I awaken at exactly 8:00 in the morning. I turn to my calendar, and I notice it’s Saturday! I run to the bathroom to shower. Approximately eight minutes later, I am done. I get dressed. I settle for a sweatshirt and jeans and Nike sneakers. I run downstairs towards the door, planning to skip breakfast and head straight to Sarah’s, seeing as it’s a fifteen-minute ride to theirs. Unfortunately, Mom is there at the kitchen. I tiptoe past her, but I wasn’t quick enough, because I am being careful not to bump into anything.
“Carter!” my mom calls out. Shoot. She sees me.
I sigh and turn around. “Morning, Mom.” I kiss her on the cheek.
“Good morning. Headed out to Av—I mean, Sarah’s?” she asks me. The sound of the first few letters of her name pains me. I wince.
“Yeah, Sarah’s. Do you mind?” I ask her, although I already know she’ll say yes.
“So early?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Is tiptoeing past me part of the plan, too?”
Damn, she’s too smart for her own good.
“Breakfast?”
“Of course.” I sigh in defeat. Mom smiles and hands me a plate. She tells me to stand beside her, so she could give me the toast straight off the pan. I do just that. Now I have four pieces of toast in front of me. And some OJ, too. Mom has the same breakfast. She watches me carefully. I am uncomfortable with people watching me eat. But since it’s my mother, I let it slide. I nibble on my toast. The grandfather clock on the doorway leading to the foyer announces that it’s 8:15 as I sip on my drink. I choke, and Mom looks at me in alarm.
“Mom, I have to go. Please.” I beg her.
“But your food!”
We compromise by putting my breakfast on a paper bag, adding two more for Sarah, in case she’s hungry. She packs two cartons of orange juice—again, one for me, one for Sarah. I kiss her on the cheek and say goodbye.
“Don’t get a speeding ticket, Carter!” she laughs.
“Sure.”
Mom and her corny jokes. She and Sarah have that in common. I put the food in the basket of my bicycle and speed off. I pass the Fence, smiling as I see the sun rise from the horizon. It is so breath taking that I almost crash into a car. I send the driver an apologetic look. The driver flips me off and yells out of his—or her—window, “Watch it, kid!”
“I will!” I yell back. I pedal faster.
Eventually I reach The Reeds. I catch my breath for like five seconds and I’m about to press my finger on the doorbell, but the door suddenly opens. Sarah appears. Her semi-long brunette hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a Rolling Stones shirt, denim shorts that reach mid-thigh, and black Keds. She actually looks cute…
She smirks. “Are you checking me out?”
I feel my face heat up. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean—”
She laughs. Her bike is outside the garage door, and she pushes it towards mine. I haven’t moved, just staring at her. “Just tell me I look hot, West.”
I walk towards my bike. “I never said—”
“Aha—but you were thinking it.” She laughs at my humiliated face and takes off. I shake my head and follow her.
We stop at the cemetery. We lock our bikes at the one of the rails of the high railed wall—if that makes sense to you—and enter. I know exactly where she is buried, six feet under and all. Turn left and see if you can spot a willow tree. Her headstone is right next to it. Which is nice if the sun is way up, providing shade. Um…I’m not saying that her escaping personhood is nice.
We’re now at her grave. Sarah and I each have solemn faces. Sarah strokes her headstone. It reads:
Ava Marie Woods
July 23, 1995 — July 23, 2013
Chilling Up There, In Capital S-Somewhere
My insides churn. How funny is life? She’s born on the 23rd of July, and…dies—the word makes me want to vomit—at the same date. I’m not sure if I should laugh or not. If Ava is right beside me at this very moment, I’d say, “Must be fate, huh?” And she would slap me in the back-harder than usual, mind you—and say sarcastically, “You are so funny, Carter.”
We sit, resting our back against the willow tree. Sarah’s head is pressed on my shoulder, my arm wrapped around her shoulders. I have brought my breakfast with me, and invited Sarah to eat with me. We eat in silence. When I pull out the orange juice, she raises an eyebrow.
“Kiddie pack? Really, Carter?”
“Hey, take it or leave it, Reed,” I say.
“At least I can rely on your mom to feed me,” she says, grabbing the juice.
“You still write Ave letters, right?” she asks me after a while, our food finished.
“Yes, why?” I answer, looking at her.
“Well,” she begins. She twists her torso so that she is facing my chest. She looks up. “I’m thinking—”
“That’s new,” I interjected.
“—that I should write to her as well,” she finishes, ignoring my comment. “What do you think?”
“I think it would be great,” I tell her, flicking her nose. “I’m sure Ava would love to hear from you. I think she’s bored reading my letters.”
She jabs me on the chest and says, “I highly doubt that.”
Moments later, we ride on our bikes, going in opposite directions and each headed for their own homes, about to write our letters to Ava.
a/n: Yes, I'm fully aware this isn't in letter form. I just wanna show that Carter has a life outside of his letters, if that makes sense to you. I hust think that them visiting Ava would be better if Carter tells it, as opposed to just writing it in a letter--which is going to be hard for me, mind you.
So yeah. Vote. Comment. Share.
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Letters To Ava
Lãng mạn"Dear Ava, You must be mad at me, right? It’s okay. I completely understand. I’d be mad at me too, if I were in your position. But I’m not. Which makes me even angrier. I’d do anything to trade places with you. Anything. Except maybe forgive myself...
