John & Jackie

  John & Jackie

  TJ Klune

  BOATK Books

  Contents

  1. Feel Your Bones

  2. This Whole Jackie Thing

  3. Just Hold On

  4. We Dreamed Out Loud

  5. That God-awful Paisley Couch

  6. Thou Shalt Not Kill

  7. The Sun Stretches Further

  8. Tonight and Always

  9. Please Don’t Leave

  10. All I Ever Wanted Was You

  11. His Voice

  12. John and Jackie

  Afterword

  About TJ Klune

  Also by TJ Klune

  Copyright © 2019 by TJ Klune

  Cover art by Reese Dante

  Second edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This little story is for those

  who have ever loved with their whole hearts.

  One

  Feel Your Bones

  John looks above the camera at me and says the words I long to hear. “And I love you.” His voice is hoarse. “You know that, right?”

  I nod, trying to keep the camera from shaking. “I know,” I tell him, my voice almost even. I’ll have time to break later. Right now, he needs my strength. “Is that it? That all you want to say?”

  “Yeah, Jackie. That’s it.” He looks exhausted, more so than usual. Dark bruising on sallow skin. Gaunt face. Eyes like burned coals. Talking for twenty minutes straight as he’s done into the camera is probably more than he can handle. “Put the camera down and come here. Need to feel your bones.”

  I do as he says, as I’ve always done. Maybe it takes me a bit longer to get to him these days, but that’s okay. We’re not young like we used to be. Time isn’t something you can fight, no matter how hard you wish to. Never thought we’d be here, though. Never thought we’d get to be in our eighties. Eighty-three, to be exact. We’ve had a good life. A long life. A life filled with joy and laughter. Tears and sorrow. Celebration and horror and happiness and sadness.

  A good life. A long life.

  But it hasn’t been long enough. Not by a long shot. Not by a million years. It could go on forever and it still wouldn’t be long enough as far as I’m concerned.

  I set the camera down on the end table and push my chair next to his bed. I ignore those blasted machines, their annoying beeps. Their animalistic hissing. The way they light up, the way the dials spin. I don’t even know what half of them do, though I know they haven’t done enough. We’re in a year I never thought could exist when I was younger, and these machines still can’t do enough. We can land men on Mars, but we still can’t do anything to help him. To help John. I don’t get it. I don’t understand. How could it have come to this?

  I grunt as I scoot the chair as close as I can while still leaving room to sit in it. My knees knock into the side of his bed as I move to the front of the chair, but I ignore the flare of pain. It’s faint, almost negligible. When you get to be our age, you always hurt one way or another, so this ache is nothing new.

  John watches every move I make, his eyes slightly glassy but aware. He watches me with such a knowing look. He’s always done that. Our whole lives. Everything I’ve done, John has seen. No one has ever looked at me like he does. No one has ever seen me completely, like he does.

  No one else ever stood a chance.

  Two

  This Whole Jackie Thing

  I remember feeling his eyes on me for the first time. We were twelve. I turned around in my desk and looked back at the new kid, only to find him staring at me. He was bigger than me, bigger than almost everyone else in the class. Dark hair, dark eyes. Dark skin. Mexican, maybe. At least part. Enough that people would probably give him shit if he’d been any smaller. He had fine hairs on his forearms, and I wondered what they felt like, if they’d be soft. Next to him, I’d look like a ghost, all pale and blond. I was the light to his darkness.

  I stared right back before baring my teeth at him in a low growl. I didn’t know what he wanted and thought it odd that he seemed so intent on watching me. In response, he smiled that little smile that I would come to know so well. At lunchtime, before I could even make my way out of the classroom, he grabbed me by the elbow and turned me around as our classmates left. Those eyes found mine again.

  “I’m John,” he said, his voice deep for someone our age. He towered above me.

  “I don’t care,” I retorted, uncomfortable at being handled in a rough way.

  “Yeah, you do. What’s your name?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to know.” His gaze never left mine, and I couldn’t look away.

  “It ain’t your business.”

  “Please.”

  I frowned, but it didn’t last long. He said please, a word I didn’t expect him to know (much less know how to use) given his size. His fingers were warm on my skin, just enough pressure to make me feel him, but not enough to bruise. “Jack,” I said finally, only because I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Jack. Jack.” He sounded as if he liked the way my name tasted on his tongue. “Jackie.”

  I scowled at him. “No one calls me that.” And they didn’t. I may have been small, but I was scrappy as all hell. My bravado never amounted to much, but at least I tried.

  “Jackie,” he said again. “Everyone else calls you Jack, right?”

  I nodded, unable to ignore the way he brushed his thumb on the skin of my forearm.

  “Then I ain’t gonna call you that,” he said seriously. “I want to call you somethin’ that’s only for you and me. Somethin’ between us, like a secret. Somethin’ only we’d know.”

