Dear Jon

PARTNERS

  Our hard work at the beginning of the week earns us an afternoon off on Thursday. Before I left the work site, I’d called Audrey, asking if she wanted to have dinner with me.

  She beats me to the Chinese restaurant, and is already snacking on egg rolls by the time I make it to the table. She stands and hugs me before I sit down. It’s nice.

  “Sorry, I guess it took me a little longer to get ready than I thought it would.”

  “No, I was early,” she says. I check my watch, and realize I’m right on time. “We had a busy day at work, and I had to skip my lunch.”

  “That’s not good for you,” I state the obvious. She rolls her eyes at me, and even though her unique blue eyes look nothing like Livvy’s, the reaction is very much like something my ex-girlfriend did–often.

  “Egg roll?” she asks.

  “All yours,” I tell her. “Never been a fan.”

  “What?” She looks very surprised. “I’ve never heard of someone not liking egg rolls.”

  “Well now you have. You’ve finally met someone who stands out, huh?” I ask, taking a sip of ice water.

  “Man of my dreams… the one who doesn’t like deep fried shrimpy goodness.”

  “God, you make it sound even worse,” I say with a chuckle.

  “You know, maybe you are the man of my dreams… because I will never have to share these.”

  I laugh at her. “Raise your standards a little, Audrey.”

  “My dream man won’t make me share my General Tso’s Chicken,” she states.

  “You had to say that… that’s, like… my favorite.”

  “Really?”

  “Love it. But hey. This doesn’t have to be over,” I state, motioning to both her and myself. “I can get my own plate. I’m famished, as well.”

  “Good. I didn’t want it to end so soon… because you honestly do stand out,” she admits shyly.

  “Thank you. Hey,” I say, changing the subject, “did you know General Tso never had this chicken?”

  “I didn’t know that… all I know is that he was a great military leader in China. I never thought to research his dish!”

  “Well, I was curious one night… so even though the dish was created many years after his death, he wouldn’t have eaten it had it been invented when he was alive.”

  “Chicken allergy?” she asks with a playful grin.

  “Actually… it was considered a poor man’s dish, and he was above this type of food.”

  “How appropriate that this poor man’s food is our favorite!” she exclaims.

  “Should we both be aiming higher?” I ask her teasingly. “I mean, they say to dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Maybe we should be eating like the social class we want to be in, and not the one we are in.”

  We both look at each other, considering the comment, when the waiter shows up.

  “General Tso’s Chicken,” we both order at the same time. The waiter looks at us like we’re crazy as we both start laughing together, then tells us he’ll bring refills of our water momentarily.

  “I like that I can be myself with you,” Audrey tells me.

  “It’s nice,” I respond.

  Conversation is easy over dinner, but remains relatively impersonal, which I like. In fact, I kept steering it in that direction. I have a good time with Audrey; it just feels different. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad.

  Before we leave, Audrey asks me to an outdoor jazz concert next weekend. “We can bring a picnic lunch of poor man’s food,” she says. “Sandwiches, carrot sticks, you know… nothing fancy. I can’t cook.”

  “I can cook,” I tell her. “I’m not saying it won’t be poor man’s food, but I’ll put something together that’s a step up from sandwiches.”

  “Okay,” she says with a blush. “Have fun with your brothers this weekend.”

  “I will.”

  “Maybe we can meet one night for dinner next week?” she asks tentatively. “I really like spending time with you, Jon.” She knows the home is almost finished… and she also knows I go back to school in a few weeks. We’ve talked, and she recognizes that whatever this might be is only temporary. Neither of us wants a long distance relationship.

  I still can’t believe we had that conversation. That’s what I get for calling her after a shot of whiskey and a beer on an empty stomach; but the next morning, I was glad it was all out in the open.

  “It’ll probably be impromptu, like this one. The schedule changes daily,” I tell her.

  “Well, I think I work Monday and Wednesday night,” she tells me. “So keep that in the back of your mind. Next time, it’s my treat.”

  “Perfect. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her when we reach her car.

  “Night,” she says, leaning in for another hug. I open the door for her, and watch her as she drives away.

  Not having the car again, I walk down the road to the bus stop and wait on the bench with a few other people. I know Audrey would have given me a ride home, but I’m not ready for her to know where we live.

  I take my brothers out in the backyard and play catch and keep away for about an hour when I get home. Max is worn out; Will is anxious to get inside. Aunt Patty took him to a youth event at her church last night, and Will says he exchanged phone numbers with a girl. After I cautioned him that he didn’t want to seem over-eager by calling right away, he said that the girl–Ellen–told him she’d call him at eight o’clock tonight.

  An aggressive one. At this age, with Will, that’s probably best. He needs a good boost of confidence, and a girl that knows what she likes will probably help with that. I’m happy for my brother.

  I love you, Jon.

  But we aren’t soul mates.

  Well, this is an intriguing start…

  My parents are. I know everyone has a different definition of the phrase. I’m not sure I can adequately define it, either, but with Mom and Dad… like, I don’t think one could live without the other.

  Maybe that’s my definition. A soul mate is half of an entity that can only survive as a whole.

