When I was done reading the poem, everyone was quiet. A very sad quiet. But the amazing thing was that it wasn’t a bad sad at all. It was just something that made everyone look around at each other and know that they were there.
I always wanted to be on a sports team like that. I’m not sure why, but I always thought it would be fun to have “glory days”.
And what my brother’s face will look like on a football card, or what it will look like if it is never on a football card.
In the hallways, I see the girls wearing guys’ jackets, and I think about the idea of property.
It was a stolen type of kiss.
I just wanted someone to tell me the truth.
I have taken all my finals for the semester, and it has been very busy, and I would have told you all about it, but it just doesn’t seem as interesting as these other things that have to do with holidays.
I stared at my reflection and the trees behind it for a long time. Not thinking anything. Not feeling anything. Not hearing the record. For hours.
And I really was sorry. And I know that she believed me. But when that didn’t make any difference, and there was nothing but a bad silence on the phone, I really knew it was too late.
It started yesterday at home. I don’t like my birthday. I don’t like it at all.
And he doesn’t play baseball anymore. He doesn’t like to be even reminded unless he tells the stories. I just wanted to know what to buy my dad because I love him. And I don’t know him. And he doesn’t like to talk about things like that.
It was the way she said it that started me feeling.
I laid down on his old bed, and I looked through the window at this tree that was probably a lot shorter when my dad looked at it. And I could feel what he felt on the night when he realized that if he didn’t leave, it would never be his life. It would be theirs. At least that’s how he’s put it.
He said that it was a very bad accident, and my Aunt Helen was definitely killed instantly. In other words, there was no pain. There was no pain anymore.
Despite everything my mom and doctor and dad have said to me about blame, I can’t stop thinking what I know.
She would be alive if I were born on a day that didn’t snow. I would do anything to make this go away. I miss her terribly. I have to stop writing now because I am too sad.
My dad said I couldn’t drive until the weather cleared up, and it finally did a little bit yesterday. I made a mix tape for the occasion. It is called “The First Time I Drove.” Maybe I’m being too sentimental, but I like to think that when I’m old, I will be able to look at all these tapes and remember those drives.
I read the book again that night because I knew that if I didn’t, I would probably start crying again. The panicky type, I mean. I read until I was completely exhausted and had to go to sleep. In the morning, I finished the book and then started immediately reading it again. Anything to not feel like crying. Because I made the promise to Aunt Helen. And because I don’t want to start thinking again. Not like I have this last week. I can’t think again. Not ever again.
I just remembered what made me think of all this. I’m going to write it down because maybe if I do I won’t have to think about it. And I won’t get upset.
Good guys win wars.
Take the chance and live. Whatever strategy you choose, YOU WIN.