I.
Time.
The ticking of the clock revertebrates throughout this entire dimension and the next. If you listen closely enough, you can hear it. Most people don’t though.
Time.
“Jeffreeyyyyyy hurry up!” She squeals in the bright midday sun. The Arizona heat beats down on his neck as he runs as fast as his stubby little legs will let him. His shirt, a blue barney tee, is sticky with hour old Kool-Aid, sweat and lollipop spit. He giggles. Running through the woods together , to their secret place. Their happy place.
Julietta could make any place a happy place.
He loses track of her, and for a while he is alone. He calls her name quietly. “Juwiewa?” No response. Louder now, so she can hear him. “Juwiewa? Juwie! JUWIE!” Tears streak down his face, but before they can fall to his chin, he is lifted off the ground. Julietta bounces him around through the air letting her mouth make helicopter sounds. He laughs happily, spreading his arms, pretending he is a plane and making helicopter sounds with her. She chuckles, setting him down on the dirt. She crouches down to his height. “You okay, Jeff-Jeff?” she asks. He crosses his arms and turns his head, in mock crossness with her leaving him.
“C’mon kiddo, you can’t be mad at me.”
“Can too!”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yah-huh!”
“Jeffrey.”
“Juwie?”
She scoffed, running her hand through her black brown hair. She hoisted him up on her back, and he let her. “You: are going to drive me crazy. C’mon kid. Let’s keep trekkin’.” He buried his face in her back. “I thought you left me,” He murmured into her hair. She chuckled again. “Highly unlikely Jeff-Jeff. I could never leave you.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky swear.”

II.
She didn’t know he was there; didn’t know he watched her through the crack in the door, watched her slit her wrists and thereafter dye the sheets of her bed a maroon no five year old should have to see, particularly in that volume. She didn’t know he was afraid,that he ran into his room, footsied feet padding on carpet and crawled under his bed, crying.
She was thirteen, at the time.
He doesn’t know why she is sobbing;he is confused. All he wants to do is comfort her.
Unfortunately, the offering of Paddington Bear  has had no effect. She clutches the bear, crying into the bears back, turning the velvety brown fur a muddy blackish color.
Jeffrey stands there, awkwardly, not sure what to do with himself. The sight of seeing his idol cry practically destroys him, but he was told big boys don’t cry. His lip quivers uncertainly, and he prepares to exit the room, give her time and space alone.
She looks up at him, red rimming her green eyes. She sniffles. “Jeff-Jeff?”, she asks him in a quavering voice. He ducks his head back in the room. “Yes, Jewie?”
“Promise me you’ll never let anyone hurt you. Promise me you’ll never hurt anyone else. Promise me you’ll never hit a girl or hurt a girl or tell her she’s s***, treat her like s***, or anything like that. Promise me Jeff- Jeff.”
He knows what she says must be serious; she used a bad word to emphasize how serious. He begins to cry now,because he knows something bad is about to happen. He goes over and throws chubby arms around her neck. “I promise Juwiewa.”
She hugs him back, squeezing him hard. “Good boy. And remember I love you, no matter what.”
“I wuv you too, Juwie.”

III.
Time passes.
His junior prom. His date, a brunette bombshell with a tiny waist, ample chest and legs that stretch all the way down to Mexico, leans over him, kissing his neck. “Do you want to leave?” she asks him, biting her lip. He looks at her, looks down at the skimpy seafoam green dress she is wearing, from her bedazzled bodice to her swirly bottom, to her black pumps and back up to her breasts, to her diamond necklace, to her hair, pulled back into a Frozen-esque fishtail braid. He takes in her wanna-be Chanel No.5, sweet, and yet synthetic. He gives a  sarcastic and yet shy smile. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
In 12.4 minutes they are at the closest motel. In 15.6 minutes she is on top of him and they are both shirtless and sweaty. Her hair flops over her face and for a second, he gets a look at her dead on. He clears his throat and sits up. “I’m sorry,...I just can’t.”
She sits up as well, combing her hair back from her face. “Was it something I did?” She asks nervously.
“No! Babe, you were perfect.”
“So what is it then, Jeff?”
He blushes awkwardly. “It’s just...you...um...er......”
“I what?”
“You have her eyes.”

