Page 39 of Southern Storms

I read one of the last letters he’d written to me, and one paragraph stood out to me more than any others.

I know there’s no reason for me to say this because your parents are awesome, but you say it to me in every letter you’ve written to me about my dad, so I figured I should say it back, just in case there’s ever a day you need to hear it.

If you need to run away, run away to me.

-Jax

The tearsI’d been fighting finally began to fall from my eyes. Even through all my hurting, I still believed in many things, and destiny was at the top of that list. There had to be a reason I had been brought to the town where my former best friend lived. Not only did he live in Havenbarrow, but we also crashed into each other in the woods. It had to be a sign of something. It had to hold meaning in some way, shape, or form.

Perhaps I was wishing and hoping for it to mean something even though it didn’t. Maybe my spirit needed a bit of magic in it after a year of holding so much darkness.

I wished for a miracle, and around the corner was Jax Kilter.

Still, I didn’t know what it meant. I just needed it to mean something. Anything, really. I needed something to feel hopeful after a year of feeling the complete opposite.

Just then, my phone dinged, and a message appeared.

Penn:There’s a big gala happening this weekend, and I don’t want to have to explain why my wife isn’t there. You can come home now. I overreacted. We’ll figure our shit out.

Penn:Fuck, Kennedy. Please. I need you. I miss you.

I miss you.

Those words didn’t give me butterflies the way they had in Jax’s letter.

They felt forced—controlling, almost, as if he only said them to get his way. I knew the only reason he said that was because he was feeling the strain of having to explain to his friends and colleagues why I hadn’t been attending events. He worked so hard to keep up the appearance that he and I lived the perfect life, that we were the happily ever after others dreamed of. I would have bet he was having panic attacks trying to sugarcoat the fact that his wife had left his side.

Good.

It was about time he knew what panic attacks feel like.

Regardless, his kind, gentle text messages didn’t erase the nasty words he’d said to me the night he pushed me to leave his side. I knew better than to fall into the false narrative of emotions he’d randomly text my way.

I went back to reading my letters from Jax. They held much more authenticity within the words.

My mind couldn’t help but wonder about Jax and who he’d become throughout the years. I couldn’t help but wonder how many parts of the young boy I’d once loved still lived within his heart.

11

Kennedy

Eleven years old

Year one of summer camp

Jax Kilter was so handsome.

It was a weird kind of handsome that a lot of people didn’t find handsome, but I did because I thought all things that were different were handsome and beautiful. I liked his dark brown eyes that looked like my favorite chocolate bar, the big ears he hadn’t grown into yet. I liked how his nose bent a little to the left as though it was made to do that. I liked his big glasses. He looked imperfect in so many ways, and I liked that about him.

Mama said the best people are the imperfect ones because the best adventures in life don’t come from perfect things.

I liked Jax’s facial hair, too, even though he didn’t have any facial hair yet. I knew one day if he did grow facial hair, I’d like it on him. I’d have bet he was going to be a handsome man because he was already a handsome boy.

I liked Jax Kilter so much for so many reasons, but one of the biggest reasons was because he didn’t fit in with anyone else at camp, and I didn’t fit in with anyone at camp because I talked a lot and was kind of different andohmygoshmaybe we could be friends!

I didn’t wake him up yet, because I knew once I woke him up, he might run and never want to talk to me again. I’d had a lot of friends who stopped talking to me after our first hangout session because they thought I was a weirdo.

Mama and Daddy told me being weird was a good thing, though. If a person was weird, that meant they had flavor, and I didn’t want my life to be bland. I had so many big, colorful dreams and I didn’t ever want to lose my way on achieving them because I gave up my weirdness.

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