Rain

The rain sheeted down over the sad, huddled buildings of downtown Portland. People hurried to and fro, eager to escape the pelting cold that berated them from all sides. The distant scream of a siren was what caught her attention, huddled and slowly moving, as if she weren’t really sure where she was going or why. Her umbrella dropped as her attention was pulled in the direction of the screaming ambulance, which in it’s frantic keening, would stop all traffic for three or four blocks. Her dark auburn hair was a blood red as the rain touched it, her make-up instantly running as she was covered in the torrential wave of stinging cold. The sounds of an ambulance siren always made her remember. Always brought her back. But the rain caught her from her possibly perilous fall, and she fumbled to right her umbrella, the wind pulling at it in protest. Finally hidden again from the cruel, biting rain and wind, she kept walking. She pulled out a damp piece of paper, crinkled and slightly stained from the coffee she had spilled on it. The ink was now bleeding just slightly, but she could still make out the address. Just a few more blocks, and she would be there. Her large rain boots seemed to thud on the pavement, but all was masked in the sound of rain falling and sheeting as people drove past. She had no car as she never had liked driving. The thought of trusting everything to a small compact metal frame gave her chills. She wore only a large black rain slicker, her legs were bare underneath. She couldn’t remember getting dressed that morning, or even why she would bother. Her eyes were a little too wide, rimmed with dark lashes and globs of running mascara that she didn’t need. Their color was a murky sort of green, like water that’s been sitting too long. Not a pretty color, but it suited her well enough. Her face was spattered with fast fading freckles, and the shade was a little to pale to be healthy. She herself was of medium height, but a little on the thin side; what you might call petite. She seemed ready to break at any moment, and had been so even as a child. Frail they had called her. Her boots were too big, she was wearing a worn pair of converse inside them, the socks were wet, but it was better then wearing them out in the rain some more. She felt faded and washed out as she knocked on the dented warehouse door. It had been gutted and turned into a series of apartments, she remembered that much. She hadn’t known that he lived here. She didn’t know why he had called. She knocked again, even though she could hear someone working to undo bolts and chains. 1

“So what’ve you been doing all this time?” his voice was soft, and the room was warm. The wine tasted sweet, and went well with the fish. He must have gotten a tip, he had never had a good taste in anything. He had given her clothes when she took off her raincoat, showing nothing but worn cotton panties, a soft pink in shade, and a faded bra. She couldn’t remember what had happened to her clothes. She now wore a soft, worn striped shirt; it was black and white, her favorite. He had kept some of her things, luckily for her. A faded and slightly ripped pair of jeans, but comfortable all the same, even though they seemed to hang on her almost emaciated frame. A tentative sip of tea, her favorite kind: he had remembered. 2

“This and that. I don’t remember last month. I don’t remember this.” his apartment held all new furnishings. She fingered the lace on a red pillow, which complimented the satin white couch she sat on. He sat in a matching lounge chair, a few feet from her. Across the room was a roaring gas fireplace, a polished coffee table with wood so dark it looked like stone between her and the television, which was the same as she remembered it. The carpet on the floor was a dulled red, worn, probably some Persian antique gifted to him by a recent business associate. She curled her toes against it, covered in soft white socks he had given her. Everything she wore smelled of laundry, that sweet, clean smell that lets you know it was in the dryer and came out hot and fresh, inviting you to bury your face in it and forget. The wine glass in her hand was cool, but smooth to her touch. She shrugged lightly and took another sip of tea.3

“I was glad that you called. It helped me remember.” her voice seemed forced, somewhat choked. This moment felt wrong, or rehearsed. He nodded, his golden hair seemed to catch and reflect the light. His eyes were a soft doe-brown, his skin a healthy tan. He was wearing a green sweater; earth tones always had suited him. His Dockers were tan, slightly creased, giving him a formal, yet casual and comfortable look. He wore no shoes; his legs were folded up onto the chair with him. 4

“Why do you forget, Leona? Why do you forget?” he felt that repeating himself would further drive home the question, or at least that was the feeling she got. Another disinterested shrug from her. She stared hard at the pictures above the television on a shelf that looked decidedly out of place. She imagined that all those smiling faces weren’t really happy, they were just pretending so that when people like her saw them, they would feel better. Or that maybe they would feel worse, because they couldn’t smile back. She knew somehow that when she stopped looking, those faces would stop smiling.5

“Leona?” it was a question, and a slight wave of his hand that brought her attention back. She shrugged. Her hair had since dried, it was long and straight, it had little body. Her mothers had been full and curly. She licked her thin lips, which though pretty, were dry and cracked.6

“I just can’t remember. It doesn’t feel important. Why do we wear clothes under our coats? We are wearing coats. That’s clothes enough.” she couldn’t remember rationalizing this in the morning. She did remember him telling her not to forget to get dressed. She hated him. That’s why she left. She wasn’t going to come here, really, but he made her mad. He frowned, and there was that irritating crease in his forehead that always made him seem superior. 7

“Leona. Are you fighting again?” his voice was tired now, no frown, just understanding. She couldn’t focus on him. She was drinking tea out of a wine glass. She liked the elegant illusion, though she never drank. She carefully set the glass on the worn coffee table, next to a thin book that had a smiling woman on the cover. She steadied the glass carefully; lining it up with the corner of the table, to make sure it wouldn’t go anywhere.8

