I Heart You, You Haunt Me Read online

He can’t kiss

  like a normal guy.

  Unless it’s in my dreams,

  and then we do those last two things.

  But dreaming about them

  isn’t the same

  as actually

  doing them

  and experiencing them.

  All he can really do

  are the strange ghostly things

  that let me know

  he’s here.

  Don’t worry, Jackson.

  I know you’re here.

  Believe me.

  I know.

  He flicks the gas fireplace on

  even though it’s like ninety degrees outside.

  “Jackson,” I yell,

  “stop being so weird.”

  And then

  it hits me like

  a fast,

  open-palmed,

  stinging

  SMACK

  in the face.

  Having a ghost

  for a boyfriend

  is

  weird.

  I Want to Know How

  The phone rings

  as Mom walks in the door

  carrying pizza

  for dinner.

  “Are you okay?” asks Nick

  when I pick up the phone.

  For some reason,

  it makes me laugh.

  “Is that the only sentence you know?”

  He doesn’t laugh.

  “It just seemed like you were upset.

  When I saw you earlier.”

  “Yeah. I was.

  But I’m okay.

  Thanks, Nick.

  I guess you’re not so bad after all.

  And Krystal’s really cute.”

  “She’s great.

  You’d like her.”

  He pauses for a second.

  “You know, I didn’t want to let you go,” he says.

  “I liked you a lot, and I’m sorry I hurt you.

  I held on, hoping things might change.

  Then New Year’s Eve gave me more hope.

  I held on, longer than I should have.”

  “So now you’ve let go?”

  “Well, I still care about you.

  But yeah, I think I finally have.”

  “Was it hard?” I ask.

  “Letting go?”

  “Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn’t real.”

  I gulp. “Can I ask how you did it?”

  “I just decided, Ava.

  That’s all.

  I just decided.”

  No Rest for the Weary

  This time,

  I stay awake.

  I avoid sleep

  like my life

  depends on it.

  And maybe,

  life,

  true life,

  does depend on it.

  If Jackson comes into a room,

  I leave

  and go

  someplace else.

  He follows me

  more than he ever has before.

  Maybe he senses

  the uncertainty

  that has crept

  into my heart.

  As always,

  he leaves me alone

  when Mom or Dad

  are there.

  At night,

  I curl up

  in the corner of their bedroom

  and listen to

  Dad’s faint snoring noises

  and Mom’s soft breathing sounds

  and wish

  I could sleep

  peacefully

  like that.

  But I’ve got to stay awake.

  I’ve got to keep distance

  between Jackson

  and me.

  Thanks, Mom

  On Sunday,

  I curl up

  with Mom

  on the couch

  and we watch

  Steel Magnolias

  on TNT.

  When I was younger,

  I always

  spent Sundays

  with Mom.

  She’d paint my toenails.

  Braid my hair.

  Rub my back.

  Nothing extreme.

  But so completely satisfying.

  “This gets sad,” she says.

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  “You look tired.”

  You’d look tired too

  if you hadn’t slept a minute

  in two whole days.

  I lay down

  with my head in her lap

  and she strokes my hair.

  “I wish I could make it better,” she whispers.

  And as I drift to sleep, I think,

  You are, Mom.

  You are.

  A Million Apologies

  He is there,

  in my dream,

  but I don’t let him

  touch me.

  Not this time.

  This time,

  he has to let me say it.

  “Jackson, do you know how sorry I am?

  Do you know if I could change places with you, I would?”

  He comes closer.

  I step back.

  “You have to listen to me,” I tell him.

  “You have to understand.

  It’s my fault,

  and I’m so sorry.

  So terribly sorry!

  sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

  sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

  “Jackson, please forgive me.

  Please!”

  “It’s okay, Ava.

  Ava?

  AVA!?!?”

  A Real—Life Nightmare

  Mom is shaking me

  and yelling my name

  to wake me up.

  “Ava, are you all right?

  You were thrashing around and crying out

  like someone was hurting you.”

  “Mom, it hurts so much.

  All of it.

  I just want it to go away.”

  I want to tell her so bad.

  I want to tell her everything.

  Except she won’t believe me.

  Just like Cali didn’t believe me.