IV.
Now twenty two years old, on the eve of the anniversary of Julietta Marie Haqero’s suicide, he looks at the swing set his parents have not touched; the same way they have not touched her room. He does not wonder why she took her life; he already knows. Her ghost lingers in the wind and as the swing set creaks he can hear her scoff sarcastically.
Time.
Walmart is badly organized, and the aisles are horrible labeled and placed, but they supply what he needs.
He’s making spaghetti for his girlfriend; he needs spaghetti sauce, basil, parsley, green and red peppers and pasta.
In the aisle with the sauce, he hears a conversation from the next aisle over, the aisle with the beer and alcohol.
“ Man, today’s the day.” The voice of Roderick Barter. He was two years ahead of Jeffrey in school; now at twenty four, he still lived in his childhood house. A second deeper, more grisly voice responded. “I know. On this day in history..” he says jovially, “I banged my first virgin.” This voice is identified as Colt Robbers; in his day he was a heartthrob, with his sleek black hair, height of 6’2,sparkling green eyes,flat stomach,eight pack and easy, sarcastic smile. Now, at thirty one years old, the stress of his job (a cop) had given his black hair a streak of grey; his eight pack ,currently a modest six...but he was still painfully handsome and oddly unmarried.
Rodrick laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”
“You’d better!”
They both laugh then, a symphony of cacophony. When the laughter dies off, Roderick says to Colt, “It’s a shame the b**** had to kill herself though. Y’all would’ve had some attractive kids.”
“Man, screw that. Hell, if she hadn’t killed herself, I would’ve had to kill her.  For one, she would've told somebody. Nuh-uh. Bolton’ Colt can’t have rape on his record. And for two…well damn, Roddy, do I really need a two?”
“ Aha, I see your dilemma. Well,let me just ask you this: was it good?”
“Only when she was gagged,my man.” They exit the aisle.
His face turns white. As fast as he can, Jeffrey Haqero exits the Walmart.
He does not eat that night, not with his girlfriend.

V.
Time does not heal all wounds.
It exacerbates them.
“How come you didn’t tell me?”
“Because,Jeff-Jeff, you always were a little spitfire. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Besides, you were too young to understand at the time.”
“As much as we’ve talked since then, you didn’t feel the need to tell me.”
“Well.”
As he drives home from the Walmart, Julietta speaks to him through the car radio. He drums his hands furiously on the steering wheel. He comes to a decision.
“I have to do something.”
“Jeffrey, don’t.”
“He can’t just get away with this, Julie.”
“But Jeff-Jeff, he already has. It’s far too late to do anything productive.”
“THE HELL IT IS JULIETTA.”
Static through the radio. Finally, she speaks. “Jeff-Jeff,remember what I made you promise.”
“Julietta, remember what I made you promise.”
“Circumstantially different.”
“Oh, so now circumstances matter when making life or death decisions?”
“When it’s your own life or death, yes, yes they do.”
“That’s a very intriguing philosophy you have there.Who helped you come up with it, Hardin?”
“In death you have a lot of time to think, Jeff-Jeff.”
“In death, you really can’t do anything else, I figure.”
“But then, of course, we could come to the conclusion that only the living can think; in which case, I’m not really dead.”
“Orrrrr we could come to the conclusion that I’m hallucinating again and you are my guilt personified.”
“You stopped seeing Dr. Markenhav?”
“A while ago.”
“But you were getting better. So much better.”
“I missed you,though.”
“So why can’t you see me? You used to be able to see me.”
“Let’s theorize, shall we?”
“Are you getting sassy with me?”
“Only if I am.”
She thinks for a second. “If you chose to see me, you’d see me in the way I died; not as I was in life. How I was in death; how I was when Colt-”
“I can only take so much, Julietta.”
“I know,babe.”
His voice cracks and he blinks back tears . “I can’t live like this, Julietta. This guilt, this knowledge, knowing I can’t do anything about it. Knowing that I couldn’t have stopped it, even if I wanted to. Pushing everybody away who reminds me of you, the least bit. I can’t. I don’t want to, even if I could.”
“Jeff- Jeff, you have to move on. Get better. Start the pills again. Make a new appointment with Dr. Markenhav. Let me go.”
Tears stream down his face. “Julie, I already lost you once. Please don’t make me lose you again.”
“It’s for the best, Jeff- Jeff. We’ll be together again eventually. When it’s time. I promise.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky swear.”
He drives on. Sporadically she speaks again. “Jeffrey!”
“Hmm?”
“Stop by our house. I completely forgot! I have something for you.”
“Where is it?”
“Our happy place.”

