Page 14 of Chasing Brooklyn


  Dear Lucca,

  I’ve been holding on too long. Afraid to let go. Afraid to keep living.

  Afraid.

  Afraid.

  Afraid.

  Gabe could see what was happening when I couldn’t. He knew he had to get me to face my fears.

  It must have been hard for him. But I’m thankful for what he did for me.

  I hope somewhere, you two are together. That would make me very happy.

  Love always,

  Brooklyn

  Sat., Feb. 11th—Nico

  I go in his room

  and as I look around,

  I think about how we’ve been trying to keep things the same.

  And yet, nothing will ever be the same.

  We can stay stuck in the past,

  acting like he’s going to walk through that door any minute.

  Or we can move forward.

  Motion vs. stagnation.

  Gotta keep things moving.

  Ma comes in and asks what I’m doing.

  I take a deep breath. And I move forward.

  “I thought I might pick up in here,” I tell her.

  She looks at me. Looks around at the room.

  And even though tears fill her eyes, she nods.

  “Would it be all right if I help?” she asks.

  “Sure. But, Ma, can I ask you something first?

  About a girl?”

  She smiles. Sits on his bed and pats the spot next to her.

  “Absolutely.”

  Sat., Feb. 11th—Brooklyn

  When I was little

  Mom would read a book to me

  every night before bed.

  We’d crawl into my twin bed

  with the pink and white comforter

  and read about Laura on the prairie

  or Anne on the Green Gables farm.

  I loved her voice as she read the words.

  I loved the smell of her strawberries and cream shampoo.

  I loved having her all to myself.

  When she calls to talk,

  I tell her I miss her.

  That it’s really hard not having her here.

  We get a lot of things out

  that should have been said a long time ago.

  Before she says good-bye,

  she says, “I love you, Brooklyn.”

  It makes me cry and I hang up,

  longing for my twin bed

  with the pink and white comforter

  and the books stacked high on the nightstand.

  Those were the days

  when dreams were sweet

  and life was sweeter still.

  Sat., Feb. 11th—Nico

  So, we’re confused.

  It’s a mixed-up place to be,

  on the one hand, falling for each other,

  and on the other hand, wanting to stay loyal to Lucca.

  Do we have to make a choice?

  Is it one or the other?

  I remember that kiss,

  and how alive I feel when I’m with her.

  How could Lucca want anything less than that

  for either of us?

  Sun., Feb. 12th—Brooklyn

  It’s Sunday.

  Comic book day.

  For so long,

  it was the highlight

  of my week.

  But he’s not here.

  And superheroes aren’t real.

  No matter how hard

  I might wish for someone

  to jump in and save the day,

  it’s not going to happen.

  It’s all up to me now.

  I put on the Joy, Not Sorrow CD

  and jump to the second half.

  The half I’ve never listened to.

  I clear off my drawing table.

  I find pens and paper.

  “Boys, you want to color with me?”

  After all, it’s not just superheroes

  who can choose to use their powers

  for the good of mankind.

  Sun., Feb. 12th—Nico

  When I go for a run,

  I notice the crocuses peeking out

  of the ground.

  I take pictures with my phone

  and when I get home,

  I e-mail them to Brooklyn

  with a quick note that says,

  “I saw these and thought of you.

  Hope you’re okay. Can we meet?

  Tomorrow morning at the track?”

  She’s had time.

  She’s had space.

  We need to figure this thing out.

  It’s lame doing it over e-mail.

  What a guy.

  But at least I’m doing it.

  That’s the important thing.

  Sun., Feb. 12th—Brooklyn

  I ride

  with the wind at my back,

  my legs pumping

  hard and fast,

  stronger now

  than they were a month ago.

  I remember

  the first day of training

  and how I was scared

  and excited

  all at the same time

  to do something

  out of my comfort zone.

  I said yes.

  The nightmares stopped temporarily.

  It was a step in the right direction.

  Now I understand

  I have to keep going.

  I have to keep taking

  steps in the right direction.

  Always going forward.

  Never going back.

  I breathe

  as I walk up the steps

  to Gabe’s house

  and knock.

  Scared.

  Excited.

  Intense.

  But that’s life.

  When Audrey answers the door,

  I give her my warmest hello

  and remind her who I am.

  Then I hug her,

  and give her a CD

  called Joy, Not Sorrow

  along with a drawing.

  Hyacinths, the flower of hope.

  I ask if she has time

  to sit and talk.

  She does.

  And so we do.

  Sun., Feb. 12th—Nico

  At dinner

  Pop asks, “How’s the training going?”

  I look at Ma. She knows. But she keeps quiet.

  “It’s fine, I guess. A little bumpy.”

  I look at him. Really look at him.

  His hair is thinner. Grayer.

  The deep lines in his forehead

  tell the story of the past year.

  He smiles. “Well, don’t give up.

  Whatever you do, don’t do that.”

  Ma passes the salad around.

  The smell of soup and fresh-made bread.

  The comforting hum of conversation.

  The sun just setting in the distance.

  Man, it feels good.

  I glance at Lucca’s seat.

  Empty for so long.

  I think of our hearts.

  Empty for so long.

  “Don’t worry, Pop.

  The last thing I’m gonna do is give up.”

  Sun., Feb. 12th—Brooklyn

  The twins ask me

  to play Chutes and Ladders

  before they have to leave tomorrow.

  Moving across the squares,

  climbing the ladders for good deeds,

  sliding down the chutes for bad ones.

  When I land on the square

  and slide down the longest chute of the game,

  Matthew says,

  “I hate that one.

  Sorry, Brooklyn.”

