Dear Jon

  “And she was happy,” I add finally. “She was always happy before Donna died… when we were together, she would be smiling or laughing or perfectly content. For most of my life, I’d been at her side as she painted. When we were in art classes, I saw her work and create, and that is when she’s happiest… when she’s herself… I couldn’t help but become enamored with her. I was lucky I shared a desk with her and spent so much time getting to know her. I think I knew her in a way no one else did. I understood her process, because mine was similar. She could focus as if in another state of consciousness. I do that, too.”

  “I’m guessing she changed because this woman passed away?” Audrey asks.

  “She changed because she stopped painting. She couldn’t get in touch with herself anymore, and she became disconnected. She stopped being able to make herself happy, and she looked to me to do that. It put a strain on our relationship–on all her relationships, really.

  “I’m not the one to make her happy.” I remember Livvy’s letter about soul mates. She’s absolutely right. “She’s the only person who can do that for herself.”

  “Hence the reason you simply wanted a break.”

  “I thought she needed some time for introspection.”

  “And now she’s had it, huh?”

  “I guess. I wish it hadn’t been forced on her.”

  “But maybe if it had been an amicable split, she still would have been overly reliant on you. There’s a reason for everything.”

  “It’s quite possible.”

  “She writes you letters?” Audrey asks. I look at her, wondering how she knows that. “Your brothers told me the day we met… that’s what you were reading when you were in the waiting room.”

  “Yeah,” I admit.

  “What does she say?”

  She tells me she loves me. She tells me she’s sorry. She tells me she was lost. She tells me she’s found. She tells me she’s painting. She tells me she’s happy. She tells me she doesn’t need me anymore. She tells me she will always want me.

  “Nothing really,” I lie, not allowing her into that part of my life. It’s one thing for me to tell Audrey how I feel about my ex-girlfriend. It’s another thing to tell this girl I’ve only recently met about Livvy’s deepest emotions. I won’t do that to her. I will protect her privacy–our privacy.

  “I see,” Audrey says. “I totally understand.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a smile, finishing off the last of my salad. We talk for another hour. Most of that time is spent giving her advice on ways to get assistance with money for college.

  “Ready for dessert?” I ask, reaching into the cooler now filled with mainly cold water and a few chunks of ice.

  “Sure,” Audrey answers, sitting up and taking one of the pints out as I grab the other one.

  “This isn’t good,” I say, squeezing the container. “They’re a little melted, huh?”

  “Perfect,” she says, putting the orange ice cream up to her lips and sipping off some of the liquid. “It’s so good,” she laughs. “Go ahead!”

  I open the chocolate mint pint and take a drink, getting ice cream on my upper lip. Audrey hands me a napkin and takes the container from me.

  “Where are the spoons?” she asks. I realize I never packed any.

  “Yeah, ummm… I guess we’re supposed to enjoy them as shakes,” I respond, admitting to my unpreparedness.

  “Can we share?” she asks.

  “Of course,” I answer, picking up the orange swirl pint and tasting it, encouraging her to do the same with the other flavor. She holds up the mint container and gestures for another toast.

  “To you, getting what you want… whatever it is,” she says.

  “And the same to you,” I respond.

  At around ten, Audrey and I have had enough of both the music and the heat. The drive to her house is quiet, and I struggle to find words to say to her. She picks at her pink fingernails, only looking up periodically to tell me where to go.

  When we reach her parents’ home, I get out of the car to get the blanket out of the trunk.

  “Today was fun,” I tell her.

  “Thanks. I had a great time, too. And I think that’s how I’ll eat ice cream from now on.” We both chuckle a little, leaning on the back of the car.

  “Audrey, I think you’re pretty incredible.”

  She blushes in the light of the street lamp. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she says back to me. “But I hope to meet someone like you again someday.”

  “You’re going to make some guy very happy. Make sure he loves you like you love him.”

  “I hope he loves me like you love Livvy. And I really hope things work out for you.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure what that looks like at this point, but I hope we can work something out. Thank you for listening… and for your empathy, and friendship.”

  “You, too.”

  “And, you know, I have been working on Will, so… if you like younger guys,” I tease her, nudging her in the side with my elbow, “he loves blonde girls.”

  “As tempting as that is, I think I’ll branch out… maybe meet a nice college guy,” she says with a smile. “If you’re ever in town again, though, I’d love to meet for some poor man’s food.”

  “If I make it back, General Tso’s Chicken is on me. And if you ever come to New York, I’ll take you to the best hot dog cart in the city.”

  “Perfect.” She faces me, arms stretched out for a hug. I put her blanket on the car and pull her into me tightly. “Thank you, Jon.”

  “Thank you, Audrey. I’ll never forget you.”

  “Ditto,” she says, patting my back twice before letting go. Her eyes glisten as she looks up at me. I lean in to kiss her cheek.

  “Take care,” I whisper.

  “I will.” She grabs the blanket and walks up to her front door, turning back once before going in to wave goodbye.

  I love you, Jon.