VI.
Funny thing about time. The clock always ticks,even when you don’t hear it. TIme always, always,always, moves in a never ending cycle of forever. Into eternity. Into this life and the next, this galaxy and the next.
Lives are just a measure of time, and few people make use of that time effectively. Fewer, it seems, make sure that their time adds to the time of someone elses. Many choose to make decisions that ultimately shorten the time of others around them.
But.
In the time it takes to say goodbye, there is a divergent road: one of Forever and one of Ephemerality.
Time.
The Arizona heat beats down on his neck as he runs as fast as his heart will let him. His black cotton tee shirt with lyrics from The Ramones sticks to his chest. He smells of Old Spice and sweat, forest and grass, but he still runs,runs, runs. To their happy place.
Julietta has left for a better happy place.
Tripping over roots and stones, he reaches the tree house. Abandoned as it is, the ladder is still intact and he reaches the top, reaches the interior.
He cries instantly.
Julietta’s dolls still lay scattered on the floor, untouched by  neither critter nor weather. His action figures sit in a Toy Box in the corner. Magic Tree House books sit collecting dust on the bookshelves, and a picture of the two of them, Polaroid, laying in the grass is taped to the side wall.
Nature has preserved her memory well.
“Hey,” she says from behind him. He can see her again. Because this was a happy place, she manifests at her happiest, brown black hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail, red tank top covering most of her belly, but a tiny bit of it still peeking out from between that and her low slung jean shorts. Her green eyes sparkle, and for a second, she is alive. For a second, she is the Julietta from his memory, not just the memory itself.
Evening light shines through her and he remembers why they are here.
She walks over to the Polaroid and indicates with her hand that he rip the picture from the wall. Reluctant to disturb this shrine to her life, he gently does so.
A sheet of notebook paper, folded so small it lay flat against the wall falls gently to the ground. Picking it up he looks at it, then at her. “Well unfold it, Jeff-Jeff,” she says smiling through tears.
So he does.

VII.
There is no way to replace time. There is no way to go back in time. There is no way to relive memories, to undo regrets, to make up for lost time.
The only thing we can do is push on. The only thing we can do is cling to the memories, and learn from the regrets.
The fallen have run out of time; they have accomplished the impossible and stopped the clock.
The only thing we can do is restart it in their memory.
Dear Jeff-Jeff,
I don’t know when you’ll find this. I don’t know IF you’ll find this. God, I hope you do. I hope by the time you find this, you will not have spent life mourning me,but would have lived happily in my memory. I hope you don’t hate me for what I’m about to do..what I’ve already done. I hope you understand.
I hope life treats you well and that you keep your promises, though I was a little wimp and broke my own. I hope and pray that.. you live on. Find courage and live on, Jeffrey. Do what I couldn’t do.
Know that I love you, no matter what is said about you, or me, or either of us, because you and me, Jeff-Jeff, we’re special. YOU’RE special. Never forget that. You’re the best thing a girl could ask for in a brother, the best thing a girl could ask for in a person. I’ll miss you so much, more than I can even express in writing.
Jeff-Jeff, I know you. Don’t you dare cry over this. Don’t you friggin’ dare. Don’t cry over me; be happy for me, live for me. In my memory.
Tell mom and dad I love them both; I didn’t write notes for them, you know how they are.
This is not a suicide note. God, no. A suicide note is like, a “bye,forever” to whoever it’s written to. This isn’t like that.
So think of this as a ‘gtg’ in texting, or a ‘Ttyl’, or a ‘busy atm’. Hell ,think of it as a voicemail or, you know, when you’re inactive on Twitter and you change your name to “Inactive bc dead”.
That was a joke,but I feel like it was a bit morbid. I don’t want to make this too too heavy, though. I don’t know what else to do. So, I’m going to adapt a corny quote I read. You ready?
“A sister was leaving this world, but before she left, she gave her little brother 12 cheeseburgers...eleven were real, one was plastic. She said to him, ‘No worries, I’ll love you and be with you until the last one goes bad.’
No worries,kid.
Love,
Julietta Marie Haqero

VIII.

Now twenty three years old, on the eve of the anniversary of Julietta Marie Haqero’s suicide, he looks at the swing set his parents have not touched; the same way they have not touched her room. He does not wonder why she took her life; he already knows. He accepts her death.
Her ghost no longer lingers; he can no longer see her, nor hear her most of the time.She has moved on. He has moved on.It is better this way,but as the swing set creaks, he almost hears her whisper “Always.”
Yes, Julietta. Always.