Memory Walker

by Carly Marino

  He smiled and waved at her. One of his buddies shoved him playfully and made some joke I didn’t hear.

  Principal Warren coughed. “Good afternoon. This year the administration and I have decided…”

  My stomach rocked with queasiness, but not from nerves. From something else. I swallowed the saliva gagging the back of my throat and bent my knuckles to calm the quiver in my hands, digging my fingernails into my thighs.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Warm droplets trickled into my eyes, and cold and hot shivers rippled through my skin. My teeth chattered. Was I getting the flu? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been sick. At least not like this. I hadn’t eaten lunch so it couldn’t be food poisoning. I cupped my forehead in hopes to stop the constant spinning. I had to get out of there. My cheeks puffed, holding in what I feared was coming. Throwing up on the guy in front of me would add more crazy to the ever-growing rumor pile.

  My gaze reached the exit sign above the auditorium doors, and they swung open. A handsome guy strolled inside, and like a bucket of cool water dousing a fire, my sickness washed away and my vision cleared, zeroing in on him. He had to be new. There was no way I would’ve gone three years without noticing him.

  His light-gray shirt highlighted his long, muscular upper body. A sexy mess of chestnut-brown waves hung to his chin, and his intentional five o’clock shadow and thick dark eyebrows gave him a bad-boy kind of look. But the slight squint of his bluish-green eyes had a shyness to them. Something sweet and caring hid behind his rugged features. He slid a hand into the front pocket of his frayed dark jeans, his stare traveling the stadium seating.

  Even a girl like me, who’d sworn off guys, could admit he was undeniably H-O-T, all in caps and written twice. Maybe even three times.

  A quick tug on my sleeve made me yelp.

  Principal Warren narrowed his eyes in our direction, and I covered the flush heating my cheeks, slinking lower in my chair.

  He cleared his throat, again. “As I was saying…”

  I glared at Wynter, and she motioned with her head toward the door. “Cole Conway.”

  Cole ambled past the stage, not seeming to care what anyone thought, or that he had interrupted the principal’s speech. Not that Principal Warren even seemed to notice. He flipped one of his note cards and continued talking about student activities.

  “Cole Conway?” I asked.

  “I saw him registering with Miss Rachel this morning. He’s crazy hot.” She glanced at Ethan. “Second to Ethan, of course.”

  “Of course,” I muttered and lifted slightly in my chair to get a better look. Another wave of nausea crashed into me, swaying me to the side. The far end of the auditorium flickered like an old TV fighting to get a signal. I blinked away my sickness-induced haze, and Cole came into view.

  A girl with warm-brown skin and a ponytail of black dreadlocks appeared and hugged him. She crossed her arms and rested against the wall. Beside her, a guy with a faded haircut, dressed in a navy-blue button down and black jeans, didn’t budge or greet them. He shared the girl’s burnt sienna undertones, rounded nose, and gunmetal-blue eyes. He was cute but didn’t even come close to Cole.

  “Do you know the people he’s with? Are they new, too?” I asked Wynter without taking my eyes off them.

  “You’re kidding?” Ethan interrupted. “Nora and Drake moved here sophomore year.”

  “Huh?”

  Wynter cast a look in my direction. “Their parents traveled a lot so they missed a ton of school. When they were here, they kept to themselves. I talk to everyone, and I’ve maybe said a handful of words to them.”

  Wynter wasn’t joking. She had the inside-outs of every important person in our school. Though after my freshman incident, her queen bee status dropped a few levels and Tatum took over.

  “Thanks, everyone. Have a great week. Oh, and go Birds!” the principal finished.

  Laughter and jabber filled the room, and another tap on the microphone did little to quiet the conversations. “Get home safely, everyone,” Miss Rachel said, “and Ethan, please meet me in the office.”

  Ethan groaned. “Looks like my ex-mom had a chat with Mr. Barbosa.”

  “Just tell her it was my fault,” I said.

  He grinned. “Nah, I kinda like pissing her off. Keeps her on her toes.”

  I rolled my eyes, and Wynter did the same. “Did you take Friday night off for Nora and Drake’s party? It’s going to be so lit.” Wynter shimmied. “And Thea’s going.”

