Letter 2: “Over Me”

As I said, Emily was quite tall, she stood maybe an inch taller than me, but since she wearing some form of heels and I in Birks, she seemingly towered above my head. Most guys would’ve counted that against her, in fact, most did, but she didn’t seem to care. In fact, nothing really seemed to bother her and I seriously wanted to find out why she never seemed to frown, why was she so happy.

Well, maybe she did frown sometimes, because she did at that night’s football game.
I failed to mention that she didn’t have a coat, just a long-sleeved shirt. I handed over my jacket, exposing my bare and and scarred arms to the bitter cold.
“You don’t have to give me that.”
“I do, you look cold.”
“But then you will.” She said as she put it on. I had no intentions at that time, I just thought she looked cold and it was the proper thing to for someone.
“No, I’ve lived in upper Michigan. We’re good.” I lied, as I felt a small shiver, but held my hands over the fire as the wind blew and the warmth covered me for a split second.

At that moment, the pep band started warming up, causing the crowd to clap as the game was starting.

Either that, or they were all clapping to stay warm.
Needless to day, the con session stand ran out of coffee and hot chocolate before the band played “The Banner”.

On the following Monday, I realized she was in my Algebra class, and that she sat three seats behind me. I still can’t believe that I never paid attention to her all of that time. I mean, there was a reason: I assumed that no one wanted to talk to me so I didn’t try. For all I knew, she—or anyone else for that matter—may have tried to talk to me but I ignored them. I still kind of felt that way on that Monday morning, until she walked up to me.

“Can I keep this for the rest of the day? I heard the shop class is kind of cold today.”
“Of course,” I replied, completely oblivious to the signals she was giving me.

I took some time to really notice her and less time on how people looked at my arm. It finally dawned on me three hours later that I had willingly given my jacket up for an entire weekend and that Monday morning. For some reason, I gave up my security blanket to someone I barely knew. I should have reacted like a toddler whose ballon had popped; desperately clawing at her to get it back and to become invisible to the world. My lack of a cloak didn’t bother me until that moment and I through if I put my arms under my shirt, no one will notice.

But they would.

I counted to ten in my mind.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.

Tried to remember that everyone was not out to get me.

I made it to my locker and regretted that I couldn’t fit inside of it.

“Kyle!”
I froze at the voice and lowered my head down, as I didn’t recognize it. No one ever called me by my name unless it was a teacher.

“Hey,” the voice stood next to me. I turned to see Emily, who lowered her head down to meet my bowed stance. “Want to go to the store with me?” She actually didn’t wait for an answer but instead held her hand out. I nodded and weakly took ahold of her fingers. Emily responded by tightly grasping my hand and wrist.

Our school had an open campus, so we were allowed to leave and walk to the store down the street instead of bringing a brown bag lunch or eating int the cafeteria. There were some times where the privilege was almost revoked due to some people getting in their cars and driving or others leaving trash on the side of the road: the residents in the houses that lined the street from the school to the store would report the litterbugs but could never give a name so everyone would receive the collective punishment.

I walked besides Emily in silence.
“So, you don’t find this strange at all?”
“Strange, no, I find it interesting, a bit scary and kind of wondering if I’m on one of those hidden camera shows.”
“No cameras. I’m the one who feels scared.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Come on, you walk up to someone in full hope that they want to talk to you and you have this oh no crazy story as why you’re doing it and you hope he doesn’t pull his hand away and walks away.”
“What’s your story?” I asked.
“I had a dream about you.”
“You did?” I would have assumed it was a nightmare.
“Yeah, I was standing in the middle of green field, so I guess it was in the spring, and not now.”
Emily pointed at the leaf-barren trees. “And it started raining and I didn’t run for cover. I just stood there in the downfall. It rained and rained until I could see a reflection in the water.”
She stopped and took both of my hands.
“I saw you and I thought that someone was telling me to find you, to take your hand, and to tell you everything. ”
“Interesting.”
“I said that when I woke up too.”

I was conflicted at that moment. On one hand, it was weird to hear someone talking to me like I would talk to them. I actually had dreams about certain people, but I would never tell them because they would have screamed to nearest teacher and I would find myself in a locked a padded room, which actually would have been a good idea now that I think about it.

The other hand was that I really wanted to believe her, but I was pretty sure that she was doing this to be nice or to report to someone else about how gullible I was.

I wanted to ask, but it was like a dream for me too.
I didn’t want to wake from it.

What would you have done?

—signed Kyle Jovankah

Lovers and Dreamers

I was terrified while walking with her for that less than half mile distance between the school and the store and then back again. However, the more she held onto my hand and talked to me the less trauma and drama I felt. I would have to admit that I still felt that something was up, that at the end of the trip I’d find my jacket, which she still had on, torn to pieces in front of a circle of students laughing and pointing their fingers at me.

