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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.
I Need Mr. Sandman
Sleep doesn't come.
Night after night
I thrash around
like a fish
caught in a net
trying to escape.
And I cry
for what I've done
and who I've lost.
Four days after the funeral,
Mom shows me the phone messages
she's taken for me.
I didn't want to talk
to anyone.
Jackson's brother, Daniel, called.
Jessa and Zoe called.
Nick called,
again.
I ball them up
and throw them away.
"You're tired," Mom says.
She calls the doctor.
He prescribes Ambien.
"That's good," Mom says.
"Sleep will help."
Will anything really help?
When I wake up,
I remember.
It hurts
to remember.
Mom brings me a sandwich
and some juice.
I get up to pee
and sneak another pill.
"I need to sleep a little more," I tell Mom.
She doesn't argue.
Because sleep helps.
Company's Coming
The phone rings.
It rings and rings.
I finally drag
my butt out of bed
and answer it.
"Ava?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want to do something?" Cali asks.
"Maybe go to the pool?"
"Not really."
"Wanna do something else?"
"Not really."
"Are you okay?"
"Not really."
"Can I come over?"
"I guess."
"You need anything?"
But before I can answer, she says, "Never mind.
Stupid question."
Stupid.
But sweet.
Mirror, Mirror
I'm putting on makeup.
I'll be like a clown
and no one will see
the real face
behind the mask.
I don't want Cali to see
the sad me,
the depressed me,
the shamed me.
As I stand in the bathroom,
carefully lining my eyelids
bronze,
I feel a splash
of cool air.
I shiver.
I feel something.
Something behind me.
Something familiar.
Hauntingly familiar.
I glance behind me,
but I don't see
anything.
Or anyone.
And then,
when I look in the mirror
again,
I see,
for a split second,
not just me,
but someone else.
Jackson.
Copyright © 2008 by Lisa Schroeder