Forgetting

by J. L. Brooks

  He said nothing for a few moments, making me believe I was being dismissed, but as I leaned my arm over to stand, he motioned for me to sit down. “Stella, I should apologize to you. At the very least explain my feelings. I heard you and your mama having your heart to heart, so I know there’s a lot of emotion right now. My feelings have nothing to do with forgiving you. Hell, I know you can’t recall a thing past seventeen, and that must be scary. But when you left here, you took your mama’s heart with you. Things were real rough for a while. I even thought we weren’t going to make it. But we did, and no matter how hard I try, I don’t know what I will do if your memory comes back and you take off again. Your mama is thrilled to have you here, as am I. But I have to protect her, because we all know there are no guarantees. I understand you not wanting to know, and for now that’s okay. But just because you don’t remember, doesn’t mean we have forgotten. You aren’t the only one struggling here, and the truth will come out.”

  The conversation solidified my view that my mother was overcompensating with affection. Rather than being wounded by his words, he merely confirmed what I already knew. Before walking out of the room, I held the doorpost for support, as my legs were still a bit unsteady.

  “Daddy, you and I aren’t that different, you know. We’re both afraid of the same thing.”

  I didn’t wait for his response. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed and sleep. An exhaustion I had not known before came over me as my body rested under the heavy quilts. There were no dreams; I had stopped having them, or I simply could not remember them. When I closed my eyes, I knew for certain what would stay the same—nothing.

  ~ The Sun Will Rise ~

  I woke up long before dawn, an uncontrollable restlessness overcame me. I took great care not to wake anyone, including our pit bull, Zoey. She slept soundly at the foot of my bed, only lifting her head for a moment when I slipped on my shoes and left the house. For the first time since I arrived, I dared to venture out on my own. The town was small, and not likely to place me in any danger. Green-hued lights emanated from the street lamps making the dirt road leading into town a bit more visible. Crickets and frogs sang as I walked slowly toward the small brick buildings.

  The older shops still held those open glass windows, where they elaborately decorated the displays. I passed a shoe store, an appliance repair facility, and hardware store before my nose caught the delicate scent of fresh breads baking. My mother told me there was a French bakery in town that I had always loved. Once a week, she would bring back crusty loaves of bread and delicious pastries that I would devour almost immediately. I favored a tiny lemon tart with powdered sugar and candied citrus peels sprinkled on top. The chocolates were often too sweet, but I tried them anyway.

  Around the corner, I spied the old metal sign hanging out from the doorway. It was a whimsical building, with flowers spilling out from hanging window containers. Small iron tables were scattered on the brick patio, with chairs tilted against the edge for easy sweeping. Curious about the place, I crept closer to the shop and peeked into the windows as the workers busied themselves for the day. My mouth watered as I watched trays of desserts being set out with care in the display cases, and baskets on racks filled with steaming breads of all kinds. I pressed my hand to the cool glass for a moment to steady my legs, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I grabbed the wall to keep from falling, and the man reached out to hold me in place.

  He could tell I was frightened and stepped back a bit. “We open in an hour. But if you see something you want, I can get it for you. My treat.”

  Unable to speak, I simply shook my head and slid against the wall, moving away from the bakery and the stranger.

  I rubbed my hand across my head nervously, and realized I forgot to wear a scarf. There was nothing to cover my ugly scars, not even the hair that had grown out a bit. Embarrassed, my chin dropped low. “No thank you.”

  I was mortified beyond belief. Not only was he kind, he was beautiful. Even in the dark, under the brim of his ball cap, I could tell his eyes were intense and captivating. Long lashes brushed his strong cheek bones in the brief moments he blinked. Patches of flour that transferred off his clothing dusted the black hooded jacket I was wearing, and the top of my head came just shy of his chin, which I noticed during the two seconds I had curved perfectly into his body.

  We were at a standstill; I was too afraid to move, but wanted to run. It was so quiet I could hear every labored breath coming from his chest. It was the ringing of the door from inside of the bakery that broke the awkwardness between us.

  “Hey, Julian, when you go to the store today, we need more baking soda. We have enough right now, but it’s. . . .” The man was loud until he noticed something was distracting the person he was speaking to. It was the break I needed to run, and for the first time since the accident, I did just that.

  I could hear him yell at me to stop, but he did not chase after me. I ran past the hardware store, clear to the edge of town. It wasn’t that much of a distance, but to someone who had spent weeks learning to walk again, it gave hope. I held onto the metal street lamp, sat against the base, and cried. Not out of despair, but relief. I grabbed my knees and kissed them repeatedly, thankful for their strength and the physical therapist that pushed me to always try harder.

  The imprints of white fingertips on my shoulders brought just as much excitement. It was my first encounter with someone that made my heart flutter, and I knew his name. Julian. Julian. Julian. I said it over and over again, just to hear the way it poured off my tongue and caressed my lips. I knew I would never stand a chance with someone like him, especially now, but it did not keep my heart from pounding and consuming every thought. I crept back into the house. Everyone was still asleep, and would be none the wiser to my morning adventure. Settling back into bed, Zoey crawled under the sheets and warmed my chilled limbs, as the thought of Julian heated my blood.

