Every You, Every Me (17 page)

“You have to answer a simple question first.”

“What?”

“Did you want her dead? That’s the choice. Alive or dead.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, yes it is. Dead is dead. For whatever reason. And in a choice between life and death, there is no other choice. It’s life or death, period. These guys chose life. Are you saying you’d have chosen death?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not that simple. You’re ignoring what she wanted.”

“She wanted help. Not death.”

You were always changing your mind. I wanted you to have the opportunity to change your mind.

“She didn’t want help. She wanted freedom.”

But death is not freedom. For a moment, it can look like freedom. But then it’s death.

Anything.

Something.

Nothing.

I moved forward.
It almost felt like you were with me now.

“We did the right thing,” I told Dana. I needed to say it out loud. “We knew her. Yes, she wanted freedom from her pain. But she didn’t want to die. There’s a difference.”

Now I saw you nodding. All the moments you were happy. All the things you wouldn’t have wanted to lose.

Maybe Dana loved you for your pain.

I loved you for everything.

“What do you know?” Dana asked.

I shook my head.

“I know you can’t hurt us anymore. I know it doesn’t matter what you think. At least now I have more photos of her. Thank you for that. We don’t need you to remind us of what happened, or when her birthday is. We remember just fine.”

It was then that I felt you there. Not in the way you’d been that day—pleading, yelling, angry, full of doubt. But in the other way. The person I’d loved. I could feel you watching us, taking the snapshot of what we’d become. Four people in the woods, arguing over you. Clutching on to our versions. Yelling uncertainties. And I laughed, seeing it. Because I knew you would’ve laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Jack asked.

“Look at us,” I said. “Just look at us.”

He didn’t start laughing. Neither did Katie or Dana. But that was okay. It was fine if I was the only one who understood it.

23

After Dana was gone, Katie told us she knew where you were.

She’d written. You hadn’t written back. But your parents had told her that you’d gotten the letters. That you’d read them. That you were doing better—some days more than others.

We all decided to write. I don’t know what Katie said, or Jack. And I know it will be up to the doctors whether to share the letters or not. We talked to your parents about it. I had honestly been afraid that they would forbid us from doing it. I thought they blamed us. But it was pretty clear that they blamed themselves. It hadn’t even occurred to them to blame us.

Dana still has her version. She will still hate us. But there isn’t anything we can do about that.

I still have the photos, though. Even though they are as unreliable as memories. Even though I will only know my story behind them, not yours.

At least, not until you tell me yourself.

24

I miss you.

I love you.

I will never know every you.

I hope you’re okay.

     
I used to think I would never see you again.

     
But now I think I will.

I’m glad you’re alive.

I’m glad I’m alive, too.

I’m not sorry.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

A Note from the Author

The idea for this book came, fittingly enough, from the photograph that is now on the cover of this book. I saw it stuck on the refrigerator at my good friend Jonathan Farmer’s house and immediately knew I would draw Jonathan in on an idea I’d had: to do a photographic novel. Although I take photographs myself (at least one a day), I’d always wanted this idea to be a collaboration. And so it was.

Here’s how it worked: Jonathan would give me a photo. I would write part of the novel, incorporating the photo. When I needed the next photo, Jonathan would hand it over. The whole book worked like that—photo after photo, one at a time. I never had any idea what photo would come next. And Jonathan had no idea what I was writing. He didn’t read a single word until I was finished with the first draft.

I’d like to offer great thanks to Mr. Farmer; these words would not, in any way, exist without his photographs. Special thanks as well to: our magnificent editor, Nancy Hinkel, who makes my heart run round like a chicken with its head cut off; our fantastic designer, Melissa Greenberg, who rose to the challenge of this book; and everyone else at Random House, including the incomparable Jeremy Medina and Allison Wortche.

Many of my friends and family members heard about “the photo book” for years before it was finished, so I would like to thank them for their patience and support. In particular, I’d like to thank Jake Hamilton, whose photographs hang over my desk, and Zak Grimshaw, who was the book’s earliest reader outside the editing circle.

The title comes from a Placebo song. Their music very much informed the writing of this book.

A Note from the Photographer

What a strange, wonderful journey these photographs have taken—from the remote forests of New Hampshire to the pages of this extraordinary book. My first thanks must go to Mr. Levithan himself, who, sharing my love of images, had the insane idea for this project, and who wove, out of my series of seemingly random images, a tale so exquisite I almost forget I had no clue what he was writing when I sent them. And to DJ Potter, my friend, collaborator, and muse, without whom these photographs would not have seen the light of day. I must also give thanks, for their friendship and support along the way, to Nadia Taalbi, Erik White, Brian Selznick, Danica Novgorodoff, Billy Merrell, Nico Medina, and the folks at Andy’s Summer Playhouse. To my family—Mom, Dad, Seth, Katrina, and Jackson. And finally, to Ryan James Ouellette and Kate St. Cyr, my intrepid actors, thank you. Your faces captured my imagination; I hope this story captures yours.

David Levithan
has taken at least one photograph every day for the past ten years. However, he is much better known for his novels, which include
Boy Meets Boy, The Realm of Possibility, Are We There Yet?, Wide Awake, Love Is the Higher Law,
and (with John Green)
Will Grayson, Will Grayson.
He’s written three books with Rachel Cohn as well:
Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist, Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List,
and
Dash & Lily’s Book of Dares.
In truth, though, he probably spends more time wandering around with his camera than he does sitting at his computer writing. He particularly loves taking pictures of passersby, and New York City is perfect for that. He met Jonathan Farmer because of Jonathan’s likeness to a young Walt Whitman.

Jonathan Farmer
, to this very day, has not, cannot, and may
never
decide just what it is he wants to be when he grows up. Once, he thought he had found the perfect descriptor—“naturalist”—but David said that just made him sound like a botanist … or a nudist. Since then, Jonathan has narrowed it down to photographer, performer, writer, director, and teacher. He spent his early years exploring the mysterious forests of New Hampshire. But now, since moving to Brooklyn, New York, Jonathan has been growing to love the hustle and bustle of the city. From time to time, though, you might catch him longing for the sweet smell of the pines.