“I don’t remember you.” Those words made their mark deeply. I found myself at the edge of a cliff all the landmarks of my affection gone.
Memories, from my first sight of him, cooing and reaching out his arms to me to the hundreds of outtings he, his mother and I made over the years screamed and careened past me. I didn’t know what to say. I felt an odd expression on my face – one I had no control to change.
“Really?” I muttered and tried not to sound sad. He was a child after all. Just eight years old. The complexity of human emotion still a concept he sought to grasp.
“Yeah, really.” He said it simply with no crack in the door to wedge my foot in.
I smiled and patted his arm. “Well, that’s okay honey. I remember you.”
It had been a long time. Fours years. Not long in adult time but it was half of his life span. Children change so much so quickly. I told myself it was okay. Not to feel sad or disappointed. I told myself I was still happy to see him. But I wasn’t very convincing. It gave the day, one of celebration – not just for a holiday dedicated to blessings and thankfulness but of the reunion with Julie, my best friend a different color.
She had moved four years ago to Montanna. How it broke my heart. Though I understood her need to get out of a big city, she had a young child to raise on her own and didn’t want him to grow up around gangs, drugs, crime and everything else that is unhealthy for children growing up in big cities. We managed to stay in touch. To phone and write and send gifts at the appropriate occasions…but it wasn’t the same. There was void without her – without them.
Travis, her son, was as much a part of my life as Julie had been. We went everywhere together. Did everything together. We even discussed the idea that if anything ever happened to her (God forbid) that I would take Travis in a heartbeat. How could I not? He had captured my heart and love the moment I looked into his big green eyes.
The Thanksgiving reunion was not just with Julie but with Travis as well. Except it really wasn’t. Because he didn’t remember me. And I didn’t know how to respond to that. Did I just back off and talk to him as though we’d just met? Ask him about school and his hobbies? It did make sense though – his reaction when I hugged him. The blank look in his eyes. The rigidness of his body. The way children act when doting strangers pinch their cheeks and tell them how much they’ve grown. I suddenly felt like that whacky old aunt that nobody remembers and everybody cringes at their presence.
The evening went on. We played Trivial Pursuit – laughed at the same old jokes and one liners that old friends do. I caught him watching me a few times and I wondered what went on in his mind. Was he remembering? He warmed up a little. Told me about his favorite movie. Complained about his younger siblings who had come into being during the four years in Montanna. Talked about his Dad (the man Julie had married and whom I was yet to meet as well). And I think out of politeness said he thought I was starting to look familiar.
Until the evening came to an end and he discovered I was going back to the hotel room with them. “Where are you going to sleep?” he wanted to know. “Somewhere,” I shrugged sensing an upset in the near future. He didn’t take kindly to giving up a bed to himself and having to share a bed with his mom. No, that wasn’t going to do at all.
And so went the next two days. Little cracks and remarks, cold stares, pouting. Each time my heart broke a little bit more. I chided myself for being so childish. I was the adult. It was my job to take it in stride. I really wanted to, I really did – but I couldn’t quite get over the shock of it. Couldn’t quite accept that I was forgettable. Reason, logic did not work in this scenario.
The night before I left he got upset about a movie or something…it was a trivial thing. I teased him and said “don’t worry I’m leaving tomorrow.” “Yeah and none too soon, either,” he snapped.
That sent me over the edge. I went to the patio and cried. I mourned the loss of my friend Travis. I finally accepted that whatever had happened in the past didn’t matter. It might just have well not happened.
It’s an odd thing when a child forgets you – no matter how much you remember them. When they look at you as they would any stranger. When you want to hug someone who is wary of you. I cannot really describe it.
At the very end we got to know each other a little – in a clean slate sort of way. I rescued him and took him on a little errand while his mother wrangled with the two little ones. I think he decided he might like me.
When we said goodbye he almost looked sad. Maybe some memory was winding its way to his awareness. Maybe it doesn’t matter. He hugged me many times and said “I love you.”
And in the end maybe that’s all that matters.
Copyright 2006
Sarah Flanigan's Pure Fiction 