  Okay, that sounds less romantic and much nerdier than I intended.

  I laugh aloud, imagining her saying that. She’d probably crinkle her nose a little, and purse her lips as she smiled.

  So maybe I’ll leave it undefined. I hope you understand my point, though.

  I assumed we were soul mates, but she’s right. What is a soul mate? What’s my definition?

  Definitely an intriguing letter.

  I know I can live without you. I will, if that’s what I have to do. But getting over you will take some time. How much time? What do they say? Half the time of the relationship? So nine and a half months then. By the end of the summer, I’ll be one-third of the way there. And after my first year of college, I should be over you.

  Right?

  Can you put a timeline on something like that? Is there a magic formula? Will I be over her at the end of the school year? And what does that look like: “being over Livvy?” Will it take me that long to feel okay about going out with another girl?

  I’ll believe it when I see it. There are times when I cry so hard that my stomach cramps and spasms… but I know it’s part of the process. It’s lessening. I don’t cry every day. The pity parties are much shorter now than they were at the beginning.

  Healing has already begun. Healing feels good.

  But there’s something that no one took into account. So it takes half the time of the relationship to ‘get over’ someone. What if that person was your friend first? How long does it take to get over a lost friendship?

  Or a partner? That’s what we were, for so many years. Partners.

  Using the same equation, it’ll be five and a half years. Is that right?

  Anyway. I’m not writing to talk about our time apart. I’m talking about the time we were together.

  When we were partners. Two people working as individuals toward shared goals. I think that fairly defines us. If I??
?ve learned anything from this summer, it’s that I know I can survive without you. Thrive, even. I’ve done so much over the past few months.

  I don’t need you.

  She implied it in her last letter. Seeing the words on paper singes.

  What do I want, though?

  I grin, seeing the next line.

  You. Always you. Only you.

  The smile quickly fades. Only me? Where was that sentiment when she betrayed me?

  I choose you. Choisie.

  You don’t complete me. I’m already whole. You add more to my life. You make me happier than I need to be. Maybe happier than I even deserve to be. Maybe it’s selfish for me to want more, I don’t know.

  I can relate this to Christmas–well, Christmas at the Holland house. I know I’m going to sound spoiled… but I’ll admit I am.

  Some years, I’d open all the presents from my parents and be so grateful that I’d gotten everything I’d wanted or needed. I’d go to bed on Christmas Eve, smiling and content. And then Santa would bring one more thing… one more thing I hadn’t asked for, or expected. The icing on the cake. The cherry on top.

  You’re the thing I never knew I wanted… until you first held my hand… and the want grew with the first kiss, the first time you said you loved me, and the first time you showed me.

  But I’m grateful for the time you gave me when I thought I needed you. When I didn’t feel self-sufficient. I’m just sorry I took so much.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t see that I was already blessed with everything a girl would ever need. I’m strong. I’m smart. I’m driven. I’m talented. I’m loved and am able to love. I am surviving on my own.

  That actually does feel good.

  And I know you don’t need me. I know you’ll get on just fine without me, too. After all, you don’t need anything. You’ve made do with what you’ve had all your life.

  But tell me you don’t want me. Try.

  I doubt you can.

  I hope you can’t.

  She always gets what she wants.

  There will always be moments of need. It’s human nature. But it shouldn’t be all the time. Not for people like us. Not for partners, like we were.

  It always seems to go back to that want/need conversation. I remember it again, and chuckle to myself. It’s fitting that I kept asking the girl who never needed anything what she wanted, and she kept asking the boy who wanted nothing what he needed.

  She always wanted something from me. And it’s safe to say I always needed things from her.

  How does she always know exactly what to say? I don’t want to read the next line, because it signifies the end of another letter.

  We aren’t finished.

  Partners

  She’s really giving me things to think about, which is good… because I need to start figuring out what next year is going to look like. Going to school with her. I mean, it’s a big campus, but I know she’ll spend a fair amount of time at the School of the Arts and around the LeRoy Neiman Gallery. She’ll have to take a lot of intro courses, sure, but I’ve seen some students get special attention if they truly are gifted. And Livvy is. I have no doubt she’ll have her own studio space at Prentis Hall by her second semester, if not in her first. A lot of our critiques take place there.

  I will see her. It’s only a matter of time.

  “Hey, Jon.” I look up to see Will at the door, a huge smile on his face.

  “I guess that phone call went well?”

  “Yeah,” he says simply.

  “Details?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “We’re gonna go out after class next Wednesday.”

  “A date?” I put Livvy’s letter aside and sit up, anxious to hear more about this girl. “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. The mall’s just down the street. Maybe we could have dessert somewhere.”

  “That sounds like a good plan. Suggest it to her.”

  He nods hurriedly. “Should I call her back now and ask if it’s okay?”

  “No, man. Call her this weekend… and don’t ask her if it’s okay. Maybe give her some options… go for a slice of cheesecake, or… or go to a movie. Then tell her she could pick the movie. But be assertive.”

  “What if she picks a girl movie?”

