Jasper: Yeah.
Willa: Be there in a sec.
I slip out of bed and throw on a sweatshirt over my pajamas. The sweatshirt is so loose it almost covers my sleep shorts, making it look like I’m not wearing anything.
I shove my feet in some flip-flops and hurry downstairs as quickly and quietly as I can.
Opening the front door, I find Jasper leaning against the doorway.
Gone is his carefree smile, and in its place is a frown and red-rimmed eyes.
My heart aches for him, for the pain so plainly reflected on his face.
I close the door behind me.
“Follow me,” I whisper, like we might be overheard.
I’ve never in my life done anything like this, sneaking around with a boy in the middle of the night. But I don’t feel afraid of him, and I know he needs me. For whatever reason, he just does.
Like me, he appears to be in sleep clothes. A pair of loose gray shorts made of sweatpants material and a plain tee with a faded logo and the sleeves cut off.
I lead him around the side of the house and into the back onto the beach. We sit down in the sand, side by side, looking at the dark ocean. You can barely see it, even with the stars glittering above, but you can hear it, and the sound always calms me when I’m feeling down.
We sit quietly. I don’t want to pressure him to talk, I want him to do it in his own time.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he finally whispers. “Every time I closed my eyes I saw that truck slamming into T.J.’s car. They said he died instantly, but I can’t help thinking what if they’re wrong. What if he sat in that car, suffering, knowing he was dying? What if he was all alone, knowing it was the end?”
“The end isn’t as scary as you think,” I whisper.
I don’t look but I feel him look at me. “How?”
I shrug. “There’s something quite comforting about it … like you’re going home.”
“I miss him,” he confesses, his voice pain-filled and full of longing. “We fought like brothers do, but we also loved each other. He was my best friend.”
“I feel the same way about my sister. Living without her would be like living without part of my heart.”
He nods, bending his knees and draping his arms over the top.
“We had this game we used to play, only the two of us, it was stupid.” He shakes his head. “We’d slap these stickers on each other, each one had instructions like jump off the pier or eat a raw fish. Stupid stuff,” he reiterates. “But I can’t stop thinking about how, even though we haven’t played it in years, we’ll never get to do it again.”
“You’re always going to miss him.”
“I know,” his voice catches, “but I’m scared for the day when it doesn’t hurt so much and is just normal. Or when he’s been dead longer than he was alive. My chest literally seizes up when I think about it.” He holds up a clenched fist to demonstrate. “And my parents … fuck.” He rubs his hand over his hair. “I can’t imagine how they feel. I lost my brother but they lost a son. My mom starts crying over everything and I can’t blame her. She found a baseball mitt stuffed under the couch the other day and started sobbing. I don’t even know how to comfort her because I’m so broken myself, but I hate seeing her fall apart. She’s always been strong and now she’s just … sad. We all are. The house seems empty without him. And I might be taking the next year off, but what happens when I do go back to college and the house is empty of the both of us? How will she take it then?”
I don’t know what to tell him. I’m afraid to say the wrong thing but don’t want to say nothing at all, either.
“You can’t think that far ahead. The now is complicated enough as it is.”
He looks over at me. “You’re right. Why were you up?”
I sigh, letting out the heavy breath that’s been weighing down my chest. “Lots of reasons.”
Like the fact that I have your brother’s kidney—that I need to tell my parents I’m not going to college—that I’m unsure about life and I feel like I can’t breathe.
“I know I don’t know you that well yet, but I feel like I can talk to you,” he admits. “I want you to know it’s okay to talk to me.”
I nod and pick up some sand, playing with it in my hands. I’ll have to take a shower when I go in, but I don’t care. This is way better than staring at my ceiling, unable to fall asleep.