Down
- The mode through which you learned Jaymie died.
- A time before womanhood spent catching toads, singing karaoke on the Wii and comparing J-14 quiz results.
- A really, really shitty age to die.
- A man named Steve who lives in the back of a crystal shop and charges $90 plus tax — unless you pay cash — for comfort and false hope. According to Steve, Jaymie has returned to the sun and your father will have a heart attack by Christmas (he did not).
- Releasing balloons to Jaymie in public parks just in case Psychic Steve was right.
- A word commonly used to fill space.
- The mourning dove nest outside your window, dimes on the street and BYEJ license plates when you need them most.
- The last text I never responded to.
Across
- A status marked by woven bracelets, nicknames and sleepovers.
- Grieving someone outside of your blood line.
- Studying Shakespeare’s tragedies in Grade 12 English class while living your own tragedy.
- That time you dressed up as a slutty clown to a Halloween party and had a (very public) breakdown when someone played Forever and for Always by Shania Twain.
- Friends who called an Uber to save you from further public embarrassment and listened to your drunk lecture on “memento mori” for the entire 45-minute drive home between spurts of back-window vomit.
- An expression of sympathy, often performative and awkward. E.g, giving flowers to mourners so they can watch more things die.
- A distraction from grief, a search for connection, or the illusion of closeness for a staggering five minutes — orgasm not included.
- Having to address the wall shrine of photos when someone new comes over.
- A word without wings that starts in the back of your throat. Maybe I’ll wake up and be 17 again.
- As in one day I will have lived without Jaymie for longer than I lived with her.