  “If you truly like her, Will, it’s not about the movie. It’s about the time you get to spend with her, and her with you. I’ll pick you both up, so no parents have to be involved.”

  “Got it. Cool.”

  “Cool. Got any other questions?”

  “About girls? Nah,” he says, waving me off. “But I was thinking… towels are incredibly important things. Would it be weird if I carried one with me all the time?”

  “Hitchhiker’s lore,” I laugh. “I completely agree that they’re one of the most useful inventions of… our time? That can’t be right. But yeah. If you’re looking to attract a bunch of nerdy friends–which isn’t a bad thing–you go ahead and carry that towel with you. Next Wednesday, though? Leave it at home.”

  “She may like Hitchhiker’s Guide!” he chuckles, sitting down on the floor of my room.

  “Find that out first.” I sit down across from him with my back against the bed. “Then get her a towel for the second date,” I suggest, still joking with him. “Did you finish the book?”

  “Yeah, last night. I loved it.”

  We spend the next three hours talking about Douglas Adams’ masterpiece, taking a break once for a late night sandwich, even though I’ve already eaten. Will’s growth spurt has kicked in full force, and he can’t seem to get enough calories in a day.

  It’s the most fun we’ve had in as long as I can remember… and even though he’s still disappointed that the books I’ve given him so far had no sex to speak of, he asks me to recommend another one.

  I’ll let him figure out Lord of the Flies doesn’t either… but I don’t think he’ll even miss it. I hand him the worn paperback–another gift from my father–and decide to go check out a copy of Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist for him next week. I remember it being entertaining and a little sexy, too, with a good overall message.

  LIONS

  After the exhausting week I had, I’m grateful to have a day off. Aunt Patty took Will and a friend to the movies while my mom went to work, leaving Max and me to fend for ourselves. Although an afternoon nap was on my agenda, my youngest brother has other plans.

  “It’s two, Jon,” he whines. “I’m bored.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” I tell him, yawning. “What do you want to do?”

  “Go to the moon!” he suggests excitedly.

  “We’re not really dressed for that, buddy. Think of something else.”

  He laughs, sliding a Matchbox car on all the furniture surfaces as he runs around the living room. “The sun!”

  “You got a death wish?” I ask him. “Do you have any idea how hot it is up there?”

  “One hundred degrees?” he guesses.

  “Try again.”

  “Two hundred?”

  “It’s one-hundred thousand times one-hundred degrees,” I tell him. “And that’s just on the surface.”

  “What’s one-hundred thousand times one-hundred?”

  “You tell me,” I challenge him. “Go grab some paper and a pen.” He hands me his red sports car while he goes to my room to get the supplies. Even though they put a bed in the craft room, it still houses all the scrapbooking and knitting projects that my aunt works on.

  When he returns, he sets down a pad of flowery paper, hands me a Sharpie, and then sets a letter down on my knee.

  “Where’d that come from?”

  “I got the mail earlier.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. When you were in the shower.”

  “Max? You don’t go outside without an adult, okay?”

  “Mommy lets me,” he argues, furrowing his brow.

  “Well, then on Mommy’s watch, maybe it’s fine. Not on mine
, though… especially when I don’t even know. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he says begrudgingly. “Show me how hot the sun is.”

  “You can do math. Come on.” I hand him the marker and direct him to write out the two numbers we’re multiplying, explaining to him what each zero represents. Even though he knows multiplication, the size of the number overwhelms him, so I give him the answer. “Ten million degrees, Max.”

  “Ten million?”

  “Yep. Can you even imagine?”

  “I’d be sweaty if I walked around on the sun.”

  “No, you’d be dead. What do you think the sun’s made of?” I ask him.

  “Lava?”

  “Good guess, but no. Lava’s only about two thousand degrees.”

  “The sun’s hotter than lava?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s hotter than fire. Hotter than anything we can imagine. The sun is made of gas, mainly hydrogen and helium. The gases become energy and create heat and light. So even if it wasn’t hot on the sun, you couldn’t walk on it.”

  “I’d fall into it?”

  “I guess the gravitational pull would suck you in, yes… but if it wasn’t hot, it would be something other than the sun, so…”

  “I’m confused.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “Too hypothetical for you.”

  “Hyper-what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Can I look at your space book?”

  “The one with the pictures?” He nods. “Sure, it’s still on the desk. You can go get it.”

  “Can I read in your room?”

  “If you take your glasses, yes.”

  “Thanks, Jon!” He runs off, leaving me with his car, the flowery paper, the pen, and most importantly, Livvy’s letter. I lie back down on the couch and open it up, taking my glasses off to read it.

  I love you, Jon.

  The moment I realize I’m smiling, I quickly correct my expression to one that’s more stoic. Some days, as more time has passed, I forget that I’m angry with her. As soon as I think of Finn, though, I remember the feeling very well.

  Do you know how strong you are?

  If you could see me now, Liv. I shake off the nauseating bravado and read on.

  I know. I’m just astonished at what one person can accomplish. Not just one person. One teenager. You have more mental strength and endurance than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re clever and you find solutions to things. You always have the answer.