I wanted to accuse her of something but continued asking me questions and then talking about herself.
“I circular breathe, at least that’s what I’m been told.”
“You what?”
“I talk too much, well I used to, before I came here. Sometimes I feel like everyone wants me to just shut up and play basketball or volleyball. ‘We don’t care about you during the day, just bring your body to practice.’ But you don’t., you let me talk up a storm.”
“It’s nice to hear your voice, if that’s okay to say.”
“Of course, she replied as she took a drink of her Dr. Pepper. I held onto a bag of stuff in my other hand. “It feels relaxing to not have someone roll their eyes at me. Like, God, Emma, stop, like, talking.”
She could recite the ingredients from a can of soup, and I’d probably hold onto every word. But, this was probably still some part of a devious plan that I couldn’t see through.

In ninth grade I went to a dance with a girl because she demanded it. Yes, she demanded, as in she might as well stuck a switchblade in my face and threatened my life. I was younger then and had a sliver of faith in humanity and that maybe that was just how she was and that her negativity was just how she handled the slings and arrows that life threw at her.

Not quite.

Her vindictive streak was actually at me and as much as she said she cared about me, I never saw that she was using me; up to the point where she one day told me that I should just give and die, that I was a failure as a boyfriend AND a boy—which was not something I was expecting—because I refused to do anything with her or allow her to do anything with me.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to.
Oh, oh yes, I really did, but not after less than two weeks.
She also said that she would never say she loved me, because “we’re not old enough to know what that is”—something that she said as she tried to unbutton my jeans. I fought her hands and my libido, and I won, or lost, if we were talking about this in a locker room kind of environment.

And it did reach the locker room. I am not sure how, as I didn’t say a word, and no one was else was around us at the time. A few whispers about how “he couldn’t score with the school slut” were devastating in more ways than one. I felt bad about what they said about her and felt that—in some circles—I should have been held in high esteem: I didn’t give in to just throwing everything to the wind.

Do I have regrets?
That’s debatable.
Did I ever try to talk to her again?
No, even though Reardan was a small school, I managed to never see her and had no desire to ask her how she was doing.
She was pregnant later that year.
At least I didn’t get dragged into that rumor mill.

I didn’t think Emily was going to use the same tactics. Her’s were obviously the “kill him with kindness” kind.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Your arms.”
“I don’t know,” I answered without any emotion.
“I thought about it once. It was after I grew, like, into giant girl. I thought about drowning myself in the tub, but I could never stay down long enough.”
“Been there.”
“Toaster?”
“Can cause a fire to the rest of the house.”
“Car?”
“Hurts innocence people,” I said with a shrug.
“So, knives?” Emily asked as she there her empty soda can into a thrash car that was on the side of the road.
“X-acto knives.”
“Same blade or two?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Do you remember why you did it?”
“Not while you’re here.”

Which was true. I turned to her, focused on her green eyes and couldn’t remember why I sliced my wrists or why I took all of those pills and for another moment, all of the pain in my life ceased to exist. It was like the 800-pound weights around my neck were floating around like Mylar balloons.

And I loved that feeling.

—signed,
Kyle Jovankah

Unchain

When I arrived at home, I went straight to my room and sat at my desk with my jaw slacked and my backpack hanging limply on my wrist. I’m not sure how long I kept that pose but I snapped out of it when my pack hit the wooden floor with a muffled “thunk” from my textbooks. I looked to the floor and shook my head.
“She’s just being nice,” I whispered to myself. “That’s all. Everything’s a ‘be nice to the depressed kid’.”
Emily still had my jacket. I wanted her to have more, but I couldn’t let go of the fact that no one was supposed to really like me.

I had wild hair that made Robert Smith look like he had the best stylist in the world. A girl once asked me why I didn’t do anything with my hair and I replied, “would fixing my hair make you want to go out with me?”
She didn’t answer; and in hindsight, it wasn’t a great retort. Still, my hair was only one of my glaring faults: the other being my total pessimistic (I would say realist, but, okay…) attitude about everything. I was ten years shy of the emo-generation, so people just assumed I was an outsider to life.
Or something to that effect.

I grabbed my backpack from the floor, unzipped it and then dumped the contents out onto my desk: textbooks, pens, three folders, a non-functioning calculator, and a folded note…one that I did not put in. The note had my name on it and I feared looking at it, let along opening it. I received notes like that in the past and I never found out who sent them, but they were sarcastic love notes, written by someone who thought it was a trip to send them to me, hoping that I would felt elated at having a “secret admirer”. I read the first few, I ever followed through a bit with what they asked me to do: go to a location at a certain time, “because, I’m shy”, the writer said.
This went on a few times, with the writer never showing up, at least, to my knowledge. If they were looking for me to be elated or to be worried about how they may have been, I must have disappointed them as I showed little emotion. The last note they sent me? I tore it up and threw it on the floor. Maybe in their presence, maybe not. I would have told them that I didn’t understand hints or gave them. It would be a point-blank, “I tell it like it is, baby cakes”, kind of thing.

