I Heart You, You Haunt Me by Lisa Schroeder
I heart you, You haunt me
Also by Lisa Schroeder
Far From You
Chasing Brooklyn
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2008 by Lisa Schroeder
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Mike Rosamilia The text of this book was set in MetaBook Roman.
Manufactured in the United States of America First Simon Pulse edition January 2008
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Control Number 2007929118
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-5520-7
ISBN-10:1-4169-5520-8
eISBN-13: 978-1-4424-0734-3
For Scott-
I heart you
Acknowledgments
MY HEART OVERFLOWS WITH GRATITUDE FOR SO MANY PEOPLE!
Sara Crowe—thank you for your belief in this book from the beginning, and for saying different is good. You’re the best!
Michael del Rosario—what can I say except you are some kind of wonderful, and I so appreciate your enthusiasm.
Jayme Carter, Tanya Seale, and Meg O’Hair—thank you for your willingness to read Ava and Jackson’s story, and for your ideas, your suggestions, and most of all, your encouragement.
Lisa—thanks for creating my music to write by. You rock!
Mrs. Smith, my favorite English teacher—I’m forever grateful for all that I learned from you.
Margie and Dolores—thanks for being my biggest cheerleaders!
To my mom, my dad, my brother, and the Schroeders—your love and support mean the world to me.
Last but definitely not least, Scott, Sam, and Grant—I thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting me do that which I love to do, and loving me every step of the way. It wouldn’t mean anything if I didn’t have you.
A Way of Black
I’ve never
been to a funeral
until today.
I see
dazzling arrangements of
red, yellow, and purple flowers
with long, green stems.
I see
a stained-glass window with
a white dove,
a yellow sun,
a blue sky.
I see
a gold cross,
standing tall,
shiny,
brilliant.
And I see
black.
Black dresses.
Black pants.
Black shoes.
Black bibles.
Black is my favorite color.
Jackson asked me about it one time.
“Ava, why don’t you like pink?
Or yellow?
Or blue?”
“I love black,” I said.
“It suits me.”
“I suit you,” he said.
And then he kissed me.
I’m not so sure
I love black
anymore.
Colorless
And then,
beyond the flowers,
beneath the stained-glass window,
beside the cross,
I see
the white casket.
I see
red, burning love
disappear
forever.
Broken Promises
My mom reaches over
and pulls my hand
from my mouth
where I chew on
the little flap of skin
along the side of my thumb
since I have no more nails
left to chew on.
An ugly habit.
One I promised Jackson
I would break.
I wonder,
do you have to keep a promise
to a dead person?
Mom holds my hand
in hers as the
music starts to play.
Jackson’s
smiling face
appears on the screen
as we hear Eric Clapton’s
haunting song
Tears in Heaven.
It’s not long
before tears in heaven
make their way
to my eyes,
so I close them
for a second.
From out of nowhere,
I’m in his car, by his side.
Music playing.
Windows rolled down.
I kick off my shoes,
put my bare feet on the dashboard
and put my hand in his.
“Never leave me, okay?” I say to him.
“Okay,” he tells me.
He squeezes my hand,
like that seals the deal.
My gaze
returns to the
beautiful boy
on the screen
while
my thumb
returns
to my mouth.
He broke his promise.
I can break mine.
I Will Always Remember
The minister speaks.
“It is hard when a young life is tragically cut short.
“But we must celebrate the life that was Jackson’s.
“Look around at the friends and the family
who loved Jackson Montgomery.
“You will keep the memory of him alive.”
There is one memory
that floods my brain
every five minutes.
It reminds me
over
and over
and over again,
I’m the reason
my boyfriend
is gone.
Memories might keep him alive.
But they might
kill
me.
No Words
After the service,
people get in line
to tell the family,
“I’m sorry,”
“He was so young,”
and
“Let me know if I can do anything.”
I’m one of the
first people
in line
because
I want to get it over with.
His mom is there
and I try to say
“I’m sorry”
like I’m supposed to,
but the words
won’t come
from my brain
to my mouth
like they’re supposed to.
She looks at me
and I feel her eyes
piercing my heart,
making it hurt
even more.
She probably blames me
like I blame myself.
I can’t blame her
for that.
She tries to smile.
She asks politely,
with no feeling,
because she has to say
something,
“Are you okay, Ava?”
I nod,
but inside
my heart is screaming
and kicking
and stomping,
throwing a tantrum
because
I am definitely
not okay.
She hugs me.
A quick hug.
A fake hug.
An I’m-only-hugging-you-because-I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do hug.
Next,
I hug
the people
Jackson loved
most
in the whole,
wide
world.
His sister,
then his brother.
I tell myself
to be strong.
I should be strong
for them.
But I’m not.
I sob
into Daniel’s
black jacket.
“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers.
“You’re going to get through this.”
Just like his brother,
thinking about me,
not himself.
After that,
I stand alone
and wait for my mom
so we can
leave.
There is no line of people coming up to me
to say “I’m sorry”
or “He was so young”
or “Let me know if I can do anything.”
It feels like everyone
is looking at me.
What are they thinking?
Do I even want to know?
And then,
like an unexpected rain shower
on a day that’s so dry
you can’t breathe,
there is Cali
squeezing me tight
and Jessa
holding my hand
and Zoe
rubbing my back.
