Jackson

Jackson

People are always asking me what I see in Jackson. I try to explain that it’s not what I see- it’s what they don’t see. A childhood too horrible to imagine has left its mark on him. I blame his cruel, unloving parents for his criminal record, his recklessness, his often cold demeanor, and anything else that drives people away from him. Because the real Jackson is irresistible; gorgeous, smart, funny, protective, and sometimes even sweet. Sitting by him on the bus every day for three years had helped me chip away parts of the wall that he had built up around himself.

At one time, I remember when I’d wanted nothing more than to be Jackson’s friend. This past summer, before he’d left for military school, I’d forced myself to accept the fact that being his friend just wasn’t enough. I realized that I had fallen for Jackson in the process of helping him. His rebelliousness, his crooked smile, his artistic talent, the way he rolled his eyes when I made him promise to stay out of trouble– I loved it all. And as if recognizing this wasn’t enough, I also realized that I was teaching Jackson how to love in hopes that someday, he would learn to love me.

These two realizations changed everything, and they made the one-hundred and fifty-two days of Jackson’s absence the most unbearable five months of my life.


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It’s December, and the ground is covered in snow. It’s probably negative fifteen degrees outside. And there’s Jackson, his back to me, leaning against a tree. He’s not wearing a jacket. His sleeves are rolled up above his elbows. A normal person would be freezing to death.

But I can tell from where I stand that he’s not cold.

I wish I had a map, one that would show me the easiest way to get to Jackson. It’s been five months since I’ve seen him. I’m not sure what to expect. Different scenarios play out in my mind. I imagine myself running to him and throwing my arms around his neck. The Jackson in my mind picks me up, swings me around, and I am his, he is mine.

The Jackson in real life would never do anything like that.

Reality can sometimes be a hateful enemy.

Jackson can never belong to me.

I shiver and pull my coat around me tighter. I try to forget that the slightest brush of his fingertips on my arm could send waves of heat coursing through me.

“Hey,” I say, finally working up the courage to approach Jackson. I’m trying to hide both my excitement that he’s finally home and fear that he has changed.

“Hi." Jackson doesn't turn to face me.

“How are you?”

“Been better.” Jackson still doesn't turn around.

“You know, when people are talking to you, it’s polite to actually look at them.” I punch him in the arm playfully.

He glances over his shoulder, finally. His brilliant green eyes meet mine, and I can tell he’s trying not to smile. “I didn’t ask you to talk to me.”

“I just want to help you. I know you’re having a hard time.”

My attempt to be serious is futile. “Yeah, talking to you can be pretty difficult sometimes.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You broke into our school and stole five hundred dollars, Jackson,” I remind him. “And you just spent five months at a military academy. You can’t tell me you’re perfectly fine.”

“I can tell you anything I want, Mother.” He nudges me just hard enough to make me lose my balance.

I grab his arm to keep from falling. “Ugh. Stop it. I’m being serious.”

“I know. You’re always serious. That’s why you have all those wrinkles on your forehead.”

Now we’re both laughing, and I’m happier than I’ve been in months.

He’s still the same old Jackson.

And I’m still helplessly in love with him.


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For the fourth day in a row I spend my lunch break from work sitting by that tree in the park. It might as well be Jackson’s tree. He’s already carved his name into it…twice. I wait patiently for him to show up. More often than not, my patience deteriorates into disappointment and annoyance. I never know when –or if- I will see him. Jackson’s a master of the “disappearing act”; one minute he’s there, the next he’s not. Some people call it free-spirited or spontaneous. I think it’s a defense mechanism that keeps people from getting too close to him. Apparently the five months at military school hasn’t affected that part of Jackson.

Today I get lucky, though. It isn’t long before Jackson appears.

When I see the smile on his face, my frustration fades away. Because when Jackson smiles, it’s like I forget how to move, how to talk, how to breathe. The smile changes him. He becomes less intense. His dimples appear. His eyes are a deeper green. He becomes someone I can see myself with. There’s not a doubt in my mind that Jackson Thomas is the most beautiful guy I have ever seen.