I rode the bus to school in the morning and sat in the back with my arm leaning on the window, to hide a headphone in my ear. Headphones were not allowed on the bus—but bullying and ear-flicking were for some reason. On some days, the bus driver either didn’t notice or didn’t care but on other days, the other kids would rat me out. It was a DN-DC morning, so I cranked up my “Use Your Illusion Two” album and turned the folded-over note in my free hand as I debated whether to open it. I pocketed it instead.

I got off the bus, hoisted my backpack up and walked towards the front door of the school. Emily stood a few feet away from the door. I had to wonder if she was waiting for me or maybe she just liked the chilly mornings as she still had a coat on—I could see my jacket out of the bottom of her coat, so it was still in one piece. That was a good sign.

“Hiya.”
“Good morning,” I replied.
“I get a good morning. Excellent,” Emily replied as we walked into the building together. She walked a little bit in front of me and then turned to me. Her face was a bright shade of red. I took it that she had been standing out there for awhile.
“Kyle, did you find a note in your backpack?”
“Yes,” I said with a nod.
“Did you read it?”
“Not yet, I didn’t find it until this morning.”
“Oh,” she said, and her face was still red. “I wrote it.”
“Great,” I replied with a slight smile.
“I…it’s like…I’m not good at saying things like this. My voice cracks and I start adding fillers, and, like that. Yeah, see, like that, and um.”
We stopped at my locker and she closed her eyes.
“You okay?” I asked,
“Not sure yet. I want to be here when you read it, but I also want to be on the other side of the county too.”
“I can read it now, if you want,” I replied as I put my backpack in my locker and then took her hand.
“I think you know what’s on it.”
“Not yet. Do you want to give me a hint?”
“I’m not good with hints. I can’t even keep a Christmas present a secret.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said with a small laugh.
“Okay, open it, please.”
She let go of my hand and I carefully unfolded the note. The thoughts of it exploding or it being some form of curse or put down faded as Emily looked between the note and my face.

The bell for first period rang, but we stood there as everyone ran to class as I read:

Tears are falling on my story book
Colors running, I don't want to look
There's a cloud on my looking glass
Full of questions, I'm afraid to ask
Afraid to love, such a chance to take
If I love and lose, my fragile heart will break
No dotted line, there's no guarantee
For the story's end you may never see
Unchain me from my poverty, release my soul
Unchain my life
Let the doubt and the darkness fall from my eyes
Unchain my dreams
Let the heavens of love open up in me

“I…I didn’t write it, but, but it means a lot to me and it was supposed to be about how I didn’t know if you, well, you know.”
I folded the note back and cupped it in my mind as I took a step forward and hugged her. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.”

—signed,
Kyle Jovankah

Eighth Wonder

We were in a state of euphoria whenever we were together. That feeling that you’re floating above the ground, maybe on cloud nine or as close to heaven as living gets without drugs. I think I had a smile on my face for most of the day, which may have scared a few people. For the first time in several years I lifted my head up and looked above everyone, like the fog had lifted.

I knew it was superficial.
I knew that the feeling would be temporary and that my hormones and sugar & rainbow fantasy would come crashing down to the ground one day…but, I made a promise to my heart that I would ignore my brain and just go with it—to stretch it out the best I could.

“How have you been?”
“Great. I. I feel great.”
“Awesome,” Emily replied as we walked down the hall. “I have a volleyball game this afternoon, do you want to come?”
“Sure,” I said without even thinking about how I would get home that evening. Sure, I could call my parents after the fact-she wouldn’t mind too much, especially if I told them the reason…I feared that they would want to kidnap Emily and have her stay with us, so they could get a picture of me smiling in a family portrait for once.
“Coach promises no burn barrels.”
“Darn. I would have brought some marshmallows.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”
“What about the junior class concessions?”
“Yeah, that could cut into their profits if we share with anyone.” The junior class ran the concessions booth at the football and basketball games to raise money for Prom and other projects, such as the Senior Trip. “So, we’ll keep it to ourselves.”
As I was a junior, I would have to—eventually, work a football game or three along with a slew of basketball games—both girls and boys. Strangely enough, the volleyball trams didn’t have concessions, or cheerleaders or a lot of crowds.
“I’m glad we don’t have a lot of people at our games.”
“Why is that?”
“I fall sometimes. Usually it’s on purpose when diving for the ball but other times I just swear I have two left feet.”
“Maybe it’s just your shoelaces?”
“I double tie them,” Emily replied as she kicked her left foot up and we both looked at it for some reason. “Maybe one day, I’ll find a way to fly around on wings or anti-gravity or something.”
“Hoverboard?”
“Thinking more of shoes.”
“Air Emily’s?”
She snapped her fingers. “We need to market that. Get a power source, wire some up and soon everyone can dunk like Jordan. Am I right?”
I nodded as the bell rang.