  I kick off my tennis shoes and push them into the closet before turning off the overhead light and lying down on my bed. The lamp on the desk illuminates just enough of the room for me to keep reading.

  Valentine’s Day 2.0. Remember?

  Livvy had been grounded on the romantic holiday after we had fallen asleep together in her bed, so we celebrated two days later. We renamed the day to commemorate that, as well as to signify it was our second Valentine’s Day together.

  It worked out in our favor. It was much easier to get reservations to a decent restaurant, and it allowed us a full day to celebrate instead of just meeting together on a school night. It was insufferably cold that day, too, which kept a lot of people at home on a Saturday.

  Not us, though.

  I met her at her house around noon, where she greeted me with a thermos of hot chocolate. She was bundled up and ready to leave, dressed in a quilted black coat, a flared black skirt, black tights and black knee-high boots laced up with a black bow that tied mid-calf in the back. Around her neck was a dyed scarf with reds, oranges and pinks. Her lipstick matched it, as did two tiny barrettes that kept her hair off her face.

  “Do you think you’ll be warm enough?” I had asked her, glancing down her body and stopping at her knee, where I could see the hint of a dark freckle through her leggings.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said, then pointed at different articles of clothing. “Quilted and layered,” she said, “wool and leather.”

  I kissed her even though her parents sat in the adjoining living room watching us. “Your legs are going to be cold,” I whispered.

  “We’ll run.” And after walking for three blocks on the way to MoMA, we did run the rest of the way, even though there were plenty of cabs to take us to the exhibit we’d both wanted to see. She was happy to be ungrounded, feeling totally free.

  I had so much fun with you, recreating the romantic works of art that were on display that weekend. ‘Couples in Love’ was the perfect collection for us, because I felt so in love that day.
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  The museum was featuring works of art that celebrated romantic love between two people. It was a brilliant marketing effort, and I’d heard that, on Valentine’s Day, they had offered candlelight dinners in various parts of the museum to elite members.

  It was perfect that most people didn’t want to fight the bitter cold, because it gave us time to enjoy ourselves in public, privately. The only pictures snapped of us were taken with our cameras: selfies of us kissing, or silly pictures of us as we posed in front of outrageous works of art.

  I printed out the one of you by the bronze sculpture, where you were whispering in the ear of the girl statue, talking her out of accepting the obvious proposal of the boy statue on one knee.

  “He’s emotionless,” you’d told her, “and cold hearted.”

  I smile, remembering what came next. “Let me show you how it’s done,” I’d said, then gestured for Olivia to join me by the sculpture. She posed next to it, mimicking the girl’s surprised expression. I kneeled down in front of her, and snapped a picture of her, wanting to remember what she’d look like when it came time to propose someday. I took her hand in mine as she propped up her oversized purse.

  “Olivia?”

  “Yes?” she’d said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Will you… give me another sip of hot chocolate? Please?” I’d begged. She laughed, handing me her bag. After glancing around to make sure we were alone, I got out the thermos and took a drink of the still-warm beverage. When I stood up, she had taken off her coat, and was wearing a beautiful flowered top that had the same colors of her scarf with black stripes. It was form fitting, and after she handed me her coat to carry, I admired her perfect figure momentarily before setting everything I’d been holding on the floor and pulling her into my body. I kissed her as I imagined the couple in the statue would have kissed after the girl said yes to her suitor.

  “A chocolate kiss,” Livvy whispered as she pulled away, licking her lips. “Can I have another?”

  “Gladly,” I had said with my lips already pressed against hers. We’d kissed deeply until we heard voices approaching.

  I can’t help but wonder if that’s what’s happened to you. Have I caused you to shy away from your emotions? Did my actions harden your heart? Is that why you won’t write me back?

  If you don’t love me anymore, Jon, please tell me so. I admittedly want your love. After what I did, though, I could accept your hatred. What I can’t deal with is your indifference to this situation. Do you feel nothing for me? Nothing at all?

  Her question is aptly placed, because I remember the conversation we’d had at the restaurant that night, two days after Valentine’s Day. After I’d told her where we were going for dinner earlier in the week, she had made further arrangements to make sure we had a private area. One had been set up on the second floor, where there was only room for a table for two on the side of the staircase. The area was hidden from the rest of the room by a stained glass wall that cast the most beautiful colors on her face as she ate.

  She had told me she loved me as we ate dessert. It was a delicate chocolate mousse that I fed her from across the small table. The sweet decadence inspired countless more chocolate kisses that night. I told her that the words ‘I love you’ weren’t enough for me to express my feelings to her.

  “I feel everything for you, Olivia,” I’d told her. “With every ounce of my being, with all my heart and soul, I am full of the greatest affections, passions, and emotions that any man has ever felt for any woman… any time in the history of the world.”

  She stood up, putting her napkin in her chair, and held her hand out, palm up. I took it in mine and joined her next to the table. We kissed passionately, eventually releasing hands and innocently exploring one another’s bodies with them. I backed her against the wall, so thankful we’d had a little privacy in that moment because I needed it as much as I needed her.

