Chasing Brooklyn

  scanning the vast sea of blue.

  He isn’t far at all.

  I swim as hard as I can.

  But it isn’t hard enough.

  Soon I’m pulled

  down

  down,

  down,

  choking,

  gagging,

  unable to breathe.

  When I force myself awake,

  the blankets are

  completely twisted

  around me.

  Like a mermaid tangled

  in strands of seaweed.

  As I untangle myself,

  I notice the clock says 5:30.

  It’s early, but I think of the e-mail

  and grab my phone.

  When he answers,

  it’s as if I’m still

  underwater.

  I can hardly breathe.

  Or speak.

  Wed., Jan. 18th—Nico

  I’m on my way

  to the pool to do laps

  when the phone rings.

  I see her name and press TALK.

  “Hey, Brooklyn. It’s early. You okay?”

  Silence.

  “Brooklyn?”

  More silence.

  “Okay, I’m coming over.

  Go out front and wait for me.”

  Suddenly, silence scares me

  more than any ghost could.

  Wed., Jan. 18th—Brooklyn

  The cold morning air

  makes me

  s

  h

  i

  v

  e

  r

  and s h a k e.

  My eyes scan the dark street,

  like a dog keeping watch,

  and I half expect Gabe

  to come running toward me.

  I resist the urge

  to retreat inside

  to the warmth and safety

  of home.

  Nico pulls up

  a minute later.

  I get in,

  and only then do I realize

  how scary I must look,

  with my bed-head hair

  and my dad’s extra-large raincoat

  thrown over me.

  His car is warm,

  but his voice

  is what soothes me.

  “Brooklyn, what happened?”

  I try to blink back the tears

  but I can’t,

  and so they fall.

  He reaches over

  and pulls me to him,

  hushing me like a small child

  who’s had a nightmare.

  If only he knew.

  Wed., Jan. 18th—Nico

  This girl

  is a faucet with legs.

  She’s crying.

  Again.

  Obviously, my brother is right.

  She needs help.

  But what kind of help?

  And why am I the one who’s supposed to give it?

  She calms down fairly quickly

  as I hold her close and let her know

  it’s going to be okay.

  When I ask her what’s wrong, she doesn’t say.

  I ask again and again,

  begging like a blind man on the street corner.

  Finally she says,

  “I just feel so … alone.”

  There’s more though.

  She’s hiding something.

  How can I get the real reason to come out and play?

  She kicks my duffel bag at her feet.

  “Where were you going so early?” she asks.

  “The pool,” I tell her. “I’m training for a sprint triathlon.”

  “What’s that?” she asks.

  “A half-mile swim. Twelve-mile bike. Three-mile run.”

  She looks confused. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. It’s not that hard. I mean, if you train right.

  Honestly, it helps me. To deal with it all.”

  And as I relay this information to her,

  a brilliant idea strikes at the perfect time.

  Running helps me.

  Maybe it can help her.

  “You should do it with me,” I say.

  “We can train together. It’d be good for you!”

  She looks at me like I’ve asked her to join the marines.

  “No. Oh, no. I have school. And my dad.

  I mean, no. I don’t think I could.

  Besides, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “Brooklyn, it’s great for that.

  You’ll sleep better if you work out.”

  There’s something in her eyes that

  tells me she wants to believe me.

  She turns and stares down the dark, quiet street.

  I wish I could hear her thoughts.

  I wish I could make her feel safe enough to tell me.

  I wish I could get her to say yes.

  Wed., Jan. 18th—Brooklyn

  He wants me

  to do what?

  Swim

  and bike

  and run

  all in one race?

  Is he crazy?

  He thinks I could do that?

  I’m an artist

  not an athlete.

  Except lately,

  I’m not much

  of anything.

  I look at him.

  Strong.

  Happy.

  Excited.

  I can’t even remember

  what that feels like.

  I’m so tired of

  thinking about Gabe,

  worrying about Gabe,

  running from Gabe.

  Maybe some distraction

  is just what I need.

  Nico’s still staring at me,

  willing me to say okay.

  And to my surprise,

  that’s exactly what I say.

  Wed., Jan. 18th—Nico

  I watch her

  go back inside and wonder

  what’s really going on.

  She never said.

  At least we’re making progress.

  Going somewhere instead of

  standing still.

  Motion is always preferable

  to stagnation.

  When you move,

  things happen.

  You’re alive.

  Stay still too long,

  and it’s hard to get moving again.

  Gotta keep things moving.

  Wed., Jan. 18th—Brooklyn

  When I get to school,

  I start to tell Kyra

  I’m having a hard time.

  But her eyes glimmer

  like diamonds in a glass case

  as she talks about Tyler.

  They’re working together

  on a project in class,

  getting to know each other

  and apparently,

  there are sparks.

  I can’t douse those sparks.

  Sparks are good

  because they lead to fire.

  Warm, lovely fire.

  If I could just figure out

  what Gabe wants.

  Fear controls me?

  What did he mean?

  “Brooklyn?”

  Kyra grabs my hand.

  “You okay?”

  I look into her sparkly eyes.

  I give her my best smile.

  “Yeah. Of course! I’m great!”

  #285

  Dear Lucca,

  Do you remember when we were falling in love? When we couldn’t stand to be apart for any length of time? I loved that feeling. I loved knowing you’d be waiting for me before and after school, in between classes, and lunchtime. I loved having something to look forward to each day.

  Maybe that’s why I’ve agreed to do this crazy thing with your brother. I think it’s about needing something to look forward to. I may hate it, I may love it, but at least it’s something to get out of bed for every day.

  Love always,


  Brooklyn

  Thurs., Jan. 19th—Nico

  I still can’t believe

  she said she’d do it.

  I told her all she needs is

  the right attitude and dedication.

