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,