  “Finally,” Ethan chimed in, nudging Wynter with his elbow. “Can’t wait.”

  “Yay,” I said in the most sarcastic voice I could muster.

  I waited for the rows in front of us to empty. Wynter and Ethan whispered and giggled behind me, so I stared over heads at Nora and Drake.

  Our high school had like three-hundred kids. I took mostly AP classes, but the possibility of us not bumping into each other, or me not knowing their names, was bizarre. Then again, I wasn’t itching to meet new people. At least not until…

  I stepped into the aisle. Cole was lingering at the bottom of the stairs. His Caribbean sea-colored eyes linked with mine, stuttering my heart. I descended without breaking contact, and his mouth slowly tilted into a half-smile that brought a shiver to my shoulders.

  White and blue stars flashed before me, followed by an intense lightheadedness. I sucked in a breath, my lashes fluttering like I was about to faint. I steadied myself on the back of a chair. Please, don’t tumble down the stairs. I’d be mortified. My blurred vision tunneled in on Cole’s face. He winked and walked out the door.

  As if an invisible rope wrapped around my ribcage and jerked, I plunged forward. Screams echoed in my ears, and I wasn’t sure if they were mine or someone else’s. Pain shot up my spine as my arms and legs collided with unknown objects. Students caught me, their memories bombarding me, drowning me. I flailed to free myself from their pasts, but my head slammed into something, and I sank into darkness.

  Chapter Two

  The chirping, humming, and wailing from the MRI machine cut through the blaring classical music in my headphones. Doctor Casey had warned me if at any time I felt claustrophobic, I should push the red call button. But, I didn’t mind the enclosure. I had an MRI freshman year and thought of the machine as an eggshell-white tube of safety. No one could touch me inside. I had twenty-minutes of peace from my memory hell. Oddly enough, this machine was my sanctuary.

  I don’t remember much from the last three days. Needles, voices, flashes of light. Darkness. I faded in and out of consciousness, trapped in the nightmare I’d wished I’d forgotten.

  For an entire year, following the first time I had read memories, I’d wake in the middle of the night screaming. Aunt Karen would fall asleep next to me while I cried, fearful of a man with the electric-blue eyes.

  In my dream, I witnessed a murder.

  It always started the same way. I’d crouch in a closet, peeking through the cracks in the door. In the room outside, a man choked a woman. He looked at me then, after he killed her, but his features distorted and blurred.

  I’d never seen his face, but I would never forget those terrifying electric-blue eyes. They were cold and full of hatred. I shivered.

  Thankfully, this morning I sprang out of bed healthy, with more energy than I’d had in years. Aunt Karen, of course, demanded another MRI and more blood draws.

  The machine hissed, the interior lights blinked, and the bed glided from my tunnel of safety. I sat up, removed my headphones, and Aunt Karen patted my hospital gown sleeve, careful not to graze my skin.

  Doctor Casey brushed a hand down his white-streaked gray ponytail secured at the base of his neck. A matching goatee boxed in his beak-shaped mouth. He swiped on his tablet before glancing first at me and then at Karen. “Mrs. Scott, your daughter—”

  “Ms., and you can call me Karen. I’m Thea’s aunt.”

  “Yes, Karen. Forgive me.”

  She tucked her auburn hair be
hind her ear. “No problem. Honest mistake.”

  It was. We looked similar with our petite noses and large, round eyes. I could easily pass as her daughter except my hair was a wheat-like shade of blonde and my eyes the color of honey.

  Doctor Casey reviewed his screen. “We’ll have to wait for the MRI results but her blood and vitals appear normal.” His fingers stroked his goatee. “Physically, Thea’s a healthy seventeen-year-old girl.”

  Right. I haven’t heard that before. “So can I go?”

  Karen shook her head. “Thea, your fever was one-hundred and four yesterday, and you could barely hold your head up. You probably have a concussion.”

  Doctor Casey interjected, “No concussion. We checked.”

  “Well, she must have something,” Karen snapped.

  “Sounds like you want there to be something wrong with me,” I grumbled. Not that there wasn’t enough already.