  Everyone hates that one.

  It’s the square nobody wants to land on.

  But it’s there.

  And when you land on it,

  you slide down,

  practically to the beginning,

  and all you can do is keep going,

&nbs
p; wishing and hoping

  for a ladder to push you back up.

  As I think of that,

  I realize losing Lucca

  was my chute.

  After that, I gave up,

  so sure a ladder would

  never show up.

  When it’s my turn,

  I roll the dice.

  I’m not giving up.

  Sun., Feb. 12th—Nico

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subj: Re: Flowers and You

  Hi, Nico:

  I know we need to talk. Thanks for giving

  me some time. I’ll see you tomorrow

  morning at the track.

  And thanks for the pictures. I’m drawing

  again. I’ll have to draw a crocus next!

  Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn

  Dad’s up early

  to fly home with the boys.

  He’s scrambling eggs.

  Eggs are his specialty.

  “Want some?” he asks.

  “No, thanks.

  I’m going for a run.”

  He slides his eggs onto a plate.

  Slowly.

  Carefully.

  He brings them to the table

  where I’m sipping orange juice.

  They smell good.

  “You know,” he says, “I get the feeling

  something is going on.

  I’m not quite sure what,

  but I just want you to know I’m here.

  If you want to talk.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.

  I actually did want to tell you,

  if that offer for a tutor still stands,

  I think I could use some help.”

  He nods.

  “Of course. I’ll call today.”

  I watch him take a bite,

  his face telling me

  he wants to say more.

  “Brooklyn,” he says.

  Slowly.

  Carefully.

  “If you aren’t happy here with me—”

  “Dad!”

  “I want you to be happy, honey.”

  I think of him that night,

  sobbing because he missed them

  in that moment.

  Sometimes life is a feast

  with eggs Benedict and hollandaise sauce,

  waffles and strawberries,

  sausage links and hashed brown potatoes.

  And sometimes life is scrambled eggs.

  In the end,

  your stomach gets full all the same.

  And years from now,

  you may not remember exactly what you ate.

  But you’ll remember who you ate with.

  “Things are fine the way they are,” I tell him.

  Slowly.

  Carefully.

  “I just need to work some things out with Nico.”

  His eyes hug me across the table. “I see.”

  “Your eggs good?” I ask.

  He nods. “Not bad.”

  And I think,

  maybe in the end

  that’s really

  all you can ask for.

  Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico

  I find her on the track,

  running as the sun rises in the distance.

  I sit in my truck, watching, wanting to join her

  but fear keeping a firm hand on my shoulder.

  So I just watch.

  And wait.

  The sun getting brighter.

  My desire getting stronger.

  Her strides getting slower.

  Finally, she stops.

  She turns.

  She waves.

  Fear’s hand is still there.

  But desire is stronger than fear as it pushes me

  right out of my truck.

  Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn

  I zoom in,

  frame the shot,

  and focus on Nico,

  walking toward me.

  Photography is all about

  perspective.

  The light is right.

  The angle good.

  The subject perfect.

  For an instant,

  I want to go for it.

  I want to take the shot.

  I start to move,

  my whole body wanting it.

  Wanting to capture

  what we are

  and all we can be

  in a single moment.

  And yet, as he gets closer,

  my perspective changes.

  It all changes.

  Because no matter how I frame it,

  I can’t take it all in.

  It doesn’t fit.

  Does it?

  Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico

  Man, she’s beautiful.

  In the morning light,

  her eyes bright and

  her cheeks red

  as she stands there,

  catching her breath.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Good morning,” she says.

  “I changed my mind,” I say.

  “Instead of a run, can I take you to breakfast?”

  She shrugs. “Sure.”

  “Beautiful sunrise, huh?” I say, pointing.

  I glance at her and see her face, eyebrows raised.

  “Dazzling,” she says.

  Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn

  We’re back

  at the Whistle Stop Café

  but how can I eat anything?

  There’s so much to think about.

  To talk about.

  To figure out.

  We’ve traveled to hell and back,

  different paths but the same journey.

  Now we’re on a different road.

  The people from the photos

  smile down upon us

  as if to say “safe travels.”

  But I just don’t know

  if I’m ready to go.

  Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico

  I take a deep breath

  and I tell her

  I’ve been thinking a lot

  the past week, about me, about her,

  about us, about Lucca.

  I tell her

  I love how she tries hard to make life fun even when it isn’t,

  like having a picnic on a stormy day.

  I love how she takes time to stop and enjoy the view,

  like on our bike rides together.

  And I love how she makes me want to do something

  other than run all the time.

  She makes me want to live, play, have fun.

  I tell her

  I know it’s weird because I’m Lucca’s brother

  but he would want us to be happy

  more than anything else.

  And I tell her

  I actually know that’s true

  because he’s been visiting me

  in my dreams and begging me to help her.

  Mon., Feb. 13th—Brooklyn

  I listen to what he says

  trying to take it all in.

  He’s laying his heart on the table for me.

  It’s unbelievable, really,

  that after all that’s happened,

  he wants to do this with me.

  When he says Lucca

  has been visiting him in his dreams,

  I let out a small gasp.

  While Gabe was visiting me,

  Lucca was visiting him to help me.

  This means I can

  tell him about Gabe

  and he’ll understand.

  He won’t think bad things about me.

  Mon., Feb. 13th—Nico

  I tell her

  to please give us a chance,

  because we’ll always wonder

  what would have been if we don’t try.

  When I’m done telling her all this,

  I pause, take a deep breath,

  and ask her what she thinks.

  Mon., Feb. 13th—B
rooklyn