Dear Liz

I never called her since I got her number.

I don't know why.
I had nothing to say, no plans to make. Maybe I was afraid I'd feel nervous or awkward or embarrassed. She didn't seem to mind, anyway.

"Wouldn't it technically be Jackie's bench?"

"Technically…No. It has my name on it." I looked down, next to where her left hand rested on the bench, to see her name and a small heart written down with a black sharpie.

"How old are you, exactly?"

"I'm 22 but that doesn't mean I have to act like a grown up."

"Actually–"

"Just shut up and smoke already!" she said with a laugh as she threw the pack of American Spirit at my face, ending the argument. I laughed too after letting out an "Ow!" so I could hopefully make her feel guilty.

There we were at another party at Jackie's house –The poor girl might as well have no parents; there were never home– sitting on what Liz claimed to be her bench. Smoking like we used to, talking sometimes and enjoy the silence occasionally.

"Hey, John…" she said, making said silence break. I hummed, urging her to continue.

In with the nicotine.

Out with the smoke.

It took her a while to keep going.

"Do you ever think about death?" I chuckled, wondering where that came from, and turned to look at her, about to ask her is she was drunk until I saw that she wasn't laughing. She wasn't even meeting my eyes and, then, I knew this was serious.
My smile dropped, but my eyes didn't leave her face.

"I try not to. But yes. I do." She nodded and looked at the floor.

"It's just that…sometimes, while I lay in bed at night and I start thinking a lot, you know? And I think about what it feels like being dead but I realize you don't feel anything because you're, well…dead. And it must be like you're asleep but you don't know it and wake up and you don't dream and that shouldn't be so bad…but I start thinking about all the things I won't be able to do when I die and it just makes me feel terrible even though it shouldn't because I won't even feel anything and it scares me and my heart starts beating so fast and it takes me hours to finally fall asleep," she took a pause and sighed, finally turning to look at me. "Did that even make sense?"

I looked into her eyes. I examined them, x-rayed them. I did my best to see what was behind them.
There was this certain vulnerability in her heart. I could tell she was genuinely, slightly frightened.
I didn't want that; I wanted that to leave her eyes, her heart and her soul.
I nodded.

"It does. I get what you mean. I sometimes start thinking like that too but, what I do is stop myself from thinking any further about death and I start thinking about life –'Skies are blue and I'm alive. So all is well.' That usually does the trick." Her eyes changed at that. She nodded.

"Thank you, John." Her chocolate-colored orbs began to shine and a sweet smile pulled at her lips. No worry left in her eyes.

That was all it took to make her feel better and that was all it took to make me decide that I never, ever wanted to see that fear, that uncertainty I saw in her heart that day. I decided that I wanted to be there always to erase it all and substitute it with that sweet smile of hers even if all I could do was say some silly words and a pathetic old quote of mine.
.
I realized then that maybe Eric was right.

Maybe there was a deal with the Rhodes girl.