  “Why?” I didn’t understand why he’d want a secret for just us. No one had ever wanted to share secrets with me before.

  “Because that’s the way it should be.”

  “You’re awfully strange. You know that, right?” I didn’t look away. For the first time in a very long time, I was intrigued.

  He smiled again. “Yeah, Jackie. I know.”

  “You’re new.”

  “No, really?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’re a jerk.”

  He shrugged. “I try not to be.”

  “Where’s your lunch?” He wasn’t carrying anything in his hands.

  “Don’t have one. Can’t afford it.” He didn’t look embarrassed at this, merely stating fact.

  “Don’t your folks make you a lunch to bring?”

  He shrugged. “Just me and my dad. Ain’t got nothin’ really to make.”

  “Oh,” I said, unsure if I had the right to ask anything further. I didn’t know many other people whose parents weren’t together. My own parents loved each other so completely that it was impossible to ever think of them apart, even if they loved God and Jesus as much as they cared for each other and me. Maybe even a little more. I didn’t know much about broken homes. Not then.

  But I worked up my courage and, truth be told, it was getting easier for me to talk to him, even after just a few minutes. Maybe it was the way he just stood there, watching me. Maybe it was the way he was obviously waiting of me to say something. I don’t know. Whatever it was, I gathered I could ask him just about whatever I wanted to and he’d answer. It gave me a weird little rush of power that I could do that with someone else, that he’d let me do that to him. “Where’s your mom?” I asked him quickly, as if getting the words out would make them less nosey.

  John didn’t even flinch. “She left,” he said, as if it didn’t matter much to him. “Took off one day and just never came back. Don’t remember her. I was just a kid when it happened.”

  I couldn’t even bother to correct him that he was still a kid because I was shocked that a woman, a mother could do something so horrific as leaving her family behind without so much as a good-bye, without crawling back at some point begging for forgiveness. My own ma wouldn’t have been capable of something so callous and harsh.

  “You haven’t seen her since?” I asked incredulously.

  He shook his head. “Nope. My dad said she was good for nothin’ anyway, but I think she just couldn’t handle it anymore.”

  “Handle what?”

  His jaw tightened slightly. “Don’t matter much, Jackie.”

  “My name’s not Jackie.”

  “Sure it is. It’s what I just called you, ain’t it?”

  “How would you like it if I called you Johnny?”

  “Don’t matter much to me. You can call me whatever you want.”

  “You’re so weird,” I muttered.

  He smiled that little smile. “I’ve been called worse things.”

  I thought hard, but only for a second or two because the decision was easier than I thought it’d be.

  “You want part of my sandwich?” I asked him, suddenly feeling a bit shy. I hadn’t had a friend, not in a long time. It would be best to make him my friend before anyone else tried to take him away from me, before they could spill their poison in his ears and drive him away. I wanted him to belong to me, but I didn’t know if it was my place t
o ask, especially since I didn’t know why I wanted him to be mine.

  John shook his head. “You need to eat it. You’re a little guy.”

  “I ain’t that little,” I snapped.

  “Okay, Jackie. Okay,” he said, like he was trying to calm me down.

  “And besides, you’re a big guy. You need to eat too.”

  “I suppose.”

  I felt that little rush of power again. “So you should have some of my sandwich, then.”

  He seemed hesitant, but he didn’t let me go. “You sure?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I offered, didn’t I?”

  He dropped his hand, and I almost begged him to grab me again. I didn’t know why, but I felt cold now that he wasn’t touching me anymore. “You did,” he said quietly. “You seem like a good guy. You a good guy, Jackie?”

  I didn’t think too hard on that. “Yeah. I think so. Maybe. Are you?”

  “I want to be,” he said, looking down at his big hands. “Don’t know if I am, sometimes. I got in trouble at my last school. A lot.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Fights and stuff. Sometimes I have an awful temper. I don’t want to. Some things just make me mad, I guess.”

  “Oh.” I’d been in fights before. I always lost.

  He looked nervous, averting his gaze. “Maybe you could help me be a good guy. If you want to, I mean. Is that okay?” He glanced at me quickly then looked away again.

  “I guess.” I took a deep breath, because I knew I couldn’t keep this from him. “You should know people don’t like me much.”

  “Oh? Why?” His words were simple and his tone light, but I didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed.

  “Dunno. Just the way it is. My dad’s the preacher, so people think I got religion. You might want to make friends with the other kids. People see us together, you’re gonna get shit.” Even though I didn’t want to, I gave him a way out, just to be safe. I wanted him to pick me, and I still wasn’t sure why.

  John shook his head. “Doesn’t bug me.” He paused as if considering my words. “You got religion? God and Jesus and all that fire and brimstone?”

  I tried to keep my relief from spilling over. “Don’t know. Don’t know if I care enough to know. Why should I care about God? I’m twelve.”

