Forget Me (Hampton Harbor)

by Jess Petosa

  His words bring up new questions in my mind, like why I was traveling to Maine by myself, and why he didn't question my disappearance over these past few weeks. I let his strong arms hold me and try to find comfort in his embrace, knowing that at one time I most likely did. We pull apart when my mom clears her throat, and the four of us walk awkwardly to the parking garage.

  "It's about a two hour drive home so I thought we could grab some of your favorite pizza on the way home," my mom says as we slip into the car.

  "I'm not really hungry," I tell her.

  In truth, I haven't eaten since breakfast, since it was soon after that that my world flipped upside down. I don't want to stop at a restaurant and eat pizza and pretend that everything is okay.

  "Nonsense," she says over the passenger seat. "You look thinner since the last time I saw you. What have they been feeding you in Maine?"

  Jason is seated against the opposite window and the distance between us is widening.

  "Maybe we should just go home," Jason speaks up. "We can get dinner in Clinton"

  I shoot him a small smile and mouth thank you. He smiles back, ever so slightly. His hand grabs mine off my lap. His touch is gentle, and his fingers don't lace through mine, but I can feel the weight of the action. I don't drop his hand, but instead look out the window as we pull out of the airport and onto the highway. I can't find a way to grasp the memories I know I have of my mom, Ted, and Jason. I know I need to find a way to be the daughter and wife they all know, but I'm not sure how to, when I don't know her myself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  My mom made it sound like we live in Chicago, so I’m surprised when our drive crosses us right over the Indiana border. It’s almost eight-thirty when Ted pulls off of the highway, following signs to a town called Clinton Hills.

  Clinton Hills, Indiana.

  When we pull into town, and the main sign looms over a series of rose bushes and brick walls, several images flash through my mind. It’s though I’m driving past this sign one hundred times over, and I realize that I’m remembering other times I've driven past this sign.

  The town is small and quaint, with old brick buildings and bright streetlights adorned with colorful banners. I feel a sense of familiarity, both from my past life and the life I lived in Hampton Harbor.

  We drive straight through town, which takes five minutes at the most, and pull into a neighborhood on the outskirts. The houses are all large Victorian style homes, with flowers cascading over their white porches, and perfectly trimmed hedges surrounding their gated driveways. We drive deep into the neighborhood before pulling into the driveway of a white home with red shutters.

  "Saturday we'll have dinner with the family," my mom starts talking as we climb out of the car. "And then on Monday we'll get you an appointment with the best doctors in Chicago. We'll drive up there for a few days and get this whole amnesia mess sorted out."

  She talks about my memory loss as though it’s a bad rash. All I need is some good medication and an ointment and everything will be okay.

  Jason leans back against Ted's car and I pause in the driveway, watching my mom and Ted hurry toward the walk. My mom turns around when she sees that neither of us has followed.

  "Well, aren't you coming?" she asks.

  I look at Jason and then back at my mom.

  "Do we live here too?"

  My mom laughs. "Of course not, I just thought it would be best if you stayed here while you recovered."

  I feel aggravation seeping into my mind, and I feel the same anger and hurt I felt in all those memories with my mom. I remember her coldness and her need for control. I can envision a dozen times where she cut me down for not being good enough, or took control of my life without giving me a choice. It’s strange to suddenly have memories and just know what happened in my life. It’s hard to imagine not knowing these events, and I struggle to recall ever not remembering.

  "I think I'd rather just go home," I say defiantly. The only memories I have so far do not stretch past high school, so I feel myself reverting to my sixteen-year-old self.

  "Don't be silly." My mom steps toward me but I back away.

  "I'm married and I have a home... you can't make me stay here." I say to her.

  I feel movement behind me and Jason steps into my view.

  "We'll be back for dinner on Saturday." He takes my hand in his and pulls me further from my mom. "Goodnight, Grace."

  I didn't notice the car before, but Jason leads me to a black sedan parked on the far side of the triple wide driveway. My mom is glaring at us from the walkway, and I think from here I can see the veins in her neck bulging. Jason grabs my black bag from Ted’s car while I slip into our own. There is a Clinton Hills Highschool parking pass hanging from the rear view mirror, along with a set of purple beads.

  I run my fingers over the shiny plastic of the beads, fisting them in my hand. Jason ducks into the car and I peer over at him.

  "We got these at Senior prom," I say. "They did a Mardi Gras theme."

  He stares at me, his eyes wide. "You remember?"

  "Not everything," I say quickly, not wanting to give false hope. "I’m slowly starting to get glimpses and pieces of my life. Like how horrible and controlling my mother is."

  Jason chuckles. "She isn't easy to forget. She leaves quite the impression on everyone."

  I drop the beads as he puts the car in gear and backs out of the drive. My mom and Ted are gone from the walk, and there are now lights on in the front window. Jason pulls out of the neighborhood and turns back toward town.

  "How long have we known each other?" I ask. "I mean, I remember being with you in high school, and according to my mom we’re married, but how long have we been together?"

  Jason works his jaw and his fingers grip the wheel tightly.

  "I'm sorry," I say before he can answer. "I'm sure it's frustrating that I don't remember. I just.... I don't know how else to get answers."