  And if Mom and Dad

  don’t believe me,

  they’ll think I’m Crazy Girl

  and send me away.

  I sit up

  and burst into tears

  while I dissolve

  into her arms.

  “Shhhhhh,” she says

  over

  and over

  again.

  And then I know

  there is something

  I have to tell her.

  I pull myself away and

  look at her.

  “It was my fault, Mom.

  I dared him. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking.

  Don’t you see?

  He did it for me.”

  Hard to Believe

  I want to believe her

  when she tells me

  it wasn’t my fault

  and that I have to stop

  blaming myself.

  She says, “It wasn’t you, Ava.

  He made the choice.

  Do you understand?

  You did not push him off that ledge.”

  I want to believe her

  with every bone in my body.

  But that is pretty much impossible

  when every bone in my body

  feels

  so

  incredibly

  guilty.

  One Boy and Two Girls

  Cali calls Sunday night.

  “Jessa said you left the party with Lyric.”

  “Yeah, he took me home.

  I wasn’t feeling too well.

  I shouldn’t have went with you.”

  “That was nice of him to do that,” she says,

  and I wonder if I hear

  a hint of jealousy in her voice.

  She goes on.

  �
�I keep hoping he’ll call me.

  You know, to ask me out.

  Did he say anything about me?”

  “Just that you met at the bookstore.

  Where he works.”

  “I think I’ll go by tomorrow and see him.”

  She pauses. “Wanna go with me?”

  I want to say yes.

  But not because of her.

  Because of him.

  And there’s something

  horribly

  wrong in that.

  “I really like him,” she says.

  “I know,” I say.

  “You should go and see him by yourself.”

  Because I really like him too.

  Friends

  After we hang up,

  I turn the computer on.

  I have an e-mail from Nick.

  Says it was good to talk to me

  and we should do it more often.

  Says I’ve got to meet Krystal.

  We should get together.

  Says he is glad we are friends.

  I have an e-mail from Jessa.

  Says she’s sorry

  she didn’t get to talk to me

  at the party.

  Says it was good to see me

  out in the world.

  Says she loves me

  with lots of xo’s.

  I write her a note that tells her

  we’ll get together soon

  and I miss her.

  Then I start a new message.

  TO: [email protected]

  my phone number is: 222-1567

  ttyl

  ava

  And then, before I have any time

  to change my mind,

  I hit

  SEND.

  Mother Knows Best

  I stay awake

  again

  Sunday night.

  Monday morning, Dad leaves early.

  He’s heading to Montreal

  for the week.

  Mom has work to do

  and I think about asking her

  to stay home with me.

  But then she’d

  really

  worry.

  She reaches out

  and cups the back of my head

  in her hand

  in a way that says

  I love you.

  “Will you do something fun today?

  Call one of the girls.

  Go to the mall. Or the pool.

  Something?”

  “Maybe.”

  Her eyes search mine.

  What is she looking for?

  The old Ava?

  The happy Ava?

  The Ava who didn’t carry guilt around

  like a big boulder on her shoulders?

  “Sweetheart,” she says,

  almost in a whisper,

  “I’m making an appointment for you.

  To talk to someone.

  I know you don’t want to.

  But I think you need to.”

  I can tell,

  by her face,

  her voice,

  her touch,

  she’s made up her mind.

  So I nod

  and secretly wonder

  what else I might need to do

  that I don’t really want

  to do.

  Get Me Out of Here

  Then I’m back to today

  and what I should do

  with the day

  that looms ahead of me

  like a long,

  lonely road.

  “I wish I could drive,” I tell Mom.

  “It’s not long till your sweet sixteen,” she says.

  “I’m not so sure it will be very sweet.”

  She kisses my cheek and says,

  “It will be because you are.”

  And then she leaves.

  Once again

  I’m left

  with just my thoughts

  and the ghost

  who haunts me

  because

  he loves me.

  I need to do

  something.

  If I stay here,

  I’m not sure

  I can stay awake

  any longer.

  The cool air comes.

  I shiver.

  The music turns on.

  My Last Breath

  by Evanescence.

  I don’t want to

  hear these words.

  It’s a sad song.

  Does he want me to feel sad?

