I unlocked the backyard gate and peeked my head through, scanning the yard, until I noticed the hammock in between the trees swaying side to side. I walked in, shutting the gate behind me. Jackson was laying on his back with one arm raised behind his head and one hand on his stomach. I peered over and chuckled.

"Your mom said you wouldn't go to sleep until you saw me," I said.

"I hate being grounded. It's no fun," Jackson stated.

"You did a bad thing."

Jackson glanced at me for a moment and then back at the tree above him. He let out a deep sigh and shrugged. "I didn't hurt anybody."

"Do you not get how serious it was?" I asked, trying to keep my frustration subtle.

Jackson stared off into the night sky, ignoring my question. I didn't understand him sometimes, and it made me angry. 

I think it frustrated him too. We used to be able to read each others minds, now I was desperate to grasp any clue of what might be going through his head.

"Can you just not be like them for one minute? I just want someone to be with me," he murmured. He glanced at me and frowned. "Please."

I sighed in defeat and nodded. "Okay," I said.

The corner of his lips raised subtly as he extended his arms and said, "Sit here."

"Move over, dumbass."

He chuckled and sat up, leaving room for me to join him on the hammock. I sat down next to him as we both laid back, the hammock rocked back and forth.

"Sorry," he murmured. I turned my head towards him, staring at his blank expression. Jackson's behaviors were getting a little more out of control, and he was becoming more unpredictable.

"Jackson–"

"No, seriously. I'm sorry..." He trailed off. "I didn't mean to make you all worry. It's just that everything shuts off."

"I know," I said.

I didn't know. I didn't really understand what Jackson meant by that.

"How was it?" I asked.

He shrugged and covered his eyes with his arms and said, "Fine. Not as long as the last time."

Jackson was hospitalized one other time before, when he was around 13. That was around the time I met him. He was in the year above me, but I helped tutor him in Spanish since he had missed a few weeks of lessons.

"Amanda called me," he said. I sat up and waited for additional information. Jackson had a difficult relationship with his family, especially his biological mother, Amanda. Jackson was only recently adopted by his aunt, but he had been in her care since he was a kid. Jackson only recognized his aunt as his real mother. 

Amanda wasn't a very reliable person, and the stories Jackson told me about her were never good.

Jackson didn't have any good memories of Amanda.

"And?" I asked, gesturing for him to continue.

"She said she missed me and that she was sorry," he said, sighing. "I don't even know how she got my number."

"Did you tell your mom?" I asked. 

"No, she would just freak out and get her in trouble; I don't want that." He uncovered his eyes and pressed his lips into a hard line. "I think she was manic because she started talking about a bunch of things, and I couldn't keep up."

"Oh," I said.

"Is that what I sound like to you guys?" He asked.  "When I'm not on my meds?"

"I don't remember."

He threw his head back and muttered, "I think I make everything worse." 

"Stop," I said. "That's not true."

"It is," he said. "You should have seen the way my mom looked at me when she picked me up from the hospital. I'm not even her real kid– she shouldn't be worried about me. I just make her life miserable."

"Jackson, your mom loves you."

"A-and you guys. Lee and April are scared of me, and Mei... Mei only pretends to like me. She thinks I'm a freak." He covered his eyes again, this time with his hands. "If you want to leave, you can. I won't stop you."

I punched his gut, and he let out a small groan as I said, "Don't be an idiot."

He raised his hand to touch my hair and sighed. "You're right. You would never leave me," he said, grinning.

"So, are you okay?" I asked. "Do you remember anything about that night?"

"Yeah, kind of..."

"You don't have to tell me."

He shook his head and mumbled, "It's fine. I don't care if you know." He directed his gaze towards the light coming from his mom's bedroom window. His mom was probably waiting for him to come back inside, and I wondered how long she would wait.

Jackson sighed and continued, "It was like a few days after Amanda called me, and, I don't know, I felt good so I wanted to go out. So I took a drive."

My mom had given me a brief description of the accident; she kept it nice and short to keep me calm. Jackson had snuck out of the house and taken his mom's car for a drive—to where, I had no idea. According to my mom, Jackson was driving 50 miles over the posted speed limit and lost control of the wheel. She said he was lucky to walk away with no life-threatening injuries. 