  “I just want answers. You were so ill. That’s not normal.” She whipped her gaze to Doctor Casey. “I don’t understand how she can wake up fine today like nothing happened. A person doesn’t just pass out at school and then spend three days practically unconscious.” Aunt Karen worried her bottom lip. “I think we should do more tests.” Her russet-colored eyes glinted with an all too familiar emotion. “Maybe you should spend some time with Doctor Khan.”

  “I’m fine. Please, don’t make me see her again,” I whined.

  Doctor Casey’s shoulders straightened. “Thea, sometimes a person’s mental state can affect their physical health. Speaking with Doctor Khan might give us more answers.”

  “I’m not going back to that shrink. I haven’t seen her in years. Besides, she said I had a case of freshman jitters. I feel fine now.”

  After freshman year, it took me two years to convince Doctor Khan I wasn’t crazy. She came to the conclusion that some teens have a harder time adjusting to the shock of high school than others. They’d do anything to stay home, including lie about reading memories and having nightmares. I refused to start over again.

  The wrinkles around Aunt Karen’s mouth deepened with the purse of her lips. Tears crested on her lashes. “I thought I was going to lose you. I can’t go through that again.”

  He angled to Aunt Karen. “I recommend keeping her here for a few more days. I know you’ve mentioned issues with your insurance—”

  “No,” I said. Aunt Karen couldn’t afford a longer hospital stay. The ambulance and lab tests would already put a major dent in her bank account.

  “Thea.” Aunt Karen sighed.

  Pity plastered across Doctor Casey’s face. “There could be a bigger issue here.”

  “Guys, I’m really fine,” I said again, hoping it would stick this time. “I’d rather just—”

  “I agree with Doctor Casey. We need to…”

  They continued talking about me as if I wasn’t there. How to “fix” me. If I should stay longer or be checked into another institution. I couldn’t be fixed. No one could help or change me.

  I wasn’t scared, just angry—red-faced, blood-boiling, tear-streaming angry. My parents had died in a car accident when I was a baby, leaving Aunt Karen as my guardian. She didn’t deserve all of this stress. She agreed to raise an orphaned child, not drown in debt.

  Enough was enough.

  No more hospitals. No more doctors or endless tests that never gave me any answers as to why I was this way. I didn’t want to smell bleach or feel this stiff fabric on my skin again. I wanted to graduate.

  Despite the incident in the auditorium, I needed to go back to school. The more days I missed, the longer I’d be stuck there. Nine months was my limit. I’d be damned if I stayed in that hospital any longer, costing Aunt Karen thousands of dollars.

  I wanted this all to stop.

  “I said, no.” I grabbed Aunt Karen’s and Doctor Casey’s arms.

  Doctor Casey struggled to free himself, and Aunt Karen gasped, but my fingers latched on like a pit-bull’s jaws. Everything spun. Blinking lights morphed to glowing trails. Black buttons and off-white machines twisted into one murky blob.

  My breath caught in my throat, and I plunged into Doctor Casey’s and Aunt Karen’s minds at the same time. Something I’d never done before. Faces zoomed on either side of me, blurring as I soared into a tunnel. Laughter, sobs, passionate fights, and love making mixed with sounds of birds, ocean waves, and beeping machines. Smells. Every scent imaginable combined into a garbage smelling mess. Occasional wafts of gardenias, vanilla perfume, and homemade cookies relieved my nose of the stench.

  I gagged, floundering as I splashed into several of Doctor Casey’s memories.

  Wearing a med-school graduation cap and gown, I throw a football to my five-year-old son, while watching my wife walk down the aisle.

  Aunt Karen’s memories rolled in a jumble of static, like they always did. She had black holes. Places I’d assumed she’d forgotten or refused to hold on to. I’m carrying dirty dishes through the diner. A handsome man smiles at me but I bow my head and walk into the kitchen. An ATM flashes a zero balance. I rest my forehead on the machine and cry.

  Wind twirled around me. My stomach jumped to my throat as my body settled into some kind of blank space. Flickers and ripples of light weaved together as images formed before me. As if both of their memories synced, I peered at myself sitting on the edge of the machine, anger and frustration written on my face.