  He laughed at this, a quiet huff. “I like you,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I’d learn later that to him, it was.

  Another thought caused me to glare at him. “You ain’t funnin’ me or nothin’?”

  A quirk of his lips again. “No, Jackie. I ain’t funnin’ you.”

  I waited just a moment more, but then said, “Okay. C’mon then, I guess. We can go sit on the football field, near the bleachers. It’ll be quieter out there. If we’re gonna be friends, then you’re gonna need to tell me about yourself. Just the two of us. Don’t really like anyone else, so we’ll need to find some things to talk about.” I didn’t tell him again that it needed to be this way because no one liked me, but I think he got it. It wasn’t that hard to get.

  He nodded, his gaze never leaving my face. “Good. That’s all I’m gonna want, you know? Just the two of us.”

  “And you’re gonna have some of my sandwich. I also got an apple and some cookies. You’ll have some of those too.” The tone in my voice left no room for discussion. I’d be damned if I let my only friend in the world be hungry, especially when I had enough for the both of us. It wasn’t right and I’d make sure he was fed.

  “Sure, Jackie. Whatever you say.”

  I hesitated. “This whole ‘Jackie’ thing?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m okay if you call me that, but only you. So don’t let anyone else call me that,” I said in a rush, feeling my face burn.

  He grinned. “It’ll only be me,” he promised. “Only me. You’ll see. No one else will call you that like I do. No one ever will. You hear that name and you’ll know it’s comin’ from me.”

  That caused my eyes to burn, though I couldn’t say why. Maybe it was his earnestness. Or maybe it was because I finally had a friend. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

  He followed me out the building, like he was my overgrown shadow. I kept shooting little glances back at him, sure he’d disappear if I didn’t keep my eye on him. He was there every time I looked back, his eye catching mine, that little smile on his face. I tried to smile back, but I still felt awkward. He followed me, though, and without question, ate half my sandwich. Some of my cookies. My whole apple because I said I didn’t want it, but in actuality I was fascinated by the way his jaw worked, by the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, the skin moving over muscle and bone.

  From that day on, it was rare for us not to be seen together. John and Jackie, people said, some perplexed and unsure, some amused and smirking, some vicious and mean. It didn’t matter what they thought, though. Not really. I wouldn’t let it.

  All that mattered was that John followed me out that day like he trusted me. And every day that came after, I made sure he had something to eat.

  Three

  Just Hold On

  Seventy-one years later, he still watches me, following my every movement.

  I sit down in the chair with a grunt. Once I’m settled, I reach up and lower the bars on the side of his bed. They clack down. I almost pinch my thumb, but I move it in time. I’ve done it enough to know how to avoid it. Once the bars are lowered, I scoot my chair just a little bit closer and reach up to take his hand in mine. His skin feels warm and dry, the fingers slightly gnarled. Arthritis got to him a little bit worse than it did me, but he’s still able to curl his hand in mine. Our fingers touch. It’s familiar, this touch. More familiar than anything else in my life. He’s been here, by my side, since the day I met him, an irrevocable force that has helped to shape and define me, to make me who I am. A constant.

  My constant.

  Just hold on, I think to myself. Just a little while longer. You can wait. He needs you now. You can wait until it’s done. Then, you can see. Then, you can go. You can’t let him do it on his own because of his soul. You have to protect it with all you have.

  “Jackie,” he says, and I have to fight against trembling. My name on his lips has always been my faith. He’s always spoken it like it was the Word of God, with reverence, like I was something holy, like I was something divine.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you remember….” He stops as he coughs violently. It’s a horrible sound. A wet sound, like he’s drowning in his own lungs. He squeezes my hand tightly as we wait for it to pass. I press a button on the side of the bed, and the back end rises up, elevating him so he can breathe easier. There’s a rattle deep in his throat, but it eventually subsides. He brings up an oxygen mask that he puts over his nose and mouth. He breathes deeply and exhales. And then again. And again.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t talk,” I tell him, though I know that won’t happen. John has a stubborn streak a mile wide. Always has. If he wants to say something, he’ll say it and there won’t be a single thing that will stop him.

  He shakes his head. “I have things to tell you,” he says, gasping into the mask. “To have you tell me. I need to hear them. And so do you. Before—”

  “Don’t you think I know?” I ask him. My eyes burn. “I know, John. I know everything. I know how you—”

  “How long… till sunset?”

  Please don’t make me look. John, please don’t make me look.

  “Jackie.”

  I look down at my watch. Oh God. “Two hours. We’ve got two hours.”

  He nods. “You don’t have to do this, sweetheart. You could just leave it here for me—”

  “Ain’t gonna let you do it,” I say harshly. “Ain’t gonna take that chance. I told you that. We don’t know what happens afterward. I can’t let you risk it. I won’t. Not another word on the matter. You mind me now.” This is nonnegotiable. I won’t let him take it for himself.