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    I Heart You, You Haunt Me

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      “I’m not crazy,” I say.

      “He’s gone, A.

      I know you miss him.

      But you’ve got to move on.”

      “Maybe you should come and see for yourself.”

      “So, you see him?” she asks.

      “No. Well, yes, in my dreams I do.

      But in the house, he’s just there.

      I feel him.

      I smell him.

      He lets me know he’s there. In little ways.

      Even Mom says she’s smelled him.

      Sandalwood shaving cream, you know.”

      “So your mom thinks he’s a ghost, too?” she asks.

      “No. She just mentioned that she thought she smelled him.

      An observation.

      But don’t you see, it’s because he is there.”

      She shakes her head,

      stands up,

      and grabs her purse.

      “You want to go with me or should I take you home?”

      I don’t know

      what I want to do.

      It scares me to think about

      going there again.

      I look at Cali.

      That look is still

      on her face.

      I’m not crazy!

      Maybe

      there’s only one way

      to prove it.

      “Okay. I’ll go.”

      Absolutely Perfect

      We named it

      Heaven’s Hideaway.

      Who knew

      that name

      would take

      on a whole new

      meaning.

      Hidden back

      behind the

      towering green trees

      is a place

      right out of

      a fairy tale

      with a cascading waterfall

      and a large, deep pool of water

      surrounded by

      rocks

      and grass

      and ferns

      and plants

      and flowers.

      I told Jackson,

      “This must be

      what heaven looks like.”

      And so, it had a name.

      I’m the One

      Jackson and Daniel

      discovered it one day

      on a hike.

      He couldn’t wait

      to show me

      the special place.

      We packed a lunch

      and it wasn’t long before

      I found myself

      having the most

      perfect picnic

      ever.

      I loved the place

      so much.

      I’m the one

      who came up with the idea.

      I’m the one

      who said it’d be the perfect place

      for the School’s Out party.

      I’m the one

      who’s wished

      a million times over

      I never

      ever

      did.

      What a Surprise

      Cali and I arrive,

      and the party’s

      going strong.

      Someone’s set a

      boom box

      on a rock,

      and the heavy thumps drown out

      the peacefulness

      of the place.

      The peacefulness

      that Jackson and I found

      the first time we came here

      together.

      I want to focus

      on that time,

      not the other time, the last time,

      but it’s too hard

      to keep the memories

      from cascading

      into my brain.

      I shouldn’t have come.

      It’s too soon.

      Way

      too

      soon.

      “Cali—”

      But I don’t get a chance to finish.

      A chance to tell her

      I shouldn’t be here.

      “Oh, there he is,” Cali says,

      grabbing my arm.

      Squeezing it.

      He?

      Who’s he???

      And then she’s off

      to greet him.

      I watch

      and wait,

      to see who

      he

      is.

      Lyric!?

      A Rush of Emotions

      Cali wraps her arms

      around Lyric’s neck and

      hugs him.

      They do not kiss.

      So, that means

      a) they haven’t known each other long

      or

      b) they’re just friends

      or

      c) she likes him, but he doesn’t necessarily like her.

      She pulls on his arm

      and they walk toward me.

      “Ava, do you know Lyric?

      He was a senior last year.

      Running back on the football team.

      Number 11.”

      Lyric? At our school?

      How come I never noticed him before?

      Ummm, yeah,

      probably because

      he was a senior

      and way out of my league

      and I had a boyfriend

      who made me

      deliriously

      happy.

      “Hi.”

      “Hi.”

      He smiles that beach boy smile of his,

      and right then I discover

      a person has the ability

      to feel

      a hundred different emotions

      all at the same time.

      Feeling Woozy

      I look at Lyric

      and hope he knows

      he shouldn’t say

      anything

      about me and him.

      “I need to sit down,” I tell Cali.

      “Catch my breath.”

      “Are you okay?” she asks.

      “I’m fine.

      Just a lot, you know, to take in.”

      “You’re white as a ghost,” Lyric says.

      How appropriate.

      “Want me to sit with you?” she asks.

      “No. Go! Have fun.

      I’ll come find you guys in a minute.”

      They head for the crowd

      while I head away from it.

      I don’t want to talk to anyone.

      And I’m pretty sure

      no one really

      wants to talk to me.

      What do you say

      to the girl

      who was the dead boy’s

      girlfriend?

      What do you say

      to the girl

      who is looking at the place

      where it happened?

      What do you say

      to the girl

      who dared her boyfriend

      to jump

      that deadly day?

      All. My. Fault.

      I traveled to Hawaii

      with my parents

      when I was twelve.

      We went to this place

      where people dove

      off the cliffs

      into the

      cool

      blue

      waters

      below.

      For some

      totally random reason,

      on that partying

      day in May,

      I thought of those

      adrenaline junkies

      who were so much

      like Jackson.

      Then I said those

      three

      stupid

      words

      and Jackson’s eyes

      moved toward the sky,

      like a vulture eying his prey,

      as he considered

      the greatest

      challenge

      yet.

      He climbed up high.

      Way high.

      He spread out his arms,

      like Jesus on the cross,

      and shouted,

      “This is going to be so great!”

      Suddenly


      I knew.

      I knew it was a

      bad

      idea.

      I screamed, “STOP!”

      just a

      second

      too

      late.

      When Two Became One

      We waited

      for him to

      pop up

      laughing,

      SHOUTING,

      b r e a t h i n g.

      We didn’t hear

      his head

      hit the rock.

      We didn’t hear

      his cries

      of pain.

      We didn’t hear

      his last breath.

      Deadly

      silence

      floated

      on the water

      like an empty raft.

      Rescue instincts

      kicked in and

      I rushed to the water,

      hit it hard,

      and began to

      stroke

      stroke

      stroke

      like my life depended on it,

      because my life SO depended on it.

      As I swam,

      brain-photos

      appeared.

      Whirling,

      swirling,

      twirling

      images

      of football games,

      of starry nights,

      of carnival rides.

      I wasn’t the

      only one

      in the water.

      A mob

      of people

      took hold of him

      and then I

      was

      whirling,

      swirling,

      twirling

      in the sea of red

      left behind.

      The water,

      my friend forever,

      enveloped me,

      whispering,

      Stay here.

      Let me take care of you.

      Rest in my comforting arms.

      It knew.

      But other arms

      grabbed me

      and pulled me

      from heaven

      into hell.

      I lay on the ground,

      frozen from fear.

      Trees towered above me,

      shaking their wooden fingers at me.

      Screams

      of hysteria

      flew through the air,

      slamming into

      each other.

      “Call 911... He’s not breathing ... Oh my God, oh my God ...

      Do something ...”

      Three big words

      drowned them all out.

      I killed Jackson.

      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.
    r />   “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.

     

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