Letters To Ava

Fifteen: I Become Responsible

Thank God and the heavens and the Pope and some dude named Gandhi and the producer of the cleaning channel that the pink stains are washable. Mom was no help at all—she was writing something with a red marker at some newspaper gain. I didn’t bother asking her; she won’t answer, anyway. So, sighing, and ignoring the voice in my head that I swore to never do this, I flipped to the cleaning channel and waited for 15 hours till some fake blonde chick explained that food coloring is washable. I turned off the TV just as she started to demonstrate and leaned toward the camera, intentionally showing her jugs.

So it has been 24 hours since my legs and towel have been pink-free.

Awesome.

This afternoon, I wrote another letter. I had no day in mind at all to tell Ava. Seems like I’ve grown weary of the past. I just want to shrug it off, like a worn jacket, and move on. But, like the jacket, when I relieve the past it seems comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. Which is confusing on my part.

Or maybe I should just buy a new jacket.

Whatever. I just wrote about yesterday’s pranks. The bucket and the pinkness and the humiliation—all of it. I imagine Av, wherever she is, as soon as she reads the letter she’d just laugh, crumple the paper, and chuck it at me, telling me she’s gotten bored of me. I cringe at the thought. Maybe that’s why she didn’t pick me before. I’m too mundane and she’s—well, was, I guess—full of surprises. Maybe that’s why she chose Howard, athletic and strong and not boring. (Although, I’m not too excited about the last surprise I found out about them both, the night at The Party, where It happened.)

Now, I’m riding my bike to the cemetery. I walk past the familiar willow tree. I stare at her headstone for a moment, and I realized this whole thing is ridiculous, but the others are doing it, too, so…I guess you can say we’re being ridiculous together. I snort. Where the hell did that come from? A Hallmark card? Oh, if Cody could hear me now.

Shaking my head, I pop the letter into the mailbox my friends made for me. I pat it, impressed by their handiwork. I guess shop class does pay off. I run my hand down the mailbox, trying to see if I can still feel their hands and hammers pounding on this thing. I wonder if Cody was the only one who did anything, and the girls just watched and/or fiddle with their phones. I guess Sarah must have helped, because, you know, she’s Sarah. I know her just as much as she knows me. Well, I guess I know her more, since she doesn’t know a thing that happened that night.

I shake my head harder, as if that would erase the memory. Nope, it doesn’t work. I guess nothing could make you forget the one thing tht you really want to forget.

WTF, life.

“Seriously, man, truce is a truce,” Luke says to me.

I am standing in front of their doorway, one hand lazily grasping the doorknob, the other swiping a hand down my face in frustration. Luke is sprawled on the bottom bunk. Liam is on Skype with his girlfriend, headphones and microphone and all, so we can’t hear what they’re talking about. Isaac is probably out in the yard, trying to occupy his fifteen year old mind with a charcoal pencil and a sketch pad. He doesn’t know how to draw, though…

Anyway, back to Luke. I barged in here just a moment ago, demanding why the shirt and jeans I was supposed to wear today has sparkles and glittery shit on them when just the day before, we called a truce, at least until Cody’s party ends.

“Dude, that was the only pressed shirt I have,” I say with a frown. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to beg Mom to iron my clothes, and having to endure her mutter about sexist men?”

“Not my goddamn problem,” Luke says indifferently.

Liam turns to him, his headphone around his neck. He taps his twin on the shoulder and say, “Katie says there’s no need to say the Lord’s name in vain, bro.” we look past him to see Katie, nodding and hearing every word we say. She opens her mouth and seems to be talking, but I still can’t hear her. why wont Liam just put it on speaker? Liam nods at her and does a double take. To Katie, he asks, “Did I hear you right? Yes, there’s nothing wrong with the connection. Of course I’m not deaf,” he rolls his eyes. Looking at me, he grumbles after a second of hesitation, “Katie says you look cute.”