“Sorry I haven’t been around in awhile. I’ve been working a lot.” It’s the first thing he says.

It’s a reason, not an excuse, I try to convince myself. Aloud I say, “Not a problem. I understand.”

Jackson smiles a sad sort of smile. “You always do.”

I wonder what he’s thinking. I never can tell. That’s always been part of the problem with our relationship. “So tell me about military school. How was it?”

“It sucked. I’m glad to be back here with you. I missed you a lot.”

“Yeah, me too.” Once again, his words confuse me. Why was he glad to be back here with me? Because he hated military school, or because he liked me? And what exactly did he miss about me? He always left so many questions unanswered, questions that I was never brave enough to ask. So I stick to the basics. “How’s your family doing?”

Jackson snorts. “Like you can call them that.” He sees the serious look on my face and then says, “They’re whatever. Jeff kicked me out again a few days ago.”

I think of his stepfather, the bruises that used to decorate Jackson’s arms, and I shudder. “Where are you staying now?”

“Oh, you know. Here and there. Sometimes I crash in the park.”

And he wonders why I worry about him.

Jackson starts walking, and I follow him, not really caring where I end up.

“I saved all the letters you sent me.”

“You did?” I can’t hide my surprise.

“Yeah, they were great. You were the only person who wrote to me.”

“What about your mom?” I find it hard to believe that his poor, sweet mother didn’t send him letters.

“She doesn’t count.” All traces of sadness vanish, and Jackson smiles that beautiful smile again. “She didn’t send me pictures or poems.”

“You liked the poems?” Jackson just didn’t seem like a poetic guy. I took a big chance, sending those poems to him.

He nods. “Yeah. They were probably the best poems I’ve ever read.”

Yeah, well, generally all the poems I write about you are great, I want to tell him.

But I don’t. And so he never knows that the line “I want to show you what love is like; if only you wouldn’t disappear when I try to touch you” is about him.


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The days fly by when I spend them with Jackson. It’s so easy to fall back into our old routine. Today it’s a toasty thirty-five degrees outside. He’s leaning against that tree again, and I’m facing him. We’ve been talking for forty-five minutes. My lunch break is almost over. There’s a lull in our conversation, one that comes from knowing you have to say good-bye but not wanting to.

“Well, I should probably get back to work.” I’m reluctant to break the silence. Silences between us were always peaceful, never awkward. “I’ll see you around?”

“Wait a minute.” Jackson catches my wrist in his hand. “The other day, you said you wanted to help me. Were you serious?” He asks suddenly.

I nod. “Of course I want to help you. I’ve told you that a million times.”

And before I can say anything else, Jackson’s arms are around me. He is pulling me towards him. He’s pressing his lips to mine. And I am utterly, completely confused. This is everything I’ve wanted, and at the same time everything I’ve feared. The last thing I need is for Jackson to disappear again. I’m not sure I can handle him leaving after something like this.

Fear and uncertainty are holding me back. Before Jackson left, I was just a friend. And now he’s back….and he’s kissing me. Even though I have dreamed about this moment for years, I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore.

But there’s only one way to find out.

I kiss him back, finding it hard to believe that his kisses are every bit as hungry as mine. So much for my imagination. I could never have imagined something as amazing as this. His hands run up and down my sides. I lock my arms around his neck. I don’t want to let go.

So I tell him that. “I’m afraid you’ll disappear like you always do.”

Jackson laughs into my hair, pressing his lips to the top of my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here to stay this time.”

“I wish I could believe you,” I whisper so quietly that I’m not sure he hears me.

I really do want to trust Jackson. I just don’t want to get hurt again. My love for him is different than anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s a desperate love, a hopeful love, an exhilarating love. And I realize how dangerous this love really is. Because looking at Jackson’s eyes, and the restlessness that gleams within them, I know this won’t last forever. No matter what I do, how much I love him, there will always be a wall that I can’t bring down. Jackson will shatter my heart into a million pieces.

But I pull him closer anyway.

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For "Short Shots: Official Contest" 
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