He waited outside the spa
until we walked up.
He pulled me aside,
all pissed off,
and told me
I totally ruined his day.
He said, “I had something special planned.”
“Special?” I asked,
wondering what exactly that meant.
He shrugged
and pulled two
basketball tickets
out of his pocket.
I burst out laughing and
punched him in the arm.
“Basketball is not special!”
He couldn’t help it.
He started laughing too.
Then he pulled me
into his arms
and whispered
in my ear,
“I just love you so much.
I want to be with you always.”
It’s like I can hear him
repeating those words now.
I go to work
putting all the stuff back
where it belongs.
The room starts to warm up,
which makes
the ice in the igloo
start to
m
e
l
t
and I whisper into
the silence of the night,
“I want to be with you always too.”
Like a warm summer breeze
in my head,
I hear his words.
This is so hard for me, Ava.
I want it to be like it was before.
I’ll try to be more understanding.
Please forgive me?
Like he even
has to ask.
The Sea of Love
When exhaustion
finally hits me,
I fall into bed.
It’s not long
before I’m in that
strange place
between asleep
and awake,
where you might
fall off a cliff
or find a stranger
chasing you.
But tonight,
waiting for me
behind the magical
curtain of dreams,
there’s Jackson,
as clear as the
sparkling silver tips
of the sea
that surround the boat
we’re rocking in.
We face each other,
the full moon
so iridescent,
it reminds me of
the glow-in-the-dark planets
I used to have
on my ceiling.
We stand there
in peaceful darkness,
not talking,
not touching,
but feeling
volts of electricity
charging through our veins.
When he finally
reaches out
to touch me,
the energy
is so intense,
I jump.
He pulls me to him
and kisses me,
his lips
so soft,
so delicious,
so real,
I can’t help
but reach up
and touch them
with my fingers.
And once I feel his skin
beneath my fingers,
I want more.
It’s like he’s a map
and I’m trying to find
my way home.
While we kiss,
my hands travel
across his chest,
down his arms,
to his hands,
where our
fingers
intertwine.
We raise
our hands
in the air
above us,
victorious in love,
only to let go
and push ourselves
together
even closer.
When we
release our lips,
we both
g a s p
for air.
Then,
he cradles my body
as he ever-so-gently
lays my
q
u
i
v
e
r
i
i
g
body
down.
Our eyes locked,
my finger
traces his jaw.
Before I can say
I love you,
I’m swimming
in the
warm sea
of his
kisses
once again.
Question of the Way
Can a girl
lose her
virginity
to a
ghost?
Christmas in Paris
It’s Sunday morning
and Dad takes me out
for breakfast.
I get pancakes with strawberries
and whipped cream.
Dad orders pigs in a blanket.
We both have coffee
with sugar.
Lots and lots of sugar.
Dad talks about Paris
and how he’d love to take me
and Mom there
someday.
He says I’d love the Eiffel Tower,
the Arc de Triomphe,
the Louvre,
the cafés, the shopping.
“Let’s go at Christmastime,” he says.
I think of my three best friends.
They would love to go to Paris.
Why not me?
Maybe it’s because
Paris is really
far away
and we would have to
stay away from home
for a really
long time.
You Lift Me Up
On the way home
Dad drives past the place
where the city’s festival
is held every spring.
Jackson took me
to the carnival.
We rock-and-rolled
on the roller coaster
and French-kissed
on the merry-go-round
and laughed hysterically
on the hammerhead.
We ate corn dogs
and curly fries
and raspberry scones.
“I want one of those!” I said,
pointing to the big stuffed teddy bears
hanging above the
MILK CAN SOFTBALL TOSS.
Jackson stuck his chest out
and said, “No problem!”
Twenty dollars later
I was stuck with
a teeny-tiny
yellow
stuffed
snake.
“How appropriate,” Jackson told me.
“These guys are so slimy.
’Step right up!
We’ll take all your money,
and even better,
make you look like a loser
in front of your girlfriend!’”
I laughed
and told him
I loved my
teeny-tiny snake
and who needs
a big, old teddy bear
anyway,
when I have a perfectly
good boyfriend
to cuddle with.
With his last dollar,
he turned to the man
selling balloons
and bought me
a red one.
“A balloon and a snake?
This is my lucky day!”
But as he reached out
to hand me the balloon,
I didn’t quite have a grip
on the string.
As we watched and a
way,
the balloon up
float up
up
Jackson whispered into my ear,
“Ava,
you are my helium.”
He was always good
at making the best of things.
Daddy’s Little Girl
The tears roll down my face,
without notice,
without effort,
but with feeling.
I thought I was done crying.
I mean, Jackson’s come back to me.
And yet, there won’t be
any more days
like that day
at the carnival.
Jackson may be back,
but those days
are gone
forever.
Dad looks over at me.
And then he turns away.
He doesn’t say
anything.
What’s he thinking?
That this is all for the best,
because when you’re fifteen,
you shouldn’t be so serious,
like he and Mom told me a few months ago?
Mom and Dad liked Jackson.
I know they did.
He stayed for dinner sometimes
and he made them laugh,
telling stories about his brother and sister
and the pranks they played on one another.
But my parents worried.
“You’re so young ...”
“You’re spending too much time together....”
“How serious is it...”
I look at Dad.
He looks at me
again.
Then his hand reaches up
and wipes the tears away,
without notice,
without effort,
but with feeling.
“I remember when you were little,” he says,
“you’d fall down and scrape your knee.
And you’d come running over to me, crying and crying.”
“Then you’d kiss it,” I tell him,
“and make it better.”
I remember too.
It was so easy then.
“I know you loved him a lot.
And I wish I could make this better.”