  While I finally found rest, my mother opened my bedroom door to announce she was leaving. Her patient, Raina Moreau, was having a difficult day and faced the possibility of being admitted to the hospital. Her white cell counts were really off, which was not a good sign.

  “I am going to draw some blood samples. Stella, you can come with me if you want, but I thought you might enjoy the rest. I know you do not sleep well, so I am sorry to wake you, but I didn’t want you to be worried.”

  Her hand brushed across my forehead and lingered over the scars, thick with hardened tissue and bumps from the staples. I turned away from her touch, remembering how his eyes traveled over the same places.

  Softly, she reached back up and touched my cheek. “They are a testament to your will, do not be ashamed. In another month or so, no one will even notice.”

  “I know, mom. They just bother me. I don’t feel pretty as it is, and those just add to it. I feel like a monster. Not just because of those, but the tattoos, everything. These are forever, they aren’t going away.” I held my arms out. I had come to appreciate the artwork, but this wasn’t the body I knew. If I knew what was behind them, I might have appreciated them more. I wavered between acceptance and denial of my body almost hourly.

  “You are no more a monster than I am the Queen of England, so hush. When I get back, we are going to the farmers market. You need to get out of the house, so enjoy your nap.”

  I smiled and rubbed my mother’s hand, which rested on my shoulder.

  “Yes, mama. Real quick, though, what’s going on with Mrs. Moreau? I hear you talk about her all the time. You’re obviously very close, but I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

  She held back her tears, but I could see my question drew a sadness from deep within her. “Raina is my best friend, and she has Stage three breast cancer. She’s had the mastectomy, and even several lymph nodes removed, but it was so aggressive when we found it, there was little that could be done. She has lesions on her brain that interfere with her ability to walk. She can barely eat, and is on painkillers
most of the time because of the chemotherapy. I have gotten more time with her than I thought I would, but now it’s just a matter of waiting for the day to finally come.”

  The distress my mother was experiencing was more than I could bear. I pulled her into my arms and held tight as she let herself go. Knowing now what she was enduring, in addition to taking care of me, forced any self-pity I was wallowing in to leave immediately. Her heart was in the blender, and life was pressing the power button. As a physician, she developed a certain sort of detachment, which was professionally necessary. But this wasn’t work. This was her best friend and child under her wings, and she was damn sure to do everything in her power to make the best of it, despite knowing that for all the skill and knowledge she possessed, ultimately life and death was not dependent on her, but on the unseen forces of the almighty and his will.

  ~ Intervention ~

  My mother returned from Mrs. Moreau’s in high spirits. She said they did not have to admit her today. Somehow things were more stable and she was feeling better. In more ways than one, it was a good day for us both. I had showered and slipped into a soft cotton sundress with a mid-sleeve cardigan. Although it did not fully cover my arms, it was far too warm and the ink was not going anywhere. The top drawer of the dresser held a stack of bandannas my mother had sewn for me to cover my head. They looked cute with the tiny corners of hair peeking out from above my ears and around my neckline. A costume pair of horn-rimmed sunglasses was in a box labeled “Halloween,” along with a strand of faux pearls. There was also a felt poodle skirt in the box, which I passed over without question. However, the rest tied into a retro chic look, as my mother called it.

  As we were preparing to leave, she approached me with a small metal tube and twisted the lid off. “Pout your lips, Stella.”

  I followed her direction and puckered them into the fish-like shape one makes when applying lipstick. As she pulled her hand away, I noticed she was holding a vibrant red hue.

  “Go look, it’s perfect.”

  Hesitantly, I walked into the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. While barely touching the crimson stain on my full lips, I was in awe for the first time at the face looking back. It wasn’t the girl I thought I was, or the monster whose body I held captive. It was a normal person, about to enjoy a day at the market. My scars were hidden, and thoughts of Julian brought a slight flush to my cheeks. If he were to see me like this, surely I would not be so afraid. Knowing he was most likely still at the bakery, my stomach dropped slightly.

  “Let’s go, Stella. We only have a little longer before the vendors leave. I want to make a nice dinner for us.”

  With one last glance, I smiled and pulled down my shades while closing the door.

  The sun was bright and delicious against my skin, as we walked down the road into town holding baskets and produce nets. I listened to my mother ramble on about nothing, and enjoyed the slight breeze flowing through the surrounding trees. This town was beautiful, and I had barely seen any of it yet. It was the first farmers market of the season, so everyone in town was anxious to get out and socialize. I trusted my mom not to put me in a situation that I couldn’t handle, so I stayed close and smiled as she talked to everyone she passed.

  I found myself doing most of the shopping, while she chattered about. I took the time to smell the crisp fruits and taste the fresh cheeses, and every bite was an awakening of the senses. I scarcely heard the world around me, completely focused on each stop. She would grab my arm occasionally and turn me around to shake someone’s hand, before they went right back into the conversation.

  While I was trying a sample of homemade cinnamon apple butter, my mother grabbed my arm and squealed, “Oh, Stella . . . try this tart, its divine!” She groaned unnecessarily as she reached over to put the half-eaten piece into my mouth.