We parted ways but for a few seconds I wondered if I could just sneak into her class. Sure, it would be a class I already attended, as Emily was a sophomore, but hey, maybe no one notice me. I shook my head at the thought and continued to my own class where I didn’t speak much to anyone but, once again I actually raised my head, moved my hair out of face and out on my glasses—almost looking like a bona fide scholar.

At noon, we sat together in the hallway as it was raining outside. Emily had brought a small lunch consisting of an apple and a large bag of carrot sticks.

“We were out of cupcakes, or I would have brought one. My older sister came home from her job and made a few to prove that she could still cook.”
“Still cook?”
“Oh yeah, she used to make this stuff that was, while good, too rich. It was too good. You know, like someone makes a big dinner, like a Thanksgiving spread but all you want is a slice of pizza. Pizza would be great right now,” Emily said as she offered me another carrot stick. “She joined the army and dad said that she’d come back not knowing anything about living as a civilian. Her food was stuffed into a pouch.”
“MRE’s?”
“She brought some of those home. Truth be told, I preferred one of those to what she made last night. Except for the cupcakes. I don’t think the Army puts cupcakes in there. If they did, they’d be as hard as a rock.”
I only nodded.
“You should meet her.”
“Okay,” I replied.
“Tonight? After the game? She might be at it. She used to play so I’m pretty sure she’ll try to back court coach me,” Emily said as she threw the remaining carrots into her bag.
“Sure.”
“Cool. My parents may try to, like talk to you like a mile a minute. They just like to get to know people. We’re all like that.”
Emily family sounded radically different form my home, like a warped mirror image, where she went out to meet people, I stayed in the shadow; her parents sounded like they would donate the shirts off of their backs, while mine would be apprehensive to let strangers into their home, but then they’d all be talking like they were all friends, My sisters would join the conversation and I wouldn’t. Not that they would have invited me. No, usually I was left to myself in my room to play Nintendo or with my lego sets. Then the event occurred and after that they spoke little to me. I was the statue in the family: I was there, but everyone paid little attention to me.
I would sit in my room and feel this colossal pain in my chest—a breaking heart with no known cause. I never had a girlfriend and I didn’t keep any friends so maybe it was just the crushing loneliness of having neither. I cried at those times and remembered the birthdays where no one came; the time I wrote to a children’s magazine stating that I didn’t have any friends. Yes, one could say I could have tried harder. One could also say that children are cruel.
And to that I will say: they are indeed.

I waited in the gym after school let out. The bleachers were extended, and the volleyball net was ready for the upcoming game. There weren’t very many other people for a game that would start in less than an hour. Football and basketball games usually had a steady trickle of parents and fans, even if the games were already underway. Emily walked out of the locker room in her uniform: maroon shorts and a light grey shirt with the etching of our school’s name and mascot, “Reardan Indians” on the front and her first name and team number, which was eight.
“Make sure you cheer loud for us. All of us, not just me, okay?”
“I don’t know anyone else on the team.” Which was a half truth, I knew a few of them but I doubt they knew me from a shadow on the wall.
“I can fix that. There’s Bridget, Teri, Brenda, Hope, Danielle, Leslie, Jasmine, Crystal, and yours truly.”
“You may have to write that down.”
“Already done,” she replied as she handed a flyer to me. “And, my family said they would be coming, and I told them to look for you. Yeah, I said that before I asked if you wanted to come, because, well, I thought. Sorry, should have found out first.”
“You couldn’t keep me from coming. Are you going to need some ‘Air Em’s?”
“We are going to go over that idea tonight, okay?”
“Okay.” I replied as she gave a bright smile and walked over to join the rest of the team on the court.

Her family came in a few minutes later and immediately sat down next to me. Normally, a mental klaxon would blare in my head to get away, to run for the proverbial hills but her parents, older and a younger sister, sat around me like I was a part of their family.
A hearty handshake from her father
A small hug from her mother.
A high five from her little sister
A, “hey, good to you, don’t know you, but my sister likes you so okay” look from the older sister who liked to make cupcakes.

“Spike it like last year, Em!” Her father yelled.

I already felt like a part of the family.