  Realizing where we were–still in a restaurant, even though the waiters had agreed to leave us after we’d paid the tab–we slowed down, eventually leaning against one another breathing heavily, trying to figure out where we could go to be truly alone.

  It didn’t happen for us that night.

  I’m losing hope. I’d thought I could make you see how I still feel about you through these letters. Everything. I feel everything.

  Have I lost you? If so, I will always live with regret for what I did to you… but I hope I haven’t made you into that bronze statue. Cold. Emotionless. I hope you can love again. I hope it’s me that you love, but if not, I want you to have love, regardless.

  Heart

  BREAK

  Will and Ellen had planned to go on another date after their religion class on Wednesday night, and I’d told my brother I would drive him to the restaurant he’d chosen. After an exhausting day at work, a part of me wishes my mother could have driven them around, but another part of me wants to see how my brother is progressing in this relationship. It had only been a few weeks, but he was all in. He even took a couple of pink roses with him to class to give to her. It was his idea.

  As I wait for their class to end, I decide to read Livvy’s latest work. There’s a warm breeze flitting through the open windows, so I hold onto the letter with both hands, making sure it doesn’t fly away. With one of the interior lamps broken in the car, it’s not easy to make out her words.

  I love you, Jon.

  While I was on Spring Break in Wyoming, I’d hoped every day you would find a way to visit me from Utah. Admittedly, I was high on Vicodin for a good part of my trip, but it didn’t seem like a complete impossibility. Eight hours kept us apart… if we had both driven, it would have only been four.

  I should have found a way to make that happen. I never wanted to spend the week off from school away from you. It would be the second Spring Break without you.

  We were broken up during the first one. I had begged my parents to let me stay behind while the rest of my family went on their annual vacation, but they instead decided to stay home with me. They were worried about me, but they wanted to support my healing, and my painting.

  This year, I made the first of many mistakes by allowing Finn to kiss me. It was brief, but it changed us… and it made our friendship more comfortable as we shared a secret with one another that no one else knew about.

  I remember how she’d admitted to actually kissing him in an earlier letter. Had I known he’d succeeded at his attempt back then, I think I would have punched him a lot harder in the airport that day when we all got back to Manhattan.

  As it turns out, I guess Spring Break is really what lead up to the real break. You had a taste of a functional family life, and Finn and I grew closer after that. It makes me wonder if you already knew back then that you were leaving me for the summer. Had you already made arrangements? And why in the world wouldn’t you tell me sooner–as soon as you’d known?

  Why did you make such a big decision without me? I’m beginning to see that you were having doubts long before I realized it. Maybe you really did want to break up. Maybe you just didn’t want to be the one to do it… and then I made it so easy for you to walk away.

  Or was it already going to be easy for you?

  I knew early on that a little separation would be good for us. After all, the week apart in the spring–regardless of what happened with Finn–seemed to create more intimacy and trust in our relationship. When I got home, one glimpse of her reminded me of just how deeply I loved her. I felt more committed at the time.

  But walking away from her was never in the plans; had it been, I know it would not have been easy. Just telling her about the temporary split I was planning was horrifying to me. I knew she wouldn’t take it well. I didn’t want her to be angry with me, but I’d hoped we would stay in touch over the summer, exchanging daily affirmations of love while she continued painting and getting back to the place she belonged. I’d envisioned the sweet reunion when I got home. I’d even made arrangements with Fred before I left to ha
ve the dorm to myself for a night before school started up again.

  That would no longer be necessary.

  We’d spent Spring Break apart. I broke your trust. You broke up with me. We are so broken right now.

  We… aren’t finished, are we?

  A sudden pang emanates from my gut as I read her line. It’s changed. Her confidence in us is shaken.

  But what are we now? If we aren’t finished, what are we?

  Break

  We aren’t what we used to be. We would never be that again.

  “Let me in,” my brother says, trying the handle from outside the car. Before I can unlock the door, he reaches in through window and opens it himself, slumping into the seat next to me. I look at the building’s door to see other kids his age streaming outside, and I see Ellen walking with another guy. “Can you go?”

  “Aren’t we waiting for–”

  “No, we’re not,” he says, tossing the two flowers he’d brought with him out the window. “Just drive, okay?” he instructs me angrily.

  “Home?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to go home yet.”

  I start the car and roll up the windows, giving him a few minutes to cool off. I decide to drive up to the worksite where I’d spent most of my summer days, always wanting to see it at night, where there’s no ambient light to wash out the stars. I stop on the way to grab a couple of sodas and a bag of Will’s favorite chips. He hasn’t eaten… he was too nervous before his class tonight to even have a little snack, and his dinner plans have obviously been canceled.

  I park the car near the large, etched rock, leaving the parking lights on. “Come on, let’s go check out the moon.” I hand him the bag of snacks and reach in the back seat to grab something for us to sit on. “Towels are very important things,” I say to him as I toss one his way. He catches it with ease, even with one arm full, and I see a glimpse of a smile on his face in the dim light.

  After we settle in on a hillside, he munches on his chips while I consume nearly my entire soda in one drink. I lie back, adjusting my glasses and looking at the sky above us.