I Heart You, You Haunt Me (8 page)

I Need Dorothy’s Shoes

The memories

literally

make

me sick.

As I hug the tree

and lose my mocha,

all I can think about

is how I want to go home.

I need to go home.

Only problem is,

I left my cell at home,

so I can’t call my mom

to come and get me.

I gather myself

and my thoughts

and look for Cali.

I find her in the middle

of a group of kids

grooving it,

shaking it,

moving it.

“Cali,” I shout, “I need your phone.”

“How come?”

“Just because.”

“It’s in my purse.

Over there,” she says

as she waves her hand

in a big, generic swoop

in no particular direction.

I turn around

and run

right into Nick,

who’s holding hands

with a pretty little thing.

“Hey, Ava!

So great to see you!”

He gives me a quick hug,

then turns to the girl.

“This is Krystal.”

“Hi there,” I blurt out.

“Nick, can I use your phone?”

“Sorry, it’s in my car.”

“Crap.”

My head is spinning,

my stomach is churning,

my heart is aching,

and I don’t know

what to do.

And then, Lyric’s there,

pulling me away.

Away from

the music,

the laughing,

the noisy noise,

and into the quiet

of the forest.

“I have a phone you can use,” he tells me.

“Who do you want to call?”

“My mom.

I need a ride.

I shouldn’t have come.”

And before I even know what’s happening,

I’m in his sweet red jeep,

heading home.

Tears of What?

You’d think

riding in a jeep,

feeling the wind across my face,

and listening to Black Eyed Peas jam it out

with a cute guy by my side

would make me

happy.

No.

It makes me cry.

Or maybe I’m crying

for other reasons.

It’s hard to tell

when there are a hundred emotions,

all mixed up together.

He reaches over

and holds my hand

and something about that

calms me down

and the tears

stop flowing.

When we get to town,

he pulls into

the parking lot

of Taco Del Mar.

“I thought maybe we’d get a bite to eat

before I take you home.

I want to make sure you’re okay.”

I nod. “Sure.”

And so we go inside.

He orders.

I sit.

When he sits down

across from me,

he says, “I’m sorry I didn’t put it together

at the beach that you were
that
Ava.”

“Sorry?”

“I just mean, you’re going through a lot.

And I should have been, you know,

more sensitive, or whatever.”

“Are you always so
nice?”
I ask.

He smiles.

And when I get goose bumps

all over my body

because of that smile

and I think about what

a terrible girlfriend I am to Jackson,

I start to cry

all over again.

My Nose Rejoices

It’s hard to cry

in a restaurant

with napkins

as tissues

and people staring.

But Lyric

comes over to sit beside me,

puts his arm around me,

and lets me bury my face

into his soft

baby blue t-shirt

that smells like

soap

and deodorant and

real,

live

boy.

A Real, Live Boy
Friend

When I finally pull away,

he looks down at me and says,

“You were pretty brave to go back there.

Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head.

“I think we need to change the subject or something.

Unless you like your shirt
really
damp.”

He laughs. “Okay.

We’ll talk about something else.

Let me get you something to drink.”

He comes back

with the order and some drinks,

and sits across from me again.

No more touching

the real

live

boy.

“So, I’m curious about Cali,” I say.

“Where did you two meet?”

“The bookstore.

Where I work.

Just a couple of weeks ago, actually.”

“Are you going out?”

“Nah.

I don’t really know her.

There’s this other girl I like.

But she won’t give me her number.

So, I guess we’ll just be friends.”

It makes me smile.

He smiles back,

and it feels like

we’ve been friends

forever.

A friend is good.

A girl can
never

have too many friends.

So Long, Again

He drives me home.

We say good-bye.

Nothing else really.

I don’t have to tell him.

He seems to understand

it’s just too soon.

It is.

And what I know

is this:

I have

Jackson.

But is Jackson

who I really

want?

Thinking Too Hard

I shouldn’t even be thinking that question,

but it keeps popping up.

It’s there

like a dull headache

that won’t go away.

I sit on the couch

and turn the TV on

and think about

my dilemma.

I still love him.

I will always love him.

But him is the Jackson I knew.

The walking,

talking,

breathing

Jackson.

I’m just not sure

I can wholly

and completely

with everything I am

be satisfied

loving

a ghost.

And then I feel the coldness.

“Jackson,” I whisper.

“You’re here.”

Can he hear my thoughts?

Does he know?

An image of Lyric

darts in.

I shake my head.

It doesn’t help.

What is
wrong
with me????

Forever in Debt

The thing is,

I owe it to Jackson

to be here

for him.

I owe him that much.

If it weren’t for
me
,

he wouldn’t even be a ghost.

Whatever he wants,

I have to give him.

It sounds
so
easy.

It should

be

easy!

But repaying a debt

means giving up things.

Making sacrifices.