  She called last night

  to tell me she went to the website

  and signed up.

  We’re meeting this morning to run.

  Lucca would be so proud of her.

  He didn’t visit last night

  so maybe I’m heading in the right direction.

  When I pull into the parking lot

  and see her running around the track,

  I know I am.

  Thurs., Jan. 19th—Brooklyn

  My first day of training

  goes something like

  jog two laps,

  walk one,

  jog two,

  walk two,

  jog one,

  walk one.

  When we’re finished,

  we make plans

  for the next few days.

  During the school week,

  we’ll meet in the mornings,

  before school.

  On the weekends,

  we’ll do more,

  varying what we do

  and for how long.

  As we talk,

  I can’t believe

  I’m really doing it.

  Some people

  look at my flower art

  and think it’s so amazing

  I’m able to do that.

  It isn’t amazing to me.

  It’s just color and paper

  and trying my best to do the beauty

  of the flowers

  justice.

  But an athlete,

  who can push himself to go on

  when his body is

  longing,

  pleading,

  crying

  to stop?

  That’s amazing.

  Nico says the race will be a piece of cake

  as long as we’re consistent.

  It’s like

  if you consistently say thanks,

  being grateful is easy.

  If you consistently say I love you,

  being loving is easy.

  If I consistently train,

  being a triathlete will be easy.

  I’ll believe it when I see it.

  Thurs., Jan. 19th—Nico

  “Good job,”

  I tell her as we walk to our cars.

  “That wasn’t too hard,” she says.

  “It’ll get harder, right?”

  “The key is to be consistent,” I tell her.

  “Consistently train, consistently push yourself,

  and the race will be a piece of cake.”

  “Mmmm, cake,” she says. “I’m hungry.”

  I smile. Look at my watch.

  “Just enough time to shower and grab some breakfast.”

  We talk some more about the coming days

  and what I have planned for training.

  She listens, nods her head, not saying much,

  and again I wish I knew what she was thinking.

  Sometimes she’s hard to read.

  Finally, she speaks.

  “This working out stuff, it really helps you?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “It helps. A lot.”

  “Good. Okay. See you tomorrow morning, then.

  Wait, tomorrow’s Friday, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Listen to this. I got invited to a party tomorrow night.

  Bree and Melinda. Apparently it’s a party to honor Gabe.

  You heard about it?”

  I shake my head. “But hey, you’re an athlete now.

  Athletes don’t party.”

  She waves her hand at me and walks away. “Don’t worry.”

  Kind of hard not to.

  Thurs., Jan. 19th—Brooklyn

  I’m back home

  and showered before Daddy

  even wakes up.

  Later, we meet in the kitchen,

  as the coffeemaker

  gurgles and spits,

  the delicious aroma

  circling around us.

  I’m making toast

  when the phone rings.

  He answers it,

  while I spread peanut butter.

  The coffeemaker stops,

  so I get two cups and fill them up.

  When he comes back,

  he’s got a scowl on his face

  that screams trouble.

  “What?” I ask. “What is it?”

  “It was your math teacher.

  Apparently you’re flunking.”

  I gulp. “It’s fine, Daddy.

  Please don’t worry.

  I’ll bring it up.

  I’ve just gotten a little behind.

  That’s all.”

  “A little behind?” he says.

  “An F is not a little behind.

  Should I get you a tutor?”

  I shake my head. “No. I don’t need one.

  I’ll catch up. I promise.”

  He grabs his cup off the counter

  and takes a big swig.

  “I’m giving you a month,” he says.

  “Understand?”

  I nod.

  And then he stomps out.

  Maybe training

  will help my grades, too.

  It seems to be the solution

  to everything else.

  #286

  Dear Lucca,

  Life is so freaking hard. How do people do it? How do people get up every day and deal with the shit?

  It really makes you understand why there are so many messed-up people in the world. I mean, it’s tough, trying to deal with demands coming at you from all sides.

  Unless you’re Tom Strong. Then, you can handle anything.

  If you could have one superhero power, what would it be? I’d want the ability to be invisible. Maybe then, everyone would just leave me alone.

  Love always,

  Brooklyn

  Thurs., Jan. 19th—Nico

  At lunchtime

  Brooklyn’s in the caf

  sitting with a group of girls.

  I wave, and she smiles at me.

  I grab my usual fare of chips and beef jerky

  and head to my truck.

  I haven’t eaten lunch anywhere else in so long.

  I have friends.

  Or I think I have friends.

  Since my brother died, they act strange.

  Or maybe I act strange.

  Every day, I pull out my sword,

  a warrior ready to battle life,

  and do what I have to do to survive the pain

  of living without Lucca.

  He was my best friend.

  My very best friend.

  So excuse me if I act strange.

  Losing your brother and your best friend

  all in one fell swoop

  will do that to a guy.

  Thurs., Jan. 19th—Brooklyn

  My friends

  are hungry like wolves

  at lunchtime.

  But not for the

  taco salads

  they nibble on

  as they talk.

  Hungry for love.

  Elizabeth’s gaga over a guy named Gavin,

  who sits next to her in Art class.

  I’ve seen her blinking big puppy-dog eyes

  and wagging her bootylicious tail,

  trying to get his attention.

  Kyra’s talking about her merman,

  wiggling in her seat like a two-year-old.

  “Please go to the dance with me next week,” she says.

  “I heard Tyler talking to one of his friends.

  He’s planning on going.

  Please, Brooklyn?”

  I sigh. “Maybe.”

  They’re hungry all right.

  As for me,

  I eat my taco salad
,

  wondering if I’ll

  ever feel hungry

  again.

  Fri., Jan. 20th—Nico

  This morning

  we meet at the pool,

  the stars and the moon our only spectators.

  When she pulls up in her dad’s Mercedes,