I grabbed his hand and whispered under the music, “I really want to kiss you.”

He took my face in his hands, and it was a different kiss than it’s ever been. I didn’t feel like a light that he was crowding toward anymore, like a street lamp, or even like a moon. I felt like we both had the sun inside of us. Our own ways to stay warm. So when our bodies came together, it was the hottest thing I’d felt.

As Tristan and Hannah got to the end of the song, we all bounced up and down and shouted along, “Where do we go now?” Hannah was beaming, and Tristan played the end again. I can’t describe how it felt, being there right then, so close together, on the edge between who we were and who we wanted to be.

Sometimes when we say things, we hear silence. Or only echoes. Like screaming from inside. And that’s really lonely. But that only happens when we weren’t really listening. It means we weren’t ready to listen yet. Because every time we speak, there is a voice. There is the world that answers back.

When I wrote letters to all of you, I found my voice. And when I had a voice, something answered me. Not in a letter. In a new way a song sounded. In a story told on a movie screen. In a flower shooting through a crack in the sidewalk. In the flutter of a moth. In the nearly full moon.

I know I wrote letters to people with no address on this earth. I know you are dead. But I hear you. I hear all of you. We were here. Our lives matter.

Yours,

Laurel

EPILOGUE

Dear May,

I had a dream about you last night. I watched you walk on the tracks, your moonlit arms balancing you like thin white wings. I saw you turn to look back at me. I felt your eyes catch mine. I saw you fall. And I saw you hovering there, midsky, like you were standing on air. I kept begging myself to move my feet. But I couldn’t. They were stuck. I kept thinking you were waiting for me. There was still a moment. If I could just walk forward, I could reach out and take your hand and pull you back across the tracks to the land. But my body was frozen. I tried with all my strength, but lifting my foot was as hopeless as shoving a mountain. It was the most awful feeling. I was in a panic, trying to get to you.

Then I heard you whisper, “Laurel,” as you turned your back to me. “Look.” And that’s when I saw it. I saw you take your wings out. I saw them, paper-thin but stronger than anything, glittering like water. They weren’t broken. They were carrying you into the sky. You got smaller and smaller, until you turned into a pinpoint of light, same as a star. And I knew you were there. And everywhere.

When I woke up, I went into your bedroom. Aside from your clothes that I borrowed (but always put back) and your Nirvana poster I tore off of the wall (sorry), everything was just where it was the last night we left for the movies. I sat on your bed for a moment. And then I took some of your Mexican candles to burn in my room, and your collection of seashells that I wanted to spread on my desk. This time, I wasn’t afraid of moving things and making new places for them. My room is pretty much the same as it’s always been, too, ever since you moved out of it when you got to high school. And I want it to be more like who I am now. I want it to have some pieces of you, together with other things, like the Janis Joplin record Kristen gave me before she left for New York, and the heart that Sky carved me for Christmas, and the glow-in-the-dark stars that have been there since we were kids.

When I was looking on your bookshelf, I found an E. E. Cummings book. You had a bookmark in it, the one you’d made yourself in third grade. May was written in blue glue glitter, laminated over. I read the poem you’d marked, and really, it was so beautiful I started to cry. I loved the whole thing, and the last line was perfect: i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart).

I brought the book into my room with the bookmark still in it. I read that poem again and again, and I knew somehow you’d marked it for me to see. I knew I was supposed to find it. May, I carry you in me.

Still, it doesn’t change how much I miss you. Every time something happens, any little thing, I wish that I could tell you about it. Sky and I got back together. Sometimes my mind races, and I worry about what will happen after next year, when he leaves for college. But I try to take a deep breath and stay where I am. I have my first job this summer, at the city pool snack bar. My friends Natalie and Hannah come to meet me sometimes when I get off late in the afternoon. Hannah reads magazines and Natalie draws and we all drink Cokes and eat Goldfish. They don’t ever get in, but I love to swim like I always did. I love how you can push water away and it always comes back. I run into Janey there sometimes, too. You’d be surprised if you could see her now. She comes with her boyfriend and wears a pink and white polka-dot bikini. It was awkward at first, because she was mad at me for disappearing on her after you died. But it’s getting better. Now she’ll sometimes come over and sit with me and Natalie and Hannah. Today, we were talking about the time when you taught us to flip off the diving board. We were both terrified until you made it look so easy.

I wrote all of these letters for school this year, and it helped me a lot. When I finally gave them to my teacher (I left them in her mailbox at school), she called me to say she was proud of me for handing them in. I thanked her for reading them. Then she said that I needed to get help to deal with all of it. But I told her Mom and Dad already started making me see this therapist. The therapist is actually nice, and she talks to me like I am smart. I’d told Mom what happened when she got back from California, and after that Mom told Dad. “I’m sorry we let you down, Laurel,” he said. “I’m sorry we let your sister down, too.” He looked like someone had shot him in the heart. I just hugged him. I didn’t know what else to do.

May, I realize this now—it’s not that I shouldn’t have tried to tell you about Billy. It’s that I should have told you sooner, and maybe then you could have told me things, too, and neither of us would have ever had to go back there. I think that if you were still here, we could have helped each other. I think that you would have walked away from the ledge you were on, and everything bright in you would have kept glowing. I can’t bring you back now. But I forgive myself. And I forgive you. May, I love you with everything I am. For so long, I just wanted to be like you. But I had to figure out that I am someone, too, and now I can carry you, your heart with mine, everywhere I go.

Today I decided I had to do something. I knew it was time. After I went through your room, I went to find Dad, who was listening to baseball like usual. He turned down the volume right away when I walked in.

I asked, “How are the Cubs doing?”

“Three games out of first. Cross your fingers for us.”

I smiled and showed him that my fingers were actually crossed. Then I said, “Dad?”

“Laurel?” he teased.

“I want to scatter May’s ashes.”

He was not expecting this. He swallowed. “Oh.” And then he tried to recover. “Well. What were you thinking?”

“I think in the river.”

I know I could have saved your ashes to put into the ocean, but I wanted you to have the journey, all the way with the currents, to the open sea. And I know that when I finally get to see the waves washing on the shore, to hear them, I will feel you there.

Dad said, “Okay. I think that’s a nice idea.”

“Can we go?” I asked.

“Right now?” His voice jumped.

I nodded. “And we have to go get Mom.”

Dad swallowed. “Okay,” he said, and he got up, the baseball game still murmuring in the background.

I called Mom at Aunt Amy’s house, where she’s still staying. When I told her we were coming, she didn’t argue, or ask any questions even. She just said, “Okay.” Aunt Amy was out for the afternoon with this guy Fred who she met at her church. He’s really nice, much better than the Jesus Man. I nicknamed him Mister Ed in my mind, because he has long white hair that he wears in a dignified ponytail and a horse nose.