  If I feel sad,

  does he think that will

  make my heart

  want him more?

  He is closer to me now.

  So close.

  I think I feel

  his breath

  on my cheek.

  And then the phone rings.

  It startles me.

  I run to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Ava?”

  It’s the lyrical voice

  of the real, live boy.

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “No. I’m awake.”

  I don’t tell him

  I’m avoiding sleep

  to avoid

  my ghost of a boyfriend.

  “I don’t have to work today.

  Wanna go have lunch? See a movie?”

  But there’s Cali.

  And there’s Jackson.

  And there’s—

  me.

  “Pick me up this afternoon?

  Around one?”

  Who Are You?

  The music gets loud.

  And louder still.

  He might be mad.

  Does he know

  it was a boy

  on the phone?

  Or is he just tired

  of me ignoring him?

  I feel him near me

  as I go into the bathroom.

  I shut the door

  and lock it behind me,

  but it doesn’t

  keep him out.

  “Jackson,

  can I have a little privacy?

  Please?”

  He doesn’t leave.

  I feel him there,

  so close.

  If he were alive,

  our skin

  would be touching,

  chest to chest,

  legs entwined,

  arms wrapped

  around each other.

  But he’s not alive.

  As much as I might wish

  and as much as he might wish,

  he’s

  not

  alive.

  This time I yell.

  “Jackson, leave me alone!”

  The water in the sink

  turns on

  full blast.

  I go to turn it off,

  and as I do,

  I glance in the mirror

  and his face

  appears,

  just for a second.

  It’s not the face

  of the beautiful,

  joyful,

  loving

  boy

  I used to know.

  It is a dark,

  sullen,

  painfully sad face

  that scares me so bad

  I want to turn and

  run and

  never ever

  come back.

  I Have to Say It

  And so I run.

  I run from the bathroom

  and back to the kitchen.

  The hauntingly familiar music

  of Evanescence still plays.

  I go to the CD player

  and change the song

  to track 4.

  My Immortal.

  It speaks of a girl

  being tied to a life she doesn’t want

  and how she’s haunted in her dreams.

  I let the music fill the room,

  and then I yell with everything inside of me,

  “Jackson, y
ou have to go.

  This isn’t working.

  Don’t you see?

  This isn’t what love is supposed to be like.”

  I crumble

  into a chair

  in the kitchen.

  I love

  you

  and

  I’m sorry,

  he barely whispers

  in my mind.

  The fatigue,

  the sadness,

  the fear,

  the guilt

  all come to the surface,

  and then I’m crying,

  shaking,

  pulling at my hair,

  shrieking in a voice

  that doesn’t sound like mine.

  “YOU

  HAVE

  TO GO!

  “I CAN’T

  LIVE

  LIKE

  THIS!”

  It Hurts to Breathe

  I think I’m starting

  to hyperventilate.

  I run and grab a bag

  out of the drawer.

  In

  Out

  In

  Out

  I breathe slowly

  and try to

  calm down

  so I can finish

  what I need to say.

  I hurt everywhere.

  I ache with the pain

  I feel

  because I have to

  do this.

  “I’m sorry, Jackson.

  I will always love you.

  I will always remember what we had.

  “But you have to move on.

  You don’t belong here.

  “I wish I could change everything and erase that day.

  But I can’t.

  “You have to go.

  Please, Jackson.

  Please go.”

  On One Condition

  Okay.

  I will go.

  But only if

  you will give me

  your guilt

  to take

  with me.

  But How?

  So that

  is his unresolved

  issue.

  He doesn’t want

  to leave me behind,

  carrying around

  a blanket of blame.

  I put my head

  in my hands

  and weep

  for the loss of

  Jackson.

  My soul

  cries

  like it has

  never

  cried before.

  He is

  so

  good.

  His love

  for me is

  so true.

  I remember

  the notes

  he left me.

  Ava is good...

  Be happy...

  Don’t be blue...

  It wasn’t

  about him.

  It was

  about

  me

  and wanting me

  to live

  the rest of my life

  with joy,

  instead of

  grief

  and pain.

  He doesn’t blame me.

  But I blame myself.

  How do I rid my heart

  of that guilt

  and let

  go?

  Maybe