What He Didn't Say

He was the baseball player. The one that all the girls wanted to date and all the guys wanted to be. He was unbelievably handsome, especially for a small town high-school senior. He was always invited to everyone's parties, he had great grades and he was friendly, funny and nice to everyone.1

He stood at six-foot-two, had perfectly toned muscles thanks to his daily visits to the gym and baseball practice. He had a perfect smile, since he'd had braces when he was younger.2

His name was Jamison O'Dell, and he was perfect.3

At least, that's what everyone thought. Being a guy that always had a smile on his face, no one ever worried about anything being wrong for him.4

The thing was, Jamison O'Dell had a lot more going on than he ever would admit.5

His father worked in Hollywood, built sets for movies. Every day when he came home, it was "you need to make something of yourself" and "you need to get into a good college, since not all of us get lucky and find high-paying jobs without a diploma like I was able to do." And Jamison listened, and he nodded, and he promised that he'd get a sports scholarship and play for the Angels one day.6

Then he'd go upstairs and stop short as he walked past his mom's room and heard the steady beep heart monitor. He'd close his eyes and try to forget the horrific day that had happened a year before, and walk into his room, change into jersey shorts and a t-shirt, and go for his nightly run.7

He'd run through the suburban neighborhood and out, across a major street (when it was safe to cross, of course) and make his way down the familiar dirt road that he ran down every night.8

It was always dark on the road, the only light coming from the porches of the people who lived on the street, lighting up their small yards and the front of their tiny houses.9

And he'd stop at the seventh house on the right with the gigantic oak tree.10

He'd walk up on the lawn that was once lush and green and was now brown and dry, the lawn he had laid on so many times before. He'd sit on the splintery wooden seat of the homemade rope swing, and try to remember what it was like before the accident, before that fateful day that killed his Julia, his beautiful, smart, extraordinary Julia.11

She had been the light of his life. She was the one who listened to what he had to say, never lied to him. She was the one who would remind him that she loved him whenever he was down, who could always tell when all wasn't right with his world and always knew how to make it better with her sweet, honest words of encouragement. She believed in him just because she loved him, not because she wanted him to be famous. She showed him the meaning of love, the meaning of life with every squeeze on his hand and every kiss on his lips.12

Julia had been his soulmate.13

It had been a Thursday evening, just before sunset. He was warming up for a baseball game that was being held at a school about twenty miles away, and his mom was giving Julia a ride.14

They'd gotten lost in a shady neighborhood, and Julia had hopped out of the car, in her denim shorts and baseball jersey, to ask for directions in a minimart.15

The minimart had been robbed, and Julia had been shot and killed on the spot, a bullet to the back of her head. His mother had run in in a panic and been shot herself, the bullet lodging in her neck and leaving her a paralyzed vegetable.16

For two months afterward, Jamison O'Dell did not go to school. He did not speak to Julia's parents, to his friends, or even to his father. He was always closed in his room, laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling or at the picture of Julia he kept of his bedside table in a blue plastic frame: her blue eyes alight, her black hair shiny and wavy after a trip to the beach, her smile warm and carefree. He was empty without her, a shell of himself, unable to react in any other way beside his silence. His heart was broken and could never be repaired.17

After that second month, he began his charade of smiling during the day and visiting Julia's at night, the house he'd spent many years of his life in, the front yard where they used to lay both during the day and at night just to look up at the sky and talk to each other, the swing she had sat on while he pushed her and she laughed. He would reminisce on all the beautiful moments they shared, the secrets she would whisper in his ear and the way she would lay against his chest and listen to his heart beat. He'd never forget all the meals they cooked together (she was brilliant at it, dreaming of being a chef one day, while he stumbled about and dropped things constantly, after which she would kiss him on the head and hand him something more simple to do), or the stupid movies they watched just so that she would fall asleep in his arms, or all the times that their love was all they had to bring them out of hard times.18

Now that love was gone, and Jamison had to learn to cope.19

It had been a year, but every day he still had to fight the pain that threatened to turn to hysterics. Every day he had to visit that house, to hold onto whatever was left of the life he had once embraced, the memories of the girl he loved and the tragically horrific day that ruined his life.20

And every day, Jamison O'Dell smiled and said not a word of it.