved

most

in the whole,

wide

world.

His sister,

then his brother.

I tell myself

to be strong.

I should be strong

for them.

But I’m not.

I sob

into Daniel’s

black jacket.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers.

“You’re going to get through this.”

Just like his brother,

thinking about me,

not himself.

After that,

I stand alone

and wait for my mom

so we can

leave.

There is no line of people coming up to me

to say “I’m sorry”

or “He was so young”

or “Let me know if I can do anything.”

It feels like everyone

is looking at me.

What are they thinking?

Do I even want to know?

And then,

like an unexpected rain shower

on a day that’s so dry

you can’t breathe,

there is Cali

squeezing me tight

and Jessa

holding my hand

and Zoe

rubbing my back.

In that moment,

I realize

a circle of love

is ten times better

than a procession

of sorrys.

The Boy

Another procession.

This time,

a line of cars

driving

to the cemetery.

Mom calls Dad

on her cell.

He’s on a business trip in Paris.

He offered to come home.

I told him it’d be okay.

I have Mom, and besides,

what could he do?

I hear Mom say,

“Beautiful service ...”

“She’s hanging in there....”

“Wish you could be here....”

“Wanna talk to Ava?”

I shake my head

and wave my hand

to tell her no.

There’s nothing to say

that she hasn’t said already.

“I guess she’s tired right now....”

I make myself

drift back

to a happier time.

Jackson came to our school

in the fall

from a different school

in a different town.

He was the boy

with the shaved head

and the little goatee.

He looked old

for a junior.

The four of us,

Cali, Jessa, Zoe, and me,

talked about him

at lunch,

eating tacos,

Cali’s favorite food.

“Maybe he had cancer,” Jessa said,

“and lost his hair.”

“That’s terrible,” Cali said.

“Maybe he thinks bald is sexy,” Zoe said.

“On him,” I said, “it is.”

He Spiced Up My Life

When you meet someone

so different from yourself,

in a
good
way,

you don’t even have to kiss

to have fireworks go off.

It’s like fireworks

in your heart

all the time.

I always wondered,

do opposites really attract?

Now I know for sure

they do.

I’d grown up

going to the library as often

as most people go

to the grocery store.

Jackson didn’t need to read

about exciting people and places.

He went out

and found them,

or created excitement himself

if there wasn’t any

to be found.

The things I like are

pretty simple.

Burning CDs around themes,

like Songs to Get Your Groove On and

Tunes to Fix a Broken Heart;

watching movies;

baking cookies;

and swimming.

It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette,

and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta.

Alone, we were good.

Together, we were fantastic.

The Final Good—bye

Ashes

to

ashes.

Dust

to

dust.

I think

this is where

I’m supposed to say

good-bye.

Is that what

everyone’s thinking?

Good-bye, Jackson?

Rest in peace?

That’s not what I’m thinking.

I’m thinking,

I hate good-byes.

“Let us pray,” the minister says.

Dear God,

What can I do?

He didn’t deserve this.

Can’t we bring him back?

Isn’t there anything that will bring him back?

Please?

Amen

I look around.

If tears

could bring him back,

there’d be enough

to bring him back

a hundred times.

It’s Not Fair

Mom takes my hand

and leads me back

to the car.

All I can think about

is how my boyfriend

will soon be

underground.

He’ll be lying there

alone

in the dirt.

Mom asks me

if I want to go to the Montgomery house,

where people will gather

to eat

and talk

and remember.

“I can’t believe people feel like eating.

And talking.

Those are the last things I want to do.”

“Life goes on, honey,” Mom says.

As we pull away,

my eyes stay glued

to the casket.

It’s proof

that sometimes

life

does

not

go

on.

As Two Names No More

Ava + Jackson = true LOVE 4ever

I
Jackson

J loves A

A loves J

Scribbles I made

on my French notebook.

I study the words

on the purple notebook

like I used to study

Jackson’s face

when he wasn’t looking.

When we got home,

Mom suggested

I write down my feelings.

Basically, keep a journal.

But I can’t stop staring

at those scribbles

and thinking about how

they used to be true.

But not anymore.

Now it’s just Ava.

No more Jackson.

No more true LOVE 4ever.

I turn the

tear-splattered cover.

I put the pen to the page.

All I can write is

Jackson

Jackson

Jackson

Jump In

I started swimming

about the time

I traded my bottle

for a sippy cup.

Mom took me to

a Baby and Me class

at the pool.

She said I was so natural

in the water,

she wondered

if she’d actually given birth

to a mermaid.

By high school

I was swimming competitively

on the swim team.

Jackson came

and watched me swim

many times.

That’s where it started.

“I dare you to jump off the high dive,” he said

one day after practice.

“You know I’m afraid of heights!”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m daring you.”

I couldn’t

disappoint

my boyfriend.

I climbed the ladder,

making sure I didn’t look down.

I inched my way

to the edge of the board,

then I crossed my fingers,

closed my eyes,

said a prayer,

and

jumped.

My stomach flew

to my throat

as the air

rushed

around me

and through me

until

I hit that water hard.

“I did it!” I yelled

as I climbed out of the pool.

He brought me a towel and simply said,

“That’s my girl.”

Nothing to Do Now

This summer,

I could have made money

at my second home.

I could have sat by the pool

in my suit,

pretending to watch the kids,

to guard lives,

while I thought about

him.

But accidents happen that way.

And my life doesn’t need any more

accidents.

So today I quit my job.

Mom asks me, “What are you going to do all summer?”

I just shrug.

Lashing Out

Nick,

my ex-boyfriend,

my boyfriend

pre-Jackson,

calls me.

“Ava?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.

Are you okay?”

“Nick, that’s a freaking ridiculous question.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nope. Not a thing.

Good-bye, Nick.”

Click.

Crap, why did I
do
that?

He was just trying to be nice.

I’m such a jerk.

Is being a jerk

one of the five

stages of grief?

Wishful Thinking

I’m sitting

on the porch swing,

thinking of how

Jackson and I

used to

sit and swing

together.

The stars are duller

than an old pocketknife.

They used to sparkle

like five-carat diamonds.

I wonder,

is heaven

up in the stars?

Beyond the stars?

Can Jackson see them

like I see them?

Is he wishing

like I’m wishing?

“Star light, star bright,” he said the first time

we sat here together.

“Make my wish come true tonight,” I said.

“That’s not how it goes.”

“Why drag it out?” I asked.

He laughed. “So, what’s your wish?”

“That time would stop,

so we could stay like this forever.”

“Tough wish,” he said.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Let’s see.

I’m hungry.

How about a cheeseburger?”

“How romantic,” I told him.

“Change your wish to a chocolate shake and we’re set.”

We went to In-N-Out Burger after that.

He got his wish.

I didn’t get mine.