-signed,
Kyle Jovankah

A Love Calling

It wasn’t too long before the gym was packed, which blew my mind, as no one ever talked about the volleyball team. They were apparently the black sheep of the red-headed stepchild because Emily’s dad recounted how they had won nearly every single game so far and were going to go to state. He whispered that he couldn’t say exactly how he knew, he just said, ‘modesty forbids’ and gave me a wink.

If I was staring at his daughter too much he didn’t seem to notice, and he kept the fire going by shouting shout words of encouragement to all the girls on the team, even if they crashed to the floor after missing a heavy serve or slammed in the face by a spike. The precision teamwork was there. I had to wonder how she handled playing as a team when a lot of the girls on the team, as she had said, didn’t really care for her but more for her ability to play. I would have felt used and taken advantage of.
“Gotta work with everybody,” her mother said to her dad after a rough volley occurred and two members of our team, Leslie and Teri, collided. If looks could kill, they would have shot each other dead at mid court.
“Yep. Maybe we should have the team out at the house for a cookout or something.”
“As long as I get to bake a pie,” the older said.
“Pie with hamburgers?”
“Everything goes good with pie. Right, Kyle?” The younger sister asked.
“Apple or Pecan?” I asked.
“Both,” she replied.

I smiled a bit at that, and her younger sister smiled back at me with a toothy grin.
Emily moved tp the net and to spike the ball back to the other side, but the other team slammed it back into her face and she fell to the court.

The crowd went into hysterics and I, for a moment wanted to body slam that other player but my thought subsided as Emily stood up and gave a small grin, even though her face was splotched red and white from the impact.

“Way to get up, there, girl!” Her father yelled as the game continued.

Soon, the score was ridiculously in favor of the opposing team and at the final hit, we lost by five points. The team gathered in the center of the court and then broke away as the fans clapped. They had given it their best and although it hurt that they were knocked out, Emily didn’t seem to show it as she walked over to us and stood next to me.
“How we’d do?”
“Great. I’m sorry I never watched you play before.”
“You got basketball season.”
“Yes, I do,” I replied as Emily grabbed my hand.
“You move like molasses out there, Em.” Her other sister said with a glint of sarcasm.
“Too much pie. Courtesy of you. Ah, well, everyone has met Kyle, right?”

“Yes, we have,” her mother replied as she looked at me with a smile. “Go get out of your uniform.”
“Can we give him a ride home?”
“Yes,” her father said as he waved her on. ‘Go.”

I stayed with the rest of Emily’s family as we waited for her to come out of the locker room. I saw several other students I knew but I feigned saying hello or waving as they never cared to acknowledge me. Mr. Martin said some form of greeting to everyone who passed by and some nodded in reply or commented on how it was a great game. Mrs. Martin stood next to her older daughter, who I learned was named Charlotte, but wen ruby the name “Charlie”—but not Chuck, “Never call her Chuck unless you want her to yell at you, constantly,” the youngest sister, Scarlett, warned me in a low whisper.
I thanked her for the tip.
“Do you like Emily?” Scarlet asked.
“Yes,” I replied, surprisingly with very little hesitation.
“How much?”
“I don’t think I can explain it,” I said.
“Is it like this?” She asked while stretching her hands out so far out it was like she was ready to take on a game of “Limbo”.
“Maybe more so,” I replied as Emily walked up behind her.
“She talks about you.”
“Yes, I do,” Emily replied. “See, his ears are burning.”
“I don’t see any fire coming out.”
“Wait,” I said as I stepped closer to Emily.
“Can Kyle stay with us for a few minutes before we take him home?” She asked her father.
He looked at the two of us and then to Mrs. Martin. It was like they had some form of telepathy.
“Stay in the living room. Scarlett is the middleman. Um, person.”
“Fair enough,” Emily replied.
Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“Middleman?” I asked Emily as the rest of the family walked ahead of us.
“Scarlett will sit in between us. My parents did it with Charlie when Scar had this huge car seat. She couldn’t see, what was his name?”
“Ryan!” Charlotte said with a bit of disgust.
“It was like a tank, but so is Scar now.”
Her little sister turned around and stuck her tongue out.
“Emily,” Mrs. Martin said with a slight note of disdain.
“Sorry.”

The Martin’s owned a newer model minivan. I sat in the back with Emily and, true to their word, Scar’s car seat sat between us. I didn’t mind it too much even as Scar asked more questions than a police interrogation, including asking about the scars on my arm. At that moment, all that could be heard was the sound of the engine as everyone else stopped talking.
‘Scar,” Mr. Martin started. I wanted to say that it was an accident, as it was—an accident of my mind wanting to die—but I would leave that part out. “Remember when I said that sometimes there’s pain to the heart and sometimes it shows in some ways.”
“Did Jesus save you?” Scar asked. “He helps people who feel bad. You should talk to him.”
“Maybe I’ll give him a call in the morning.”
“Okay,” she replied.