  Within a few bites, my eyes closed and made the same exaggerated noises.

  “I told you that you could have had anything you wanted. I’m glad you came back for it.”

  Frozen, I opened my eyes to an equally-shocked expression on my mother’s face. She looked past me with a half grin, half-questioning look. I turned slowly to come eye to eye once again with a man who made me feel things I had never felt before, at least not that I remembered. In the light, I could see his eyes were the most beautiful shade of green. A rough shadow of growth covered his chin and neck, trailing down onto his Adam’s apple. The muscles of his shoulders and chest pushed against the snug sheer cotton T-shirt he wore with a black striped apron and distressed grey ball cap. Without realizing it, I ran my fingers along the surface of the bandana. When I felt the prickly strands poking through the fabric, I looked away embarrassed. I looked back to my mother, who had silently watched the interaction take place.

  “You know each other?” she voiced suspiciously.

  Julian laughed and walked over to give my mother a big hug, causing my jaw to drop. “No, Sandy, not yet. We met briefly this morning when she was outside of the shop. I tried to say hi, but I think I scared her,” he said with a chuckle.

  “You were at the shop this morning?”

  She walked closer to me, causing my flight instincts to rise again. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk. I smelled the bread. It was nice. That’s all.”

  My mother laughed so heartily, I thought she had lost her mind. She walked back over to Julian and slid her arm familiarly around his waist. Patting his chest lightly, she offered an introduction. “Julian, this is my daughter, Stella. Stella, this is Julian. Raina is his mother. He came back from New York when she was unable to take care of things any longer. This makes it . . . two years now?”

  He smiled at my mother and squeezed back. It was indisputable the affection they held for one another. I wanted to be jealous of this stranger, but it was hard to hate someone so handsome. He reached out his hand in my direction.

  I took it lightly and shook back. “Nice to meet you again, Julian. I am sorry I took off like that. I get . . .”My lip worried between my teeth, trying to find the right words.

  He came to my rescue and put his hand up in the air. “No need to explain, Stella. I am a stranger, after all. Hopefully that will change now.”

  Appreciative of his kindness, I grinned while thinking about how much I would like that. My mother was practically ready to burst standing next to him as she held up our baskets.

  “Julian, you have to come to dinner tonight! It’s been so long and I know you need the break. She will be okay. You know she worries about you working so hard. Please say yes. Besides, Jim will be thrilled to have another guy over to talk shop.”

  Knowing that my mother was referring to his mother made me sad for Julian. Two years taking care of a parent and running the family business. I wondered what he had done in New York. I wondered if I knew him when I was younger.

  After he agreed happily to the invitation, I was determined to find out if we were acquaintances. “Julian, how old are you?” I wondered aloud.

  “Thirty four,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and took a basket from my mother. “I was just wondering if we knew each other, and you were just being nice because you know I don’t remember anything. Because I know for a fact that you know who I am.”

  My mother looked guilty and peered up at Julian.

  His expression was flat and unreadable. After a few moments of awkward silence, he smiled and shifted his hat. “I know who you were, but I don’t know who you are now. It’s a blank slate for both of us, don’t you think?”

  Happy with that answer, I nodded my head. “See you tonight, Julian.”

  “See you, Stella.”

  As we walked away, my mother bumped my shoulder. “You have some explaining to do, missy! Why didn’t you tell me you went into town this morning? It must have been before dawn.”

  “It was. I couldn’t sleep, like always. I have been good on my feet for a bit, so I thought I would take a walk. Mama, I ran. I really ran.
And it felt so good!”

  She laughed loudly again. “Yeah, you were running away from a man. I never thought that would be the thing to test your legs.”

  Playfully bumping her again, I felt the need to ask more questions before dinner. “Julian said he knew me. How did we meet, do you know?”

  Her tone became more serious with the question. “You met him at school. He just turned thirty-four, so you are not too far apart in age, just a few months. Shortly after graduation, he joined the Navy and was deployed to Afghanistan. You used to write him letters and make care packages for him.”

  “So we were friends!” I said excitedly, and then remembered what she said earlier about leaving town without a thought. “He’s another person who never heard from me again, isn’t he.”

  Nodding her head, she said nothing the rest of the way home. Feeling the mood sour, I stopped her from opening the door. “He said it’s a blank slate for both of us. Let us keep it that way, okay? Tonight will be a good night. I am going to help you make dinner.”

  My words made her drop her basket and give me a strong embrace. I held her back tightly. I found something that made my mother happy, and consequently, was making me happy. If giving Julian a chance meant giving my mom so much joy, I would be happy to, and I would gladly move heaven and earth to keep it that way.

  After hearing that Julian would be joining us for dinner, even my father’s mood grew more buoyant. He placed the radio on a jazz station and danced with my mother in the kitchen while we cooked. The tomatoes simmered with the fresh herbs, while pasta boiled next to it. My mother took the large slotted spoon from my hand and stirred, while giving my father a look. His hand extended to mine and pulled me close for a dance. I remembered that when I was a little girl he would have me stand on his feet while he shuffled back and forth slowly to the music. I would cling to the back of his thighs with my little arms as mom swayed behind him. As a family, we moved in a soft rhythm.