I tell him,
I care about him very much.
That he is a real-life Tom Strong,
always trying to help me
and lift me up any way he can.
I tell him
how much I admire his dedication
to do the right thing.
How much I love his kind heart
and passion for the people and things
he cares about.
I tell him
he has so many good qualities.
Just like his brother did.
But different ones.
They’re different, he and his brother.
One not better than the other.
Simply different.
When I say this, he turns away from me.
Looks out the window.
Takes a deep breath.
And suddenly I know,
this is what he needed to hear.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico
We are different.
One isn’t better than the other.
Simply different.
“Nico?” she says.
“Look at me.”
I turn and face her.
“You don’t have to be him. Just be you.
Wonderful, strong, kind you.”
And it’s what I’ve needed to hear.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn
Our food comes
so we’re quiet for a while, eating.
When we’re done,
I tell him there’s one more thing
he needs to know.
I tell him
I’ve been keeping something from him.
Afraid of what he might think if I told him.
Afraid to share a part of myself with him.
But I’m ready to tell him.
I finally tell him
about Gabe.
Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico
When she tells me about Gabe
and how he chased her down
dark hallways and through gray cemeteries,
it all makes sense.
The late-night and early-morning calls,
the fear in her eyes,
the panic in her voice,
Lucca’s insistence I help her.
Gabe.
Dream after frightening dream,
she didn’t know what to do.
But always, through it all,
I was there, training with her,
a welcome distraction from the horror.
“Has it ended?” I ask.
“I think so,” she says.
“We made a promise. A long time ago.
He wanted to see it through.
To help me see how afraid I was to live.
I mean, think about it.
Art has always been my passion.
And I hadn’t drawn in a year!”
Tears fill her eyes. Mine too.
I want to reach out to her. Hold her.
But something tells me to wait.
She looks at me. Sadness in her eyes.
“Nico, I have to be honest with you.
I’m making progress. I am.
But this, with you,
I’m just not ready to make a decision yet.”
“Progress is good,” I tell her.
She smiles. “In a race and in life?”
“Exactly.
And Brooklyn, don’t worry.
I’ll wait for you at the finish line.”
Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn
He takes me home,
and I tell him
I’m going to keep training.
But for now,
it needs to be without him,
because I need some time.
“Whatever you need,” he says.
When I get out of his truck
I look up.
The clouds are silvery soft.
Looks like rain
will be falling soon.
I turn around and see
he’s looking up too.
Then he waves
and drives away.
Sun., Feb. 19th—Nico
The extended family is gone
after another successful spaghetti Sunday.
I always miss him on this day.
A little more than other days.
I go to my room and put on an old Killers CD.
And I wait.
When Smile Like You Mean It
begins to play,
I feel the cold rush of air,
and the light flickers just enough
so I know he’s there.
I let him listen
and right before it ends,
I hold up the book A Cry for Help.
“It’s your turn, Lucca.
I’ve done all I can.”
The light goes completely out
before the room warms up.
Maybe that’s a ghost’s way of saying,
“Over and out.”
Sun., Feb. 19th—Brooklyn
It’s Daddy’s birthday
I bake him a cake and while it’s cooling,
I tell him I have a surprise for him.
But he has to go somewhere with me
to get it.
We go to the animal shelter,
and as we wander through the place,
I know he’s wishing he could
take them all home.
“How do I choose, Brooklyn?” he asks.
“I think when it’s right, you know,” I tell him.
“Like you’ll get a feeling it’s the right one.”
As we wander around,
I spot a Pomeranian.
It takes me back to that day,
when luck was on Lucky’s side.
When Nico was on Lucky’s side.
It takes my dad a good two hours
to find the right one.
But when we put the
sweet blue heeler named Sadie
in the backseat,
it feels right.
I look at my dad,
a big grin on his face.
He knows he’s made
the right decision.
She’s the one.
I wish for a little
of that knowing.
Wed., Feb. 22nd—Nico
Charlie comes over
after school to study for a trig test.
When we’re done he says
we should play Guitar Hero.
I tell him I broke the guitar.
He laughs and wants to know
how I managed to do that.
And so I tell him about the day
I heard of Gabe’s death.
“What’s your theory?” he asks me.
“About what happened to him.”
I look out the window.
I think of him and me.
How in some ways,
we really weren’t that different.
“I don’t know what happened.
But I think he was lost.
He needed an escape.
And my guess is, he didn’t intend
to go that far.
It just happened.
Like sometimes I’m running
and I don’t want to stop.
I want to keep going,
because deep down inside,
you wonder if there’s
a reason to come back, you know?”
Charlie nods. “Dude, can I just say,
it’s great to have you back.”
Fri., Feb. 24th—Brooklyn
I’m standing
on the road,
a car beside me,
wrecked beyond belief.
Their car.
