Gift of a Lifetime

IV

A few weeks later I had begun hanging out at the library again. I found interest in poetry. There were lots that I was interested in, but it was unfortunately so long ago that I couldn't remember any of them.

What I do remember is how much I admired them. The way the words would mess with your head and make you really think, or how there were no rules, you could have a bunch of words squished together into one or never put any periods or commas, and no one could tell you otherwise. I could never be able to write my own, though. I didn't believe that my writing could be as beautiful as theirs.

One day, I ran into Jayden on the way home from the library, and he said he was just returning Purple Skies, and I insisted that I go with him since I had nothing else to do. Our conversation seemed endless, bouncing between books and music and what we wanted to do when we're older.

Our friendship hadn't changed since that night. In fact, we became closer. We understood each other more, it seemed. Jayden was finally able to talk about himself and his feelings about certain things like his unpopular opinion on Purple Skies, in which he had admitted that he wasn't interested in action books. I learned so much more about him over the next few weeks. He liked to draw and write, yet usually he didn't like to tell me what he was drawing and writing, he told me about his past friendships and how they had ended so terribly, and how he knew that we wouldn't end like that.

There had been certain moments where we were just stuck staring at each other in between conversation, as if having a whole other conversation in our heads. I saw him more during that summer, and was able to notice his features better; pale skin with small little freckles along his cheeks and nose if you looked close enough, he had a scar across his right eyebrow, which had healed well, and came to learn that his hair was just a very, very dark ginger. Sometimes the red in his hair began to show ever so slightly in the sun, which I was able to admire without it being weird. (Usually if one of us was just staring at the other, we didn't care or say anything; we knew it was just something that caught their eye and didn't take it too deeply, sometimes even stared back or started a conversation.)

One day, my mother came back inside with a smirk on her face after checking the mail.

"For you," She placed a letter in front of me, who was sitting at the island. In beautiful handwriting in the middle of the envelope was written, Tommy Valdez.

"What's this?" I looked up from it. She just shrugged and walked outside, shoving her bag of cigarettes into her coat pocket.

When I checked in the top corner to see who it was from, I recognized the name immediately. Jayden Eastman. And a little mini heart next to his name.

Anxiety building up in my stomach, I began to open it. Out came a piece of lined paper folded into thirds. I froze. Shit, I thought as my head filled with terrible scenarios, Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

I took a deep breath and unfolded it. Along the sides were inked drawings of crows resting on colorless branches, gazing curiously at the words written in the middle. It was a poem.

they wake me in the morning
their soft calls to each other
a mother and a daughter, a son and a father
a mournful loss,
a bright red gloss
the careless cars
sending them to the stars
crows, ravens, hawks, pigeons
all a family
all at peace
no war, no lie
no feeling
eat, reproduce, and die

(Sorry if it's bad)

Wow, was all I could think of. Jayden's mind went deeper than I had imagined. Eat, reproduce, and die. All a family.

I dashed into my room, folded it nicely into my drawer in my nightstand, and sprinted right back out and to the back door.

"Hey, mom, can I go to Jayden's house?" I asked, my head poked through the cracked open back door.

"Sure. If it gets too late you can stay. Just be home by noon tomorrow," she added.

"Of course. Bye!"

"Bye!"

• • •

I walked to his house without him knowing. I changed into these black sports shorts in case we went swimming, with a fiery orange shirt with stripes all along in a darker shade. It was a nice walk, though. I took a shortcut so I didn't have to go on the busy street.

When I knocked on the door, I heard his footsteps running to the door, as if expecting me to come by. And when he opened the door, I let out a relieved sigh. For the moment before I heard him, I had begun to think he wasn't home.

"Hey!" He welcomed me in with a side hug, we hadn't spoke in around a week.

"Your poem was really good," I said as he closed the door behind me. "Did you clean your house?" I said before he could answer.

"Thank you," he walked me to his room, "And yes, I was cleaning my room and then eventually I was just like, Screw it, the whole house needs cleaning."

"That what my mom does- Oh wow," I said when I walked into his room. Last time I was there there had been clothes and cups everywhere. Then another thought came to my mind, "Is your dad not home?"

"No, he said he was going to meet someone in town. Shouldn't be back for a while."

He turned around, smiling proudly at his room, when he said out of no where, "Wanna go swimming?"