Forgotten

Surprisingly, the dad thing is heaviest today. I remember bits of him. I want more.



I want a dad.



I want my dad.



Before bed, I trudge in slipper-clad feet to my desk to power down my laptop. Just as I reach for the mouse, a message box pops up.



LJH6678: Hi. Are you awake?



I recognize Luke’s screen name immediately; he’ll have it for as long as I know him.



LondonLane: Yep, just getting ready to go to bed.



LJH6678: I won’t bug you. Just wanted to say good night.



LondonLane: You’re not bugging me!



I stand in front of my desk, staring at the screen, waiting. After a few seconds, he types back.



LJH6678: I’m glad you told me.



LondonLane: Are you? I’m still not so sure about it.



LJH6678: It was the right thing to do.



LondonLane: If you say so!



The tiny screen is blank for a bit. I check the clock and shift from one foot to the other before leaning over to type.



LondonLane: I should sleep….



LJH6678: Okay.



LJH6678: Wait London? I have a question.



LondonLane: Okay?



LJH6678: I’ve been thinking about all of this today, about you remembering our whole relationship.



I slide down into the chair so I can read easier and type faster.



LondonLane: And?



A little butterfly pokes me under the rib as I hit enter and wait for Luke’s response.



LJH6678: And I’ve been wondering whether you remember everything.



I ponder the question for a moment, then type.



LondonLane: I’m sure I don’t remember everything. I remember the future the way you remember the past. You remember the really good and bad and forget some of the middle, right?



LJH6678: Sure.



LondonLane: Same with me. Why?



LJH6678: Do you remember us having sex?



My hand flies to my mouth, and I look around my room for eavesdroppers, even though I know I’m alone. My stomach won’t stop doing somersaults.



Luke learned that he’s going to die young today and all he wants to ask me about is sex?



LJH6678: Well?



LondonLane: Truth?



LJH6678: YES!



LondonLane: Yes.



LJH6678: Not fair.



LondonLane: I know but listen. In the way that you probably choose not to think about things that you don’t want to remember, I do the same. It helps things be a little bit… surprising.



LJH6678: Still not fair. When is it?



LondonLane: Not telling.



LJH6678: Seriously, not fair.



Checking the time again, I lean back in my chair and stretch. The day is wearing on me. I need sleep.



LondonLane: Luke, I have to go to bed.



LJH6678: I know, I know. Me, too.



LondonLane: See you tomorrow?



LJH6678: Want a ride?



LondonLane: Of course.



LJH6678: I’ll bring you treats if you tell me the date.



LondonLane: You’ll bring me treats anyway.



LJH6678: I’m going to have to work hard to surprise you, London Lane.



LondonLane: Yes, you are.



LJH6678: Night, beautiful girl.



LondonLane: Night, Luke.



45



It’s the last day of my junior year but it might as well be the first. I know the layout of the school from next year, but everything else is gone.



There is no math class tomorrow to remind me where I sit today. There are no locker trips next week to tell me where mine is located now. Luke can’t exactly escort me around like a guide dog.



“You’ll be okay?” Luke asks as he grabs my hand. He looks almost as nervous as I feel. We’re walking in from the student parking lot carrying matching half-empty lattes.



“I’ll be okay. My mom wrote it all down for me.”



“That was cool of her,” he says. “Has she heard anything yet?”



“No, not yet,” I say, feeling a heaviness in my chest that might not ever go away.



“At least I can get you to your first class safely,” Luke says, pulling me up the main hallway. We stroll in easy silence, Luke angling me over a couple of times when I almost collide with other students. He laughs when he realizes that I’m looking at their shoes. He walks me to the door of my Pre-calculus classroom and kisses me good-bye.



“Good luck,” he says.



“Thanks,” I say back, wanting to handcuff myself to him and make him sit through all my classes with me. Instead, I force myself to go in.



After class, I hit my locker for a book to read in study hall. Luke reminded me to bring one, since Ms. Mason apparently gets mad when we talk to each other.



As I approach, I find Jamie standing there waiting for me.



“Hey,” she says softly when I stop in front of the metal door.



“Hi,” I say. We’re both silent; I stare at my lock. Without tomorrow as reference, the combination isn’t coming to mind. I pull out my cell, where it’s stored.



“Thirty, twenty-two, five,” Jamie says before I have the chance to look it up.



“You’ll always have my back,” I reply, spinning the dial.



“And you’ve always had mine,” Jamie says.



I look into her eyes and know that this is it: we’re okay.



“I’m sorry for getting so mad at you about… everything,” Jamie begins.



“I’m sorry for the awful things I said,” I reply.



“Do you remember what you said?” Jamie asks.



I cringe at that part in the notes. “Yes,” I say. “I forced myself to remember.”



“That was cool of you,” Jamie says. She waits a beat and then gives me a quick hug.



“I missed you,” she whispers into my hair.



“Same here.”



“Liar,” Jamie says playfully as she pulls away. “You can’t even remember me. How can you miss me?”



“Oh, I remember you,” I say. “Do you want to know all the things I remember?”



“No!” Jamie shouts with a laugh. “Keep your fortune-telling to yourself!”



Jamie and I link arms and start down the main hall. We laugh together as we walk, and I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by Jamie’s loyalty. Before we part, she turns to face me.



“Let’s never fight again,” she says.



“Agreed,” I reply, knowing that really, other than small disagreements in college, we won’t.



It makes me realize how much I appreciate Jamie’s willingness to trust me without knowing. She can’t see what’s coming. For Jamie, our relationship is a gamble. And yet she sticks with me. She keeps rolling the dice.



I stroll into the library for the last time this year, happy that my best friend is betting on us.



46



Hours later, after walking into the wrong classroom twice, seeing a little too much of Mike Norris (the boys’ bathrooms near the History wing aren’t properly labeled!), lunching with Luke, and handing in a year-end graphic design project that I could have purchased for $29.95 from CheatersRUs.com, for all I know, the school day and the school year are over.



Luke drives me home, holding my hand across the center console all the way. I feel like more than the year is ending, but I have my forward memories to prove that it’s not. Still, there’s something bittersweet about our kiss good-bye.



“Don’t stay up too late tonight,” he calls before I close the door.



“Yes, sir,” I say, laughing and trying not to think of why he wants me to be well rested. I know, but I won’t write it down tonight.