I walk around it,
looking for them,
but it’s empty.
The hillside
next to the road
is covered
in forget-me-nots.
Small.
Dainty.
Lovely.
I w
alk up the hill
and when I reach the top,
I see him.
Lucca.
My legs can’t move
fast enough.
When I reach him,
he sweeps me up
and into his arms.
He holds me tightly
for a long,
long time
and I think,
this must be
what heaven’s like.
When he lets go,
he gently takes my face
and holds it in his hands,
his loving eyes gripping mine.
“I want you to be happy, Brooklyn.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“But—”
“No. It’s that simple.
Don’t worry about me.
It’s not about me.
It’s about you and living your life
in the best possible way.”
Just then, I hear footsteps,
and a shadow appears
behind him.
I’d recognize
those footsteps
anywhere.
Gabe.
But this time,
I’m not afraid.
I take Lucca’s hand,
and we go to him,
until we stand
face-to-face.
“Every day it’s a choice,” Gabe says.
“Choose life. Or choose death.
What do you choose?”
I remember the two paths.
The dark, scary one.
The bright, beautiful one.
“Life,” I say, my voice shaking.
“I choose life.”
And when I speak those words,
Lucca lets go of my hand,
kisses my cheek, and leans down
to whisper in my ear.
“Love is the answer. Not fear.”
I stare at him.
How does he know?
I remember the soft feather on my cheek.
The brush of whispers in my hair.
The notes trying to help.
Was he there too?
“We have to go,” he says,
interrupting my thoughts.
“I won’t forget you, my flower girl.”
He blows me a kiss,
and then reaches out
and touches Gabe’s shoulder.
In that moment,
light surrounds them.
Radiant and brilliant,
it fills me up with a warmth
like nothing I’ve ever known.
Lucca leads Gabe down the hill,
where they get into the car,
now without a dent to be seen.
The car drives away slowly
down the long, winding road
laid out before them,
the sun shining brightly
in the distance.
I feel a little piece of my heart
going with them.
Gone forever.
As I wipe a tear
from my cheek,
I hear something.
I look up and suddenly,
the hillside I’m standing on
becomes a shower of butterflies,
in a rainbow of colors.
I spin around
and around
and around,
me and the colors
becoming
one.
Sat., Feb. 25th—Nico
It’s a beautiful day
so I head out for a bike ride.
I take the road that leads to the beach
and stop at the place we rested that day.
I remember her beautiful eyes.
I remember the dazzling sky.
I remember how she said I was helping her.
The thing I didn’t realize at the time
was just how much
she was helping me, too.
I wonder if he knew
that’s what would happen.
I bet Lucca knew.
Sat., Feb. 25th—Brooklyn
It’s a beautiful day
and I feel the need
to get outside and think.
Jackson’s Hideway
is an amazing place
with gorgeous, lush greenery all around,
a waterfall,
and a sweet swimming hole,
making it a perfect party place
in the summertime.
Although since Jackson died,
no one dares to jump
from the cliff above anymore.
We changed the name to honor him,
and every time I come here,
I think of him and send a prayer up
for his family and friends.
Today there’s no one here,
so I find a rock and open my notebook
filled with letters to Lucca,
reading them,
noticing how the letters
decreased in frequency
over the past couple of months.
When I started,
shortly after he died,
I wrote them every day.
I hurt so bad, I wanted to scream,
but I couldn’t,
so my words on the page
became a diary of the pain.
I turn to a blank page,
expecting to write a good-bye letter to him,
surprised at what actually comes out.
Dear Nico,
You opened up your heart to me, and told me how you feel. I know that must have been hard. Scary. For all you knew, I could have gotten up, walked away, and never talked to you again.
Instead, I did the same. I shared everything, including my hesitation. What I’ve realized is, I’m not hesitant because of YOU. I’m hesitant because of ME. I’m still letting the fear and the pain run my life.
And I don’t want to do that anymore.
What I know as sure as the sun will set tonight, painting a canvas of sky blue pink, is that I’m falling in love with you.
I want to give us a chance, Nico. I want to say yes.
I think I’m saying yes.
Love,
Brooklyn
Sat., Feb. 25th—Nico
On the ride home
I feel a pull.
The wind whispers to me,
go there,
go there,
go there.
Not sure what I’ll find
or why,
I do as the wind tells me.
Sat., Feb. 25th—Brooklyn
There’s a tap
on my shoulder.
Startled, I jump up,
turning around to find
Jackson’s girlfriend, Ava,
standing there.
I breathe a sigh of relief
and smile.
She reaches out and hugs me.
We sit on the rock together,
she and I,
and we talk like long lost friends.
She’s going to the local college now,
dating a nice guy she met there.
Her eyes sparkle and shine
with happiness and I feel the longing
in my heart to have that.
Chasing Brooklyn Page 15