  "No, it's fine." His grip loosens and he glances at me. "It's just strange, that's all."

  He turns at the stoplight in the middle of town.

  "We met in science class in eighth grade." His voice is wistful, and I realize that he is remembering too. These are events he probably hasn't had the need to think of before now. "We were partnered up to dissect a frog and I was so mad at Mr. P. So mad. I didn't know how I was going to dissect a frog with a girl for a partner, but you stomped right up to my desk, pulled on your gloves, and grabbed a knife."

  I laugh at the image, trying to remember it. I think I can almost picture myself, with brown pigtails and a red dress.

  "You dissected that frog ten times better than I ever could have," he says with a laugh. "I couldn't even admit that the smell almost made me vomit."

  He turns onto a small side street. We aren't in a neighborhood, just in a section of homes right within the town. They are older, and small, but they have a sort of character that I feel I can appreciate.

  "We absolutely hated each other for the rest of the year, but then we went to the same summer camp. Up in Michigan, near the lake."

  I can picture it somehow. The trees, the lake, the cabins, and the canoes.

  "Camp Creektrail," I say.

  Jason's smile grows large. It’s the first genuine smile I've seen from him since our reunion in the airport.

  "Yes, Camp Creektrail," he says. "We both seemed older that year, more mature. Maybe it's because we were about to head into high school, but you were no longer the bratty, pig tailed girl from science class. You were cute and funny, and you had a love for practical jokes that I could really appreciate."

  I laugh loudly. "I stapled cups of water together and put them on my counselor’s bed. We also hung one of the boy counselor's underwear up on the flag pole."

  Jason nods. "I didn't realize until the end of summer that you were acting up so much to piss off your parents. They were getting divorced that summer, and your mom's moods were worse than ever."

  I can pict
ure the summer well now, and I can feel the same emotions I felt when my dad told me that he was leaving. I begged my mom to send me to summer camp, just so I could get away, and surprisingly she obliged. Of course, I had to enroll in a full course of activities for the week: soccer camp, horseback riding, and band.

  "We had our first kiss that summer, under the weeping tree near the canoe shack." I add.

  I can picture the big tree in my mind. I remember how it drooped into the water each morning, heavy with dew, and when it would rise back up over the lake, large droplets of water would slowly roll down it's branches and onto the ground. That’s how it got its name.

  Jason is silent now, and he pulls into the driveway of a small, light blue home. There is a large porch off the front, with two rocking chairs sitting off to the side.

  "This is ours?" I ask. For the first time tonight, memories don’t pour into my mind.

  "Home sweet home," he says without a smile. He climbs out of the car.

  I do the same and shut the door behind me, walking slowly toward the house. The color of the siding feels out of place in this town, but I know that had this house been built in Hampton Harbor, it would have fit right in. The steps up to the porch are wide and thick, and there are two white lights lit on either side of the door. Jason steps around me and slips a key into the front door, pushing it open and motioning for me to enter.

  My hand instinctively swipes the wall to the left when I step inside, and the room lights up. There is a set of stairs to my left, but the main floor in dominated by a large, open living room. The foyer area is set in a light wood floor, and it stretches into a dining area at the front of the house, before turning to carpet half way back. There is a fireplace in the corner, and mismatched furniture is placed around a flat screen TV. The wall along the stairs runs behind a long, tall table. There are picture frames trailing across it but I can't bring myself to look just yet. I walk past the dining area and the sitting area, and turn left into a small kitchen. The white cabinets sit over yellow walls, and there is a large window behind the sink that overlooks what I assume is the backyard. The room reminds me too much of Charles and Marie’s kitchen, and my breath hitches in my throat.

  Everything about this home feels like me, and I know that I've poured myself into this place. The color schemes, the curtains, the decorations. I've taken an old home and made it our own. However, I see no signs of a child, and I struggle with whether or not to bring it up.

  I walk back into the main room and find Jason still standing in the foyer, watching me carefully. I feel like a stranger rummaging through his house, and I'm struggling through exactly how to feel right now. I wrap my arms around my midsection and try to hold myself together, closing my eyes and willing the memories to come back. It would be easier if I could just remember. I step over to the table along the wall and pick up the first picture frame.

  A younger, happier version of myself has her arms wrapped around the neck of a younger, happier version of Jason. I'm wearing a white gown and he’s wearing a tuxedo. I grasp that this is a picture from our wedding day. My dark hair is piled on the top my head and the picture shows my side profile. I’m staring up at Jason and I can tell by my posture that he is hugging me tight. His smile is wide as he looks straight at the camera.

  I'm crying now. Tear drops splash onto the table and a few hit the glass covering the picture.

  The frame is taken from my hands and Jason is reaching for me, but I back away.

  "I'm sorry," I say when I see the hurt look on his face. "I can't..."

  "Mel, come with me," he extends his hand again, and gives me a hesitant look. The sound of his nickname for me hits my ears and runs down my body in a wave. I know that my mom hates when he calls me that, and I know that he has been calling me that since that first summer at camp.

  "Where are we going?" I'm sniffling as the tears continue to fall.

