Gravestone by Travis Thrasher Page A

is somewhere between every day and every dream, a place like this.
    This doesn’t feel like either every day or every dream.
    Not everybody can see it, but when you can, you have to take the light with the darkness.
    I shake my head and reach out to touch her, but this time she shouts an emphatic no!
    I can’t help you in any way or give you anything you don’t have or don’t know.
    As I glance at her, I can’t help thinking that of course she can’t give me anything I don’t have or don’t know because this is a dream.
    Your mother needs you.
    I nod. That’s nice to hear. The whole world knows that.
    No, she really needs you, Chris. Don’t.
    I wait for more.
    “Don’t what?” I eventually ask.
    Don’t.
    I’m still waiting.
    It’s good to see you.
    “Is this all—is this happening?”
    Don’t let anybody tell you you’re not.
    “I’m not what?”
    She smiles, reaches out her hand, and goes to touch my lips with her finger.
    Then I blink, and just like that, she’s gone.
    But I felt something, a slight little tap on the edge of my mouth.
    I don’t wake up in bed.
    I’m still here, standing on the edge of the deck. I stay there for a while, watching the moon and feeling the chill and desperately longing for Jocelyn to come back.

17. Reaching Out
     
    “Have you thought about getting a job?” Mom asks me the next morning as I’m wolfing down a bowl of cereal.
    “Sure,” I say.
    “Have you thought long and hard about it?”
    I nod, but we both know I’m lying.
    “You’re going to have to start saving money, Chris.”
    “For what? A car? Gotta get a license first. And I’m still waiting to take a driver’s ed class.”
    “You have to plan things out.”
    Oh, like you plan anything out.
    “Yeah,” I say.
    “I want you to start looking, okay? It’d be good for you.”
    Oh, okay, and you know what would be good for you? Sobriety.
    As I get ready to head out the door, she asks me where I’m going.
    “Just out. Hanging out with a guy from school.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Jerry,” I say.
    Yeah, that’s a lie. Kinda maybe. I mean, maybe Jerry is short for Jared.
    “What are you going to do?”
    “When did you get home last night?” I ask.
    “I don’t know. Late. Brennan’s was packed.”
    “Did you stay later?”
    She looks at me with a confused and hurt and slightly irritated look. “Chris—”
    “Questions are great, aren’t they?”
    “Don’t be like that.”
    “Then you don’t,” I say.
    “I’m just asking what you’re going to be up to.”
    “I don’t know. Maybe just hanging out.”
    “Be careful,” she says.
    My mother has never been the type to say things like that, not with me.
    But Solitary has changed everything.
    The sun seems to be helping melt some of this snow and ice. The temperature from the middle of the night/morning when I had whatever sort of thing I had with Jocelyn seems to have been a dream. I walk on the street just like I’m supposed to and wonder when everything’s going to get nice and mushy.
    I’ve been walking for a while and see that it’s ten minutes after ten, and I’m just wondering if I’ve gone down too far and should turn back when I hear a vehicle—the first I’ve heard today.
    A blue truck pulls up next to me. Sure enough, I see Jared at the wheel. I open the door and get inside.
    “How’s it going?” he asks.
    As if we’re going into town to shoot some pool and pick up some chicks.
    “Haven’t been threatened yet today, so things are looking up,” I say, trying to sound like I’m taking all of this with humor and coolness.
    Jared doesn’t smile.
    He probably knows that deep inside, underneath this really cool and composed exterior, is a teenager who is pretty much freaking out beyond anything his mind and heart can comprehend.
    “You have breakfast?”
    “I could eat more,” I say.
    “Good. There’s a little diner that serves awesome food.”
    “But?”
    “But what?”
    “But there’s gotta be a