In that moment,
I realize
a circle of love
is ten times better
than a procession
of sorrys.
The Boy
Another procession.
This time,
a line of cars
driving
to the cemetery.
Mom calls Dad
on her cell.
He’s on a business trip in Paris.
He offered to come home.
I told him it’d be okay.
I have Mom, and besides,
what could he do?
I hear Mom say,
“Beautiful service ...”
“She’s hanging in there....”
“Wish you could be here....”
“Wanna talk to Ava?”
I shake my head
and wave my hand
to tell her no.
There’s nothing to say
that she hasn’t said already.
“I guess she’s tired right now....”
I make myself
drift back
to a happier time.
Jackson came to our school
in the fall
from a different school
in a different town.
He was the boy
with the shaved head
and the little goatee.
He looked old
for a junior.
The four of us,
Cali, Jessa, Zoe, and me,
talked about him
at lunch,
eating tacos,
Cali’s favorite food.
“Maybe he had cancer,” Jessa said,
“and lost his hair.”
“That’s terrible,” Cali said.
“Maybe he thinks bald is sexy,” Zoe said.
“On him,” I said, “it is.”
He Spiced Up My Life
When you meet someone
so different from yourself,
in a good way,
you don’t even have to kiss
to have fireworks go off.
It’s like fireworks
in your heart
all the time.
I always wondered,
do opposites really attract?
Now I know for sure
they do.
I’d grown up
going to the library as often
as most people go
to the grocery store.
Jackson didn’t need to read
about exciting people and places.
He went out
and found them,
or created excitement himself
if there wasn’t any
to be found.
The things I like are
pretty simple.
Burning CDs around themes,
like Songs to Get Your Groove On and
Tunes to Fix a Broken Heart;
watching movies;
baking cookies;
and swimming.
It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette,
and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta.
Alone, we were good.
Together, we were fantastic.
The Final Good—bye
Ashes
to
ashes.
Dust
to
dust.
I think
this is where
I’m supposed to say
good-bye.
Is that what
everyone’s thinking?
Good-bye, Jackson?
Rest in peace?
That’s not what I’m thinking.
I’m thinking,
I hate good-byes.
“Let us pray,” the minister says.
Dear God,
What can I do?
He didn’t deserve this.
Can’t we bring him back?
Isn’t there anything that will bring him back?
Please?
Amen
I look around.
If tears
could bring him back,
there’d be enough
to bring him back
a hundred times.
It’s Not Fair
Mom takes my hand
and leads me back
to the car.
All I can think about
is how my boyfriend
will soon be
underground.
He’ll be lying there
alone
in the dirt.
Mom asks me
if I want to go to the Montgomery house,
where people will gather
to eat
and talk
and remember.
“I can’t believe people feel like eating.
And talking.
Those are the last things I want to do.”
“Life goes on, honey,” Mom says.
As we pull away,
my eyes stay glued
to the casket.
It’s proof
that sometimes
life
does
not
go
on.
As Two Names No More
Ava + Jackson = true LOVE 4ever
I Jackson
J loves A
A loves J
Scribbles I made
on my French notebook.
I study the words
on the purple notebook
like I used to study
Jackson’s face
when he wasn’t looking.
When we got home,
Mom suggested
I write down my feelings.
Basically, keep a journal.
But I can’t stop staring
at those scribbles
and thinking about how
they used to be true.
But not anymore.
Now it’s just Ava.
No more Jackson.
No more true LOVE 4ever.
I turn the
tear-splattered cover.
I put the pen to the page.
All I can write is
Jackson
Jackson
Jump In
I started swimming
about the time
I traded my bottle
for a sippy cup.
Mom took me to
a Baby and Me class
at the pool.
She said I was so natural
in the water,
she wondered
if she’d actually given birth
to a mermaid.
By high school
I was swimming competitively
on the swim team.
Jackson came
and watched me swim
many times.
That’s where it started.
“I dare you to jump off the high dive,” he said
one day after practice.
“You know I’m afraid of heights!”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m daring you.”
I couldn’t
disappoint
my boyfriend.
I climbed the ladder,
making sure I didn’t look down.
I inched my way
to the edge of the board,
then I crossed my fingers,
closed my eyes,
said a prayer,
and
jumped.
My stomach flew
to my throat
as the air
rushed
around me
and through me
until
I hit that water hard.
“I did it!” I yelled
as I climbed out of the pool.
He brought me a towel and simply said,
“That’s my girl.”
Nothing to Do Now
This summer,
I could have made money
at my second home.
I could have sat by the pool
in my suit,
pretending to watch the kids,
to guard lives,
while I thought about
him.
But accidents happen that way.
And my life doesn’t need any more
accidents.
So today I quit my job.
Mom asks me, “What are you going to do all summer?”
I just shrug.
Lashing Out
Nick,
my ex-boyfriend,
my boyfriend
pre-Jackson,
calls me.
“Ava?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.
Are you okay?”
“Nick, that’s a freaking ridiculous question.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Nope. Not a thing.
Good-bye, Nick.”
Click.
Crap, why did I do that?
He was just trying to be nice.
I’m such a jerk.
Is being a jerk
one of the five
stages of grief?
Wishful Thinking
I’m sitting
on the porch swing,