  "I'm going to take you up to our room, your room. It's been a long day." His eyes shift to the stairs. "I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

  "No, you don't have to do that," I stumble through the words. "I'll sleep down here."

  Silence settles between us.

  "I can't go up there yet. I don't think I can handle more memories," I say in partial truth.

  Picking up the picture frame from our wedding didn't bring back memories of the day, but I can't convince myself that stepping into our bedroom won't. I don't want to remember anymore tonight. I don't want to break my heart, or his, anymore tonight. I'm stepping into a life that I should understand, but can't. I don't want to picture myself getting ready in that room, sleeping in a bed with Jason.

  I close my eyes and picture myself in Charles and Marie's house, getting ready for a shift at the cafe. I picture myself taking the bus into town and standing on the boardwalk, looking out over the bay. I picture myself in Will's arms, the night we spent in my bed.

  My eyes pop open and Jason is no longer standing in front of me.

  I'm not sure where he went but my black duffle bag is sitting in the foyer and I walk over to grab it. There is a small bathroom off of the kitchen, and I use it to change into my pajamas and wash up. I try to avoid looking in the mirror but it is a futile effort. I decide to meet my reflection head on and I brace my hands on either side of the pedestal sink. Long, dark hair, plain blue eyes, a small nose and big lips. I feel as though I'm split in half, rather than looking at a single reflected image. On one side I’m Jane, and on the other I’m Melissa.

  Each life is melding together with the crash and tilt of the waves during a heavy storm, and all the rage of the winds as they push and pull at the sails of the boats.

  The storm will pass, either leaving bits of debris for its memory, or a wake of destruction in its path.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  My dreams are so filled with memories, that when I wake up, I feel more exhausted than when I went to bed. I can recall much of my childhood now, and I’m sure that the memories of my baby and toddler years are there, but I wouldn't remember them even if my mind was fully functioning. I remember a time when my parents were together, and my brother Robbie and I would hide in his closet, waiting for the fighting to stop. We lived in a different house then, an old farmhouse further into the country.

  I remember my mom berating me over and over as I grew up. I remember how Robbie worked hard to fit into her perfect mold, and I always resented him for being better than me. I rebelled against everything my mom wanted me to be, and I feel as though I probably still do. I remember going into high school, and finding a rambunctious group of friends. I remember Jason asking me to the freshman winter formal, and we were officially boyfriend and girlfriend from that point on, even if we had flirted all fall. I remember making Varsity Soccer my freshman year, and it is one of the few times I remember making my mom proud. She hated my friends and my boyfriend. I reminded her of my dad, and she held that against me as well. The rest of high school came in bits and pieces; bonfires in a cornfield, wild drives down the dark, country roads, formals and proms, soccer games and working at the ice cream place in town. I remember a stretch during my junior year where Jason broke up with me and a week later started dating another girl. I can still feel the heartbreak I felt, and how desperate I was to get him back.

  I spent weeks in Hampton Harbor, struggling to recall anything. I’m in Clinton Hills for twelve hours and suddenly my memories are slipping back into my mind one after another. It seems unfair, that this place has to be so familiar to me that it has this effect.

  "Good morning." Jason's voice pulls me out of my daze. I'm sitting crossed legged on the couch with a blanket thrown across my lap.

  Jason is dressed for the day, in jeans and a simple tee shirt. I try not to notice how his muscles bulge under the material, or how a familiar tattoo weaves out of the right sleeve.

  "I called in to work today," he says as he plops down in the recliner across from me.

  "You didn't have to do that," I tell him. I look down at
my hands and weave my fingers through the stitching in the blanket.

  "I think I did," he responds.

  I know that he is struggling just has much as I am, if not more in some aspects.

  "Where do you work?" I try to make light conversation. The air between us feels thick and stubborn.

  "At the high school. I'm the PE teacher, and the baseball coach."

  "Isn't school out for the summer?" I ask. It’s almost mid-July.

  He nods. "I usually work through the summer, running baseball camps for the community."

  I know this, somehow, and just nod. "Where do I work?"

  "Clinton Hills Elementary School, just down the street. You teach Kindergarten."

  He says everything in the present tense.

  My mouth forms an O and I just nod. A Kindergarten teacher feels like a far cry from a waitress.

  "So I'm off for the summer?"

  He nods. "You were done June sixth."

  He says the date with meaning, as if I should understand the importance of it. Looking back in my mind, I think that it could have been the day I left Indiana and started my trip to Maine.

  "The more you talk about us, the more I remember," I tell him. "Maybe we should spend the day talking."

  Jason seems relieved at the suggestion and I wonder what he was expecting.

  "I know just the place." He stands and helps me off the couch. "We'll leave as soon as you’re ready."

  He disappears into the kitchen and I pick up my black duffle. I know that I need a shower, and I also know that this means I need to go upstairs. I take a deep breath and make the journey up to the second floor slowly, feeling certain steps creak under my weight. The upstairs is small, and there are only three doors to choose from. My mind tells me that the door on the right leads to a guest room that I turned into an office, the middle door leads to a bathroom, and the left door leads to the master bedroom. I turn the knob slowly and push the heavy door open.