If I sacrifice my heart

for Jackson,

will I be dead

too?

Normal Is Nice

Jackson sits with me.

He plays with the TV

from time to time,

making the channels turn.

At first it makes me smile.

Then it gets on my nerves.

Big time.

Because he can’t talk

like a normal guy.

He can’t hold hands

like a normal guy.

He can’t kiss

like a normal guy.

Unless it’s in my dreams,

and then we do those last two things.

But dreaming about them

isn’t the same

as actually

doing
them

and
experiencing
them.

All he can really
do

are the strange ghostly things

that let me know

he’s here.

Don’t worry, Jackson.

I know you’re here.

Believe me.

I know.

He flicks the gas fireplace on

even though it’s like ninety degrees outside.

“Jackson,” I yell,

“stop being so
weird.”

And then

it hits me like

a fast,

open-palmed,

stinging

SMACK

in the face.

Having a ghost

for a boyfriend

is

weird.

I Want to Know How

The phone rings

as Mom walks in the door

carrying pizza

for dinner.

“Are you okay?” asks Nick

when I pick up the phone.

For some reason,

it makes me laugh.

“Is that the only sentence you know?”

He doesn’t laugh.

“It just seemed like you were upset.

When I saw you earlier.”

“Yeah. I was.

But I’m okay.

Thanks, Nick.

I guess you’re not so bad after all.

And Krystal’s really cute.”

“She’s great.

You’d like her.”

He pauses for a second.

“You know, I didn’t want to let you go,” he says.

“I liked you a lot, and I’m sorry I hurt you.

I held on, hoping things might change.

Then New Year’s Eve gave me more hope.

I held on, longer than I should have.”

“So now you’ve let go?”

“Well, I still care about you.

But yeah, I think I finally have.”

“Was it hard?” I ask.

“Letting go?”

“Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn’t real.”

I gulp. “Can I ask how you did it?”

“I just decided, Ava.

That’s all.

I just decided.”

No Rest for the Weary

This time,

I stay awake.

I avoid sleep

like my life

depends on it.

And maybe,

life,

true life,

does depend on it.

If Jackson comes into a room,

I leave

and go

someplace else.

He follows me

more than he ever has before.

Maybe he senses

the uncertainty

that has crept

into my heart.

As always,

he leaves me alone

when Mom or Dad

are there.

At night,

I curl up

in the corner of their bedroom

and listen to

Dad’s faint snoring noises

and Mom’s soft breathing sounds

and wish

I could sleep

peacefully

like that.

But I’ve got to stay awake.

I’ve got to keep distance

between Jackson

and me.

Thanks, Mom

On Sunday,

I curl up

with Mom

on the couch

and we watch

Steel Magnolias

on TNT.

When I was younger,

I always

spent Sundays

with Mom.

She’d paint my toenails.

Braid my hair.

Rub my back.

Nothing extreme.

But
so
completely satisfying.

“This gets sad,” she says.

“I know. It’s okay.”

“You look tired.”

You’d look tired too

if you hadn’t slept a minute

in two whole days.

I lay down

with my head in her lap

and she strokes my hair.

“I wish I could make it better,” she whispers.

And as I drift to sleep, I think,

You are, Mom.

You are.

A Million Apologies

He is there,

in my dream,

but I don’t let him

touch me.

Not this time.

This time,

he has to let me say it.

“Jackson, do you know how sorry I am?

Do you know if I could change places with you, I would?”

He comes closer.

I step back.

“You have to listen to me,” I tell him.

“You have to understand.

It’s my fault,

and I’m
so
sorry.

So terribly sorry!

sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

“Jackson, please forgive me.

Please!”

“It’s okay, Ava.

Ava?

AVA!?!?”

A Real—Life Nightmare

Mom is shaking me

and yelling my name

to wake me up.

“Ava, are you all right?

You were thrashing around and crying out

like someone was hurting you.”

“Mom, it hurts
so
much.

All of it.

I just want it to go away.”

I want to tell her
so
bad.

I want to tell her everything.

Except she won’t believe me.

Just like Cali didn’t believe me.

And if Mom and Dad

don’t believe me,

they’ll think I’m Crazy Girl

and send me away.

I sit up

and burst into tears

while I dissolve

into her arms.

“Shhhhhh,” she says

over

and over

again.

And then I know

there is something

I have to tell her.

I pull myself away and

look at her.

“It was my fault, Mom.

I dared him. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking.

Don’t you see?

He did it for me.”

Hard to Believe

I want to believe her

when she tells me

it wasn’t my fault

and that I have to stop

blaming myself.

She says, “It wasn’t you, Ava.

He made the choice.

Do you understand?

You did
not
push him off that ledge.”

I want to believe her

with every bone in my body.

But that is pretty much impossible

when every bone in my body

feels

so

incredibly

guilty.