Revived

Epilogue

It’s late May; my sophomore year is nearly over. In a few short weeks, Matt will arrive in nearby San Francisco for his summer-long music camp. We’ll see each other at night and on the weekends, and I’m so excited I can barely contain myself. The thought of feeling his lips on mine again gives me chills; the thought of twirling my fingers through his curls is almost enough to make me skip finals and hop a plane to Nebraska.

Surprisingly easily, Matt and I have managed to stay together with seventeen hundred miles between us. We talk on the phone, text, and email every day; on weekends, when we have more time, we Skype. He told his parents that he was devastated when my dad was abruptly transferred to Alameda; they let him visit over spring break for five whole days. Though distance is often the kiss of death for relationships, somehow with Matt and me, it works. Maybe because both of us know what real loss feels like, physical separation isn’t catastrophic.

Even so, Matt’s only applying to colleges in northern California.

In and outside of school, I hang out with Elsie, Ella, and Sarah. Ella and Sarah are always trying to get me to ditch Matt and date a guy in our time zone, but Elsie gets it. Even though they broke up when she left, Elsie’s still heartbroken over her last boyfriend in Portland. Elsie, Ella, Sarah, and I went to junior prom with Sarah’s boyfriend and three of his friends. It was a casual, fun night, but I know that next year, distance be damned, I’m going to my own junior prom on Matt’s arm.

The Revive program’s still on hold, but Mason thinks it will resume in the fall; apparently the director wants to keep it going. I’m a little surprised to be dreading Mason’s return to “agent.” I’ve loved having him close all these months. And it’s been just us; when the program starts again, Mason will undoubtedly get a new partner, too.

I’m trying not to think about that part yet.

For now, I’m settled into life in Alameda like I was in Omaha… almost. School and friends and love life on track, there remains a black spot in my heart where a piece of me has gone missing, left in a bedroom with a chalkboard wall; in a sunshiny yellow car; in a locker at Victory; in a beautiful, sparkling laugh.

There’s never a day I don’t think of Audrey.

There’s never a day I don’t miss her.

But missing her isn’t the same thing as being stuck, like I was in the beginning. I know I’ll never be completely whole without her. But I’ve found a way to be happy as this new version of myself, the version with a missing piece but also a better understanding of the value of friendship.

Of the value of life.

Audrey taught me that.

So instead of crying when I think of her, I talk to her. I make her playlists. I cover my wall with chalkboard paint and write a list of the things that were great about her. I “like” Jake Gyllenhaal on Facebook.

But I embrace my new friends and my new life, too.

Because what I know from the precious time we spent together and from the words in the worn letter I keep close at all times is this: Audrey never wanted to be anyone’s heartbreak.

So I’ll always remember….

But also, I’ll move on.