Jesse

18: Confessions

Jesse McLeod

18: Confessions

            One life. And in that one life you have: One family. One body. One heart. One brain. So many choices, but in the end you can only have one choice for each. We can choose to lay in bed until noon; or choose to get up. We can choose to continue smoking; or choose to stop. We can choose to live; or choose not to. We can choose our friends; we can't choose our families. We can choose to hate; or choose to tolerate. We can choose to love. And we can also choose whether or not to tell those people we love that we do. What you do with that one life while still living changes everything.

            A dead teenager can't tell his family he's sorry for drinking while driving, and had a wreck that not only took his life, but his girlfriend's too. He can't tell them I love you one last time.

            You can say I love you a thousand times. But that doesn't bring your Mom back from the dead.

            Joann was right. You got to tell the people you love them, while they are still living their one life. Before their one death. Before our one death.

            This was what was running through my head endlessly as I watched the stars, smoking as usual. I wasn't really paying attention to the road beyond. Until I saw the headlights, bright—breaking. A dark truck rolled into the neighboring driveway, and parked. Ian was home. Where had he been? Why did I even care?

            His truck sat idle for a moment, the headlights casting long shadows along the lawn, before he killed the rumbling engine. I watched him as he got out, and then he looked dead straight at me; I saw that he was hesitating. Then he began to walk my way. He came around to the side of the house looking up. I pretended to not notice he was there, below in the dark, staring up at me. I could hear his breathing. The indecisiveness.

            "Hey Jesse," I heard him call. "Can I come up?"

            I blinked, not saying anything at first. My heart was pounding. "Yeah, sure," I answered.

            "Alright."

            Hearing the same quiet grunting, and clambering, I saw him emerge grinning. He swung his feet around, and slid toward me, inches away.

            "You're getting better," I said with a slight smile, still not looking at him.

            He chuckled, and replied, "Thanks, I guess…So…"

            "Where've you been?" I asked him, turning to gaze at him now, my eyes cracked. I exhaled smoke into the night.

            "Oh," he said nervously, "I was, um, at Jena's place—alright—Jesse, I can't stand it anymore. Okay? I left there because—because well, I wanted to see you."

            "See me?" I questioned sarcastically. "Why?"

            "There's so many reasons, why, Jesse," he said, a little more gently now. "More than anything, I couldn't stop…well, thinking about y-you…I tried to kiss Jena, but I just couldn't. I kept seeing your face, when I looked at her."

            "I'm sorry."

            "Look, Jesse—no, you have nothing to be sorry for…It should be me saying that…I'm the one who's sorry…I lied to you…I lied to you this morning, Jesse."

            "Oh, so you do remember, all of sudden?"

            He rolled his eyes, sighing. "Jesse, don't be this way—please."