The Martins lived a few miles out of town, about midway from my house, but several backroads in the wrong direction. It was dark, and I couldn’t tell exactly where we were when we arrived at their house I could see it was a small two-story of a unique design: An A-frame house attached to another building, maybe a former barn. The inside looked nothing like outside: like it was much more elaborate with a large dining room and living room: a staircase with a short landing that lead upstairs and a room that, from what I could see, had several bookshelves.

“Let me go and run my things upstairs. Have a seat.” Emily motioned to the couch as she ran upstairs.
I looked around the room a little more and then sat down on the couch that nearly swallowed me as the pillowy cousins sank. I looked like a four-year old king on a grand and mighty throne. Scar walked by and laughed at my inability to move out of the corner.

“He needs help.” She yelled out.
“No, he’s okay,” Emily shouted back from upstairs.
I was okay, but I also didn’t want her to see me completely jammed into the furniture. I twisted around and then rolled out and onto the floor.

Emily stood over me. “It happens a lot. We call it the Corinthian Leather Flytrap.”
“Fitting name,” I replied as she put her hand out to help me up.
“How about the kitchen table? Not as comfortable, but you won’t get eaten.”
“Okay.”
“Scar,” Emily said, “your services will not be needed.”
“Fine!” Her sister said with a scowl as we walked into the kitchen.

We sat across from each other at the table. There were so many thoughts going through the mind at that moment: Fear, happiness, worry, regret, calmness, love. My face must havre expressed them all within a flash of a few seconds.
“I’m still having dreams about you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think I was in one of them. At least I want to think I was. My dreams are usually like movies or shown from my eyes, so I assume it’s me.”
“What happened?”
“It was a dance or something but we we’re wearing like, t-shirts and jeans while everyone else is suits and dresses, flowers and everything.”
“Casual attire.”
“My wedding’s going to be like that too.”
“Really?” I asked with a small laugh, not sure if she was hinting at something.
“Yeah, or its at least going to be comfortable. I may be this thin or my metabolism may finally slow down, but I refuse to cram myself into a dress that I’m going to wear once. Wait, that means for Prom I’ll have to wear something else besides jeans. Perhaps a little dressy, maybe.”
“Can’t war anti-gravity shoes with a dress.”
“Yeah, that’s true. It could reveal more than I’d want others to see.”
“Interesting dance pictures though,” I said as I placed my hands on the table. Emily reached hers out to meet mine.
“Yep.”
We sat across form each other with our hands together and our eyes locked. I thought maybe her family did possess sometime of psychokinetic powers or something because her gaze filled my mind with millions of more thoughts, but none of them were of fear, worry, or regret. Just like a few days prior: all my past feelings of despair went away.

We sat and talked without thinking about the passage of time until Mr. Martin walked in.
“It’s nine-thirty.”
I felt a bit guilty about not calling my parents, something that I wouldn’t have cared about a week before, that maybe they would be upset.
“What is your number, Kyle?” Mr. Martin asked as he picked up the phone mounted to the wall in the kitchen.
“337-2369,” Emily replied to him.
I nodded.

We walked out of the kitchen as Mr. Martin called my parents. I wasn’t sure why he didn’t have me call, but I was okay with being alone with Emily for a few minutes outside.

“Thank you.” I said.
“For what?”
“For being you.” I replied as I tried to see her face in the low light.
“You need to know something, Kyle.”
“What?” I asked as she stepped closed.
“You are loved. By a lot of people, you just haven’t been able to see it. You have to love yourself like I do.”
“Like you love yourself? I asked.
“No, like how I love you.”
“I do.”
“And there’s so, so much more for us. You know?”
“How do you do it?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“How do you have this joy. I feel like I’m a soulless vampire near you.”
“Maybe you are. We all are. We’re all lost people of the night; trying to grasp onto that person who keeps us going.”
“You’re that person for me.”
“It can’t be just me. You have to want to keep going too,” she said as took my hands and moved closer to me.
“I do, as long as you’re with me.”
“You need to promise me something.”
“Anything,” I replied.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“Whatever it is. If you ask me, I’ll do it.”
“I want you to smile for you. Be the beautiful and thoughtful person you are with me, even if you feel like turning over in bed and just giving up for the day. I’ve been there, I’ve cried like you have and I don’t want to see anything ever happen to you.”
Emily wrapped her arms around me and and I slowly moved my hands to embrace her as well.
“I promise.”

-signed,
Kyle Jovnakah

Lay It Down

Mr. Martin had apologized to my parents and explained the situation. I was still expecting them to explode or tell me how they thought I was dead in some roadside ditch because I never called. They didn’t and when he dropped me off Emily walked with me to the front door and gave me a light kiss on the lips. I wanted it to last longer for the few seconds but figured she didn’t want to hear her dad lecture her and I didn’t want to hear it form my mother who was on the other side of the door, unlocking it at that moment.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.
“You will. Let’s draw up those shoes.”
“Okay,” I replied as I waved to her.