"I was upside down for a while, but all I really remember is that I was in a forest," he said. I think he was remembering the trees and plants he had tumbled into. He shrugged and continued, "My brain is kind of foggy when it comes to remembering."

I turned to him and stared at the deep cut on his cheek; it would most likely scar. Jackson glanced at me and laughed. I furrowed my brows and shrugged. Why would he be laughing at all this?

"You're mad at me," Jackson stated.

I shook my head and said, "No, I'm not. I just wish you would take this seriously."

He sighed and stared back towards his mom's window. "I do. I just—sometimes I feel so broken. Like I'm far beyond fixing," he said. "I can't help but laugh at myself."

I never knew what to say when Jackson talked like this, so I just hugged him. Maybe my actions would compensate for my lack of words. Jackson grasped my sleeves and murmured, "I felt so good that I thought I was okay. I thought that maybe I didn't need the meds."

"I know, but you can't just stop. You have to tell someone when—"

"I just want to be able to make my own decisions," he said, digging his head further into my chest. I could always tell how much his diagnosis bothered him. How much he felt like it controlled him.

"The problem with my life is that it isn't mine," he murmured.

"Do you think about him often?" Dr. Gonzales' voice rang through my ears as I took a moment to bring myself back into the current conversation. This was happening often; memories of Jackson started to resurface as the middle of December approached.

"What?" I asked.

"You mentioned Jackson," she said. "I was wondering if you thought about him often."

It had been over a month since I started therapy, and each session felt like it had passed me by.

I shrugged and said, "I've been thinking about him a lot recently. It's winter, and I hate the winter."

"Why do you hate winter?"

"It's depressing."

"Is it depressing for any specific reason?" She asked.

I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to come up with an explanation. I hadn't always hated winter; I used to think it was fun.

"It's always cold and dark... Holidays aren't as fun when you grow up," I said.

"What's different about the holidays now compared to then?"

"It's that feeling, you know?" I said. "When you're a kid, everything's fun. You don't have any responsibilities or worries; you get to be a kid." I picked at my fingers and continued, " I got to play with my cousins, see my friends, and I still believed in Santa."

Dr. Gonzales smiled at me and nodded. "It sounds like you remember winter fondly."

I nodded and said, "I guess."

"What do you think changed?"

I shrugged, rubbing the sides of the armchair. "Me, I guess."

She smiled and said, "It's normal to feel like you've changed. That's part of growing up, looking back at the past and missing it, but it's also important to move forward."

"Right," I said. 

Why was I having such a hard time moving on? I thought.

"Is there any other reason why you might find winter depressing?"

There was a brief silence in the room as Dr. Gonzales waited for a response. From the corner of my eye, I could tell that it was snowing.

"Uhm... His birthday is in December," I said.

"Who's birthday?" She asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

I hesitated as I glanced out the window, watching the flurries float down. "I-it's his birthday. Jackson's birthday is December 23rd."

"Is that why you've been finding the upcoming winter depressing?"

I nodded. "It feels... different," I murmured. "Lonely."

Dr. Gonzales uncrossed her legs and leaned forward as she said, "Special dates like birthdays and holidays are often hard for those who are experiencing grief. They remind us that things have changed, and that time passes on. The loss of a loved one is a change that can be difficult to navigate."

"So what do I do?" I asked, returning my attention to her.

"You do your best," she said. " Instead of celebrating another year of aging, maybe you can celebrate his life. I'm sure you're not the only one finding this time of year difficult, so maybe your family or your friends can try some new ways of celebrating, or maybe just pass it all together. You can treat his birthday like any other day."

"What do you think I should do?" I asked.

"You do what feels right," she said.

"I knew that was going to be your answer," I said, smiling.

"But do you agree with it?" She asked.

I nodded and stared down at my hands, picking at the dry skin around my fingernails. I wish she had told me what to do, but I know this was something I had to decide for myself. I just wish I trusted myself to know the right answer.