So that’s
what he was
thinking.
“I love you, Dad.”
I Do What I Have to Do
The real estate business
slows down in the summer.
Mom is home
more and more.
Jackson’s there
less and less.
So I endure the long days
to enjoy the sweet
but silent
nights
where he often visits
in my dreams.
I tried to talk once,
to tell him
how sorry I feel.
But he covered my lips
with his
and that was that.
At least in my dreams
I have his soothing touch.
Even in the silence,
my heart overflows
with the love
that is all
Jackson’s.
I wake later
and later
and later
each day.
I search the cupboards
and drawers
for the pills
Mom gave me
so I might
sleep all the time
like I did before.
But I can’t find them.
Don’t Be Blue
“Come with me,” Mom says.
“To the library.
Books and summertime
go together.”
“No.
I don’t feel well.”
“Are you okay?” Mom asks.
“You’ve been sleeping a lot.
Maybe we should take you to the doctor.”
“I’m fine, Mom.
Just have a cold or something.”
So, she leaves without me.
The CD player turns on
You’re The One, by Sugarcult.
A blue bouncy ball
rolls across the floor.
I pick it up.
There’s scribbled writing,
hard to read.
I figure out it says:
Don’t be blue.
I love you!
Let the Sunshine In
The doorbell rings.
Surprise!
I’m in my ratty robe
with pictures of sunglasses
splattered on the fabric.
I peek out and see
Cali, Zoe, and Jessa.
When I open the door,
Jessa says,
“Dude, you look like shit.”
That’s Jessa.
Always telling it like it is.
They don’t wait for me
to invite them in.
They each give me a hug,
then plop themselves
on the couch.
“So.
What’s new?” I ask.
“I got a puppy,” Cali says.
“A cockapoo. I named him Gumball.”
“Gumball?” I ask.
“He’s so cute,” Zoe says.
“But even bigger news is Cali met someone,” Jessa blurts out.
“You did?” I ask.
“He was a senior last year,” Cali says.
“But it’s still early in the game.
I have to work on him some more.
Get him to ask me out.”
As she talks,
I notice how gorgeous
they all look
in their tank tops
and shorts,
their tan legs
and painted toes.
They look
how California girls
should look
in the summer.
I glance down
at myself.
I’ve got sunglasses
on my robe.
And that’s about it
for me.
Jessa
I’ve always been the quiet girl.
I’m the good girl
who does
what she’s told
(most of the time).
Jessa is the loud girl.
She’s the bad girl
who makes you
want to be bad too,
because it looks
so good
on her,
with her pierced nose
and her wild hair.
She’s the youngest
in a family
with six kids.
I think she had to be loud
and bad
so she wouldn’t
be forgotten.
Jessa loves the movies.
We went to the movies together a lot,
while Cali and Zoe
played volleyball.
The first time we went,
Jessa said,
“Let’s stay and see another one.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to do that.”
“Why not?” she said.
“No one will know.”
Then she pulled me into
another theater
to watch
another movie.
And then we went to her house,
where she showed me
the book of drawings she keeps.
Fairies,
elves,
dragons,
and wizards.
She is such a talented artist.
“When I turn eighteen,” she told me,
“I’m going to get a bunch of these
as tatoos.”
Yeah,
I don’t think Jessa
needs to worry
anymore
about being
forgotten.
/> Jessa is definitely
unforgettable.
In the very best way,
of course.
The Truth Hurts
“Wanna shower? Go somewhere?” Zoe asks.
“We could cruise around in my new car,” Jessa says.
“You got a new car?” I ask.
“What’d you get?”
“Well, it’s used, but new to me.
It’s a Mazda Protégé.”
Wow.
Guess things are happening
out there
in the big, blue world.
“Come on,” Cali says.
“Let’s split this joint.”
“Nah.
I’m not really up for anything today.”
Jessa stands up.
“Ava, this isn’t healthy.
It’s beautiful out. Come on.
You’re not the dead one, you know.”
“Jessa!” Zoe yells.
“Oh, God,” Cali says.
“Nice, Jessa.”
“Sorry,” Jessa says.
“I’m so sorry.
Forgive me?”
“You guys just don’t have a clue what I’m going through,” I say
as I pick at a loose thread on my robe.
“So tell us,” Jessa says.
“We’re here. Help us understand.”
I stand up.
“I have stuff to do,” I tell them,
which is a total lie
and they know it.
“Thanks for stopping by.”
I walk to the door, open it, and wait.
“Bye, Ava.”
“Bye, Hon.”
“I’m sorry, A.”
“Yeah,” I tell them, in almost a whisper.
“It’s okay.
See ya later.”
I go to the front window
and watch their beautiful, tan bodies
get into Jessa’s cute car.
They wave
and then the car
zips out of the driveway
and down the street
in a flash of silver.
The room gets cold.
Jackson is there.
“How come you can’t go out, Jackson?
Do you want me here with you all the time?
I feel like you do.
Will you get mad at me if I go with my friends?
I mean, I have a life, Jackson.
Or, I should anyway.
Do you get that?”
No answer.
“Why can’t ghosts TALK!?” I scream.
The Closest Thing to Talking
I sit on the couch
and cry
because everything is so
confusing
and mixed up.
Suddenly,
the music stops.
Oh, no.
No, please,
don’t go!
I shouldn’t have
screamed
like that.
This isn’t his fault.
Does he hate me now?
I stand up
and call his name.
“Jackson?
JACKSON!?”
“Please come back,” I shriek,
crying and pacing.
“Please don’t leave me
by myself!”
When I feel the cold air
flutter around me
like a butterfly’s wings,
I Heart You, You Haunt Me Page 4