I went upstairs without really saying much to my mom, except that it was a good game. I didn’t question anything that Mr. Martin might have said to her, I didn’t try to get any answers because I assumed that if there was an issue than they would have staged some form of an intervention the moment I walked in the door.

I walked up the stairs to my room, turned on the lights, closed door and then spun around like I was some kind of pop star with a great dance pose. I was happy—with such a feeling that I could probably see my heart glowing through my chest if I turned the light off.

I closed my eyes and I could see her face; I could feel her breath on my skin and smell a light perfume and I didn’t want that to go away for any moment. I didn’t care if I fell asleep and dreamed of her or stayed awake all night with her on my mind. I hoped for a dream or some form of memory of her, like she had of me—but I figured that if I had one, I would forget it the second my eyes opened in the morning. Maybe I could lucid dream and control it, to see the wondrous things that awaited us beyond my mind’s eye—or at least give me a vision of what I had to look forward to.
The wishful musings of a hormonal and emotionally obsessed teenage boy—if it could be bottled up and sold, I would be a billionaire.

I jumped out of bed five minutes before my alarm clock would go off. True to form, I could not remember if I had any dream, but it didn’t matter, my dream was already a reality, I just had to make it to school. I took a shower, got dressed and raced out to meet the bus—this time without my Walkman or long-sleeves; and Emily still had my jacket, so I once again exposed my body to the slings and arrows of psychological torture, but I was able to ignore it. The towering demon of self-doubt: the one that handed out bad ideas like good omens shrank down like I was “Super Mario” with a magic mushroom. The ride to school was peaceful.

I raced to the school door, but Emily wasn’t there. I thought little of it. She was obviously inside or maybe hadn’t arrived yet on her own bus. I didn’t know which one hers was, so I wouldn’t know where to go and find it. So, I went on to my locker, threw my backpack in and then walked down the hall.

She wasn’t at the other end of the hall or in the library, so I walked to the gym. I wasn’t paranoid, I didn’t fear there was an issue, but I had a feeling that if I didn’t see her within a few minutes that I would have a minuscule panic attack so small no one could outwardly see it but there would be a chorus of shrieking “me’s” in my head—all of the running like it was the apocalypse because Emily was not there at that moment.

She wasn’t in the gym.
“There’s no reason to jump to conclusions,” I said to myself. “She’s sick at home due to the game or maybe that strike to the face caught up with her and she’s at a doctor’s appointment.” It had only been a few days, but I felt incomplete without her in the morning: I was missing my Yang and I didn’t like it. Still, there would be days in the future, like on the weekends, where we wouldn’t see each other in person as much as we wanted to, or maybe during vacations so this was a practice for that.

I nodded to the chorus in my head who all applauded at my adult logic. I grabbed my books from my locker and went to class. I listened, I took notes but I also had the thoughts that she would be outside the door after first period and we would to Geometry class together. However, there was also the thought that she would hang the jacket on my locker with another note on it and that everything was just some test. I tried to exorcise that form my mind. Emily was’t like that—there was hardly a vindictive thought in her soul—she had the brightness for the both us; a brightness I wanted to learn how to turn on.

The end of first period and she wasn’t there, so I walked to my second period class alone, which was okay. After all, I had done the same things for two months prior. I sat at my desk and looked back at the empty space. I came to the final conclusion that she was just absent and that I could call her tonight and fill her in on the homework we were going to have, as Mrs. Humphrey never skipped a day to assign three to four pages of expressions, formulas and proofs.

I was working on said work when the intercom crackled.
“Mrs. Humphrey?” The disembodied voice of the school secretary crackled.
“Yes?”
“Could you please send Kyle Jovankah to the office?”
I looked at the intercom and then to Mrs. Humphrey as she responded. “Yes, I will.”
I looked at her for approval and she nodded, so I got up and made my way to the door with 32 sets of eyes looking at me.
I wondered what I had done. Did my scars freak someone out? Did someone steal my notebook that had a lot of depressing poems? For some reason I felt nervous even though I was sure I had done nothing wrong.

I walked out into the hall to see Mr. Martin standing next to the office door with Mr Cain, the principal. Mr. Martin’s face was bruised, and he looked weary, like he had been up all night. He saw me, met me halfway down the hall and threw his arms on me.
“Kyle,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure what had happened, and I looked to Mr. Cain who had turned around and walked into the office.
Mr. Martin stepped back and looked at me. His face was tear streaked and I had no idea why.
“She’s gone.”