  Strange. My voice echoed in my head.

  I should’ve feared the situation. I was staring at a frozen version of myself but I didn’t. Nothing in my life was normal and all I wanted was normalcy.

  Was that too much to ask?

  Energy like I’d never experienced fired through my bones. Confidence and determination. Why couldn’t Doctor Casey tell Aunt Karen he went over the tests, concluded I was fine and ready to go back to school? He needed to remember he talked with other doctors, and they ruled my sickness a twenty-four-hour bug that had nothing to do with me bumping my head. I begged for Aunt Karen to remember the last few days in a similar light. The flu. Not a concussion or a brain trauma. A minor goose egg that would heal. Nothing ibuprofen couldn’t fix.

  Air rushed into my lungs like I’d inhaled a mouthful of water. I coughed and released my grip.

  Aunt Karen and Doctor Casey shook their heads, blinking.

  Doctor Casey removed a stylus from his white coat pocket and tapped on his tablet. “Karen, we’ve taken the gauntlet of tests, and everything has come out negative. I’ve spoken with other doctors and we’ve ruled her sickness a twenty-four-hour bug with no correlation to her bump on the head. She doesn’t have a mark on her, except for the small goose egg. Nothing ibuprofen can’t fix.” He smiled at me. “She’s more than able to attend school. I suggest letting her rest at home today and see how she feels tomorrow.”

  Prickles climbed the nape of my neck. My breathing heaved in and out. What just happened? Had I altered his memory? No. No way! Not another side effect to this stupid curse. I wiped my eyes.

  Aunt Karen studied my face. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. She must’ve had a yucky case of the flu. Thank goodness she didn’t have a concussion or a brain trauma.”

  My pulse throbbed in my neck. What had I done? I adjusted the hospital gown to prevent my underwear from peeking out the back and wiggled off the machine. “I’d like to go home, now. Please.”

  “Of course.” Doctor Casey cradled his tablet. “Sit tight for a moment while I talk with your aunt. I’ll have a nurse walk you to a patient room to change.”

  Aunt Karen glanced at me before she shadowed him.

  I rested my back on the cold metal, the chill enhancing the tremble in my arms. My stomach roiled with disgust. If I’d truly altered Doctor Casey’s and my aunt’s memories and it wasn’t some freak coincidence, I’d never do it again. No matter the circumstances. Memories made someone who they were. Layers of their past created their personalities, beliefs, and emotions. By weaving details into Aunt Karen’s and Doctor
Casey’s memories, I’d changed them, and they’d always remember the lie I created.

  Chapter Three

  I sat at the desk in my room, rereading the words in my journal. The black ink smudged every few lines from the tears I didn’t wipe away. I shut the leather-bound book, and my eyelids closed.

  I had the nightmare again last night. It’s just a dream. Not a memory. “She’s not your mother.” I pounded my fist on the desk. “Why can’t I see the woman’s face?”

  That dream disappeared for two years until I fainted on Monday. It was almost as if my sickness brought it back.

  The child’s mother haunted me.

  “Mommy?” I had whispered in the dream as I stared up at her, fear and confusion in my heart.

  She didn’t speak or smile, just placed a single finger to her lips and slid the closet door closed.

  The child’s mother always appeared clear to me while I slept, but every time I woke, I couldn’t remember one defining feature. I swallowed and shook my head. “She’s not your mother.”

  “Thea,” Aunt Karen yelled from downstairs. “If you’re going to school today, you better hurry up.”

  I opened the desk drawer and pulled out the wedding photograph of my parents.

  The edges of the wallet-sized picture bent and curled toward the center from years of handling. Every morning, I studied their faces, praying I had one memory of them.

  My father’s sandy-brown hair had a slight wave and was neatly swept to the side. He wore a white tunic and white pants that seemed to brighten his honey-colored eyes. My mother truly radiated with beauty. Her red hair flowed in large curls over one shoulder, and the gorgeous bouquet of flowers in my mother’s hands stood out against the white backdrop.

  The outside petals were magenta. Above those, thin, deep-blue corona filaments curved inward like a crown. My favorite part of the flowers was the middle. What looked like a purple spiral sitting atop a yellow star.