That sounds like you.
There’s some laughter behind me.
“Theo was shivering. He got my SMC sweater from the backseat—I didn’t even offer it to him; he just took it—and he told me he just started classes there, too. I warned him about this creepy professor on campus, and we got to know each other over a fifteen-minute drive. I never told Theo this, but I considered getting lost to spend more time with him. I should’ve told him.”
Jackson pauses.
I’m at war with myself. I’m hating the sadness over you he’s owning, but I’m sympathizing with him because it’s you he’s messed up over. I also wish some of the things I have to tell you were sweet like this and not things that will change the way you see me.
My nails dig into my palm.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell him that, but we exchanged numbers and hung out on campus. I did tell him that I was attracted to him at the end of an awesome day we spent together. I did that much.” Jackson’s lips quiver for a second before it becomes a full-on cry. And, I don’t know, it looks more like happy crying. I almost feel compelled to bounce up and hug him or pat his back. I beat on myself as I picture you helpless in the ocean. “Even if I only got to spend that first drive to the planetarium with Theo, he broke me in a way everyone should be lucky to be cracked open at least once. I had the privilege of being destroyed by him until we found a better, real me inside of the person I was pretending to be. I hope I make him proud.”
Jackson turns to you. “Thank you, Theodore,” he concludes.
He returns to his seat, where he leans forward, holding his stomach and hiding his face with his other hand.
The service comes to a close, which is good for my heart and head, but I would suffer through a thousand more stories about you if there were people here to tell them. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Tomorrow morning we’re burying you.
HISTORY
Sunday, June 15th, 2014
I’m sure I’ll sound psychotic if I ever try explaining my growing awareness with even numbers to anyone, even Theo—especially Theo—because it’s definitely verging on obsessive. When Theo and I were making out at the train station after school on Friday, I found myself counting our kisses. I don’t mean like one, two, three, four, and onward, but more like one, two, one, two, one, two to make sure we remained even. And when Theo pulled away at an odd kiss, I’d move back in for another. There are bigger problems than getting to kiss Theo again, but the counting is creeping into the rest of my life, too. Like how today’s odd-numbered date is making me a little anxious. How I’ve now sneezed three times straight and am wishing a fourth would follow.
Oh yeah, I have a cold.
It turns out running through the rain and playing trivia in a very cold diner is both the perfect first date and the perfect recipe to make someone sick. I’m that someone. Theo dodged this bullet, but he’s throwing himself back in the crossfire just to keep me company.
“Are we done with the sneezing?