Light a Candle

I backed away from Mr. Martin and stood in the middle of the hallway with three million voices running through my mind—all of them screaming sand laughing at me, with the exception of one, but it next to impossible to hear through the din. The yelling was so loud I kneeled to the floor and closed my eyes in an attempt to silence it all.

“Hey, what are you doing on the ground?”
I shook my head back and forth—not wanting to hear anyone.
“Kyle, hey, look up.”
I recognized the voice and my eyes flashed open to see Emily standing in front of me.
“Why are you sitting on the floor?”
She held her hand out and I hastily took it and got up.
“Emily!” I embraced her in a huge hug. “What happened?”
“Another car,” she replied.
“What?” I asked as I held onto her.
“We stopped to help someone on the side of the road and and another car come up from over the hill and didn’t our car. Or me.”
I raised my head from off her shoulder, fearing that I was in a scene from “A Nightmare on Elm Street”, and took a step back.
“Nothing like that at all, Kyle. I’m okay, as you can see. No, cuts or scars. It’s a tranquil feeling, actually.”
I was in disbelief that she was right in front of me and I took a step back.
"What's wrong? Why are you moving away?"
“You’re not. You’re…you’re here, alive?”
“In a way,” she replied.
“In what way?”
“Can we go for a walk?” She asked as she reached out for my hand. I took it and we walked down the hallway.
I opened the door and we stepped out into the cold and cloudy elements.

“I should've been the one to die.” I said without any emotion.
“Don’t say that.”
“If you hadn’t had to take me home…”
“Then I’d still still be here? I’m here right now,” She replied as I shivered form the cold. Emily still had my grey jacket.
“You had so much to give to people. I have nothing to offer the world.”
“Not true. Scarlett thinks the world of you. Charlotte said you okay—believe me that’s a good thing. My parents really like, and I love you, so, you have more to offer people than you know.”
“Can I go with you?”
She shook her head.
"Why not?" I asked as all of the mental and emotional blocks I tried to place up were smashed away.
“Because you have to live.”
"But I can't live without you now! I couldn't make it through this morning school without seeing you."
“You will have to live without me being here,” she said as we stopped walking and she placed her free hand on my chest. “But I will always be here.”
“But I want you to be with me.”
“You will be, one day.”
“How do I keep going?”
Emily grabbed onto my other hand. “You’re not alone. You never have been. Yes, people are cruel. Teenagers are monsters, we both know that, but we also know there are people out there who are meant to bring happiness to others.”
“I don’t bring happiness to—”
She placed a finger on my lips “You brought it to me.”
I bowed my head and nodded.
“You can bring it to others. Somewhere out there, someone’s hurting, and you’ll be the one to help them, to give your life for them. I would have for you.”
“You would have?”
“I pushed the woman out of the way of the car, she fell onto my dad and they were pushed a bit when the car struck hers. I didn’t think twice about about it, I just knew I had to do it. You would have too.”
I wanted to deny that I would. I wanted to say that I would never do that, but I knew I would have done the same.
“She’s okay and so is her baby.”
“You knew she was pregnant?
“She was pretty big, it was also why she couldn’t change the tire by herself. She seemed nice.”
“Emily?”
“Yes?”
“Just tell me this all a nightmare and that I’ll wake up and and everything will be the same.”
“It’s not a nightmare, Kyle. I guess it’s like a waking dream. Hey, you’re having a dream about me that you’ll remember. How about that?”
“I don’t want to ever wake up if it means you’ll be gone.”
“I’ll never be gone from you.”
I bit my lip. “I mean next to me.”
“I don’t want you to think that way. I want you to live. Live. Like. Us. Like how we have been.”
“How?”
“Ask my dad” Emily said as she moved in to hug me. “He can show you.”
“You I dad?”
“Yes,” she replied as she kissed my cheek.

And then faded away.
 

PS: Morning Star

I felt like blaming you for everything bad that happened in my life. If I never heard of your rules or stories, then I would have felt free from any punishment. I could have felt no pain or remorse form not doing anything for anybody or myself. Free to just give it all up the way I wanted to…but no.

No, you had to talk to me a few times.
You had to say I was worth something when everyone else turned away…when I even turned away form myself. The self-inflected pain compounded by my cloudy mind were supposed to be the end of me. I wanted to die several times but never could—my attempts were thwarted and when I felt that I had finally succeeded I found myself in the hospital and then back to school, back to what I felt to be a literal Hell.

A Hell I blamed you form putting me back into!
Why? What did I do to deserve that life sentence? Didn’t you hear all those times I said I wanted to leave? To go home? That’s what was always said, right? That this isn’t my home and so much more is awaiting me so why not let me skip all of this and just go now?

Then I met Emily, and now I understand.

Thank you.

signed,
Kyle Jovankah