“I don’t fight.” it was a soft and childlike response, and she drew her knees up to her chest, burying her face between them, as if she might shut out this dimly lit, warm, sweet smelling dream. He just sighed. But it wasn’t exasperated or sad, it was just a sigh. There was nothing in it. It was like he was trying to let all the breath out of his body so he could sink into the chair and go away just like she wanted too. To be gone. To forget.9

“I don’t forget. Not really.” the memories were there, she knew, waiting for her to come and reclaim them. For her to remember who she was so she could reclaim them. She wanted so badly to please him, to watch him smile and tell her that she was all right. She wanted to be all right, she wanted to be enough for him. But it wasn’t him she wanted to be enough for, it was someone else. Someone long gone and forgotten.10

“Leona. I know you don’t forget. I know you remember. I know you don’t fight.” he paused, and caught her attention, doe-brown eyes locking with her algae ones, large, wide and slightly watery with unshed tears. “Why did you come today?” She shrugged, and picked at the lace on the pillow. She didn’t want to remember why. He was mad at her, again. He was always mad at her. She wiggled her toes. They felt warm and safe, she felt warm and safe, she avoided looking at the smiling people she couldn’t smile back at. The siren. She could hear it screaming. It was warning her, warning her that they were gone again. They didn’t want her.11

It was like being in the dark in the middle of the day. Everything was too quiet, and the ladies in the neighborhood looked at her sadly, but not a one of them said anything. Not a one of them offered the usual smile. That was how she knew they were gone, that was how she knew that when she opened the fraying screen door to the house with the sad, saggy porch and tired, peeling paint that they wouldn’t be there. There was a lady sitting on the couch when she got there, with a briefcase and a backpack of hers stuffed to bulging. That was when she knew that they had finally done it. They had finally breathed in too much of the powder. She remembered the glazed look in her mothers eyes whenever she inhaled the powder, she remembered how her mother made breakfast and told her of the plans to take to much and disappear, because neither one of them could support her, and they couldn’t support themselves. Leona hadn’t understood that. It was when she had started forgetting, after the lady with the briefcase had left her at a nice house with lattice work and roses. She started forgetting things then, she couldn’t keep track of what she had done or when. The lady there was very nice, she had red hair like Leona’s, only it was more curly, and her eyes were a pretty green, like her mothers. The lady had said she was her mothers sister, but Leona didn’t remember that very often. She called her mommy a lot, but knew that’s not who she was. She knew her mommy had tried to breathe to much, and had finally burst and just gone away.12

“Leona.” he waved his hands again, getting her attention. Carefully, almost as if she were afraid of breaking it, she reclaimed her wine-glass full of tea. She ran her tongue over her teeth, and took a drink.13

“He told me that if I left, he wouldn’t take me back. He was tired of me forgetting. I never forget with you. It’s just…they look like them. They look like her.” he would understand what she meant, he would know that she was referring to the eyes. She was always looking at peoples eyes, thinking she might catch a glimpse of her mother, who seemed to haunt everyone she associated herself with. She let the now-empty wine glass fall from her hands, the soft carpeting dulled the sound, and it landed with a heavy thud. Like her mother falling onto the bed after doing a line. Like her mother sitting down suddenly in the shower before the sobbing started. 14

“So you can’t go back home?” his voice was soft again, and full of concern, like he was afraid what she might do if she didn’t have a home base to operate out of. She had been trying to make her way through art school for the past few years. They liked her photography there; they said she had a way of capturing the loneliness that people feel. She just took pictures of people like her, of people who didn’t look at smiling photographs because they couldn’t smile back at them.15

“I don’t think so. I don’t think anything of me will be there if I go back. I think it’ll all be at the studio. That’s where they always leave my things when they get tired.” she shook her head, burying her face in her knees again, trying to shut out the day. 16

‘Hey, Leona, come here. I have someone I’d like you to meet.’ her mom was calling, not her real mom, but her mom’s sister. Her aunt then, she guessed. It was so hard to keep family titles like that straight. She was just fourteen, but she barely looked it, she’d been living with her aunt for nine years now. Her hair had been allowed to grow long in those nine years; it reached to her butt now. She had a painting studio, her parents encouraged her art. She had a little brother, but she didn’t feel a part of things, she felt as though she were watching a movie that starred her, but not that she was living her life. She went to school, she got good grades. They were proud of her.17

‘This is my niece; she’s just about your age. I’m sure she’ll like having another kid around.’ a big smile at the same lady who had brought her. Leona held out a hand to the doe-brown eyed boy. He was a foster, his parents had given him up for adoption, but he’d lived in foster care for a long time. Her parents liked to take in kids for a little while, they felt they were doing their part to better the world. It was a good thing too, they were nice people, they helped a lot of kids. He was wearing a worn out t-shirt with some band logo, torn jeans and tennis shoes that looked like they were done in if he took another step.18

‘I’m Leona.’ her voice was quiet as she took him in, the dirty, mussed blond hair, and warm, healthy looking skin.19

“Want to go to the studio to get your things?” He was standing now, brushing his arm along the curve of her shoulder, and sliding his hand under her hair to rest at the base of her neck. She shrugged into that touch.20

“I should. I’ll need them.” She rose slowly, looking around in a sort of dazed confusion. She avoided the pictures, knowing their grins would be mocking for being glad that she would be staying with him again. She slid on her rain boots, no converse on the inside this time. 21

“Is it the same studio, or did they move you again?” she was sliding on her coat, barely paying attention to him.22

“Mm. It’s the same one. They said I do very well at this one. They like when I take pictures of people who are like me. Who can’t remember.” her voice was soft and very distant, it caused him to look at her.23

“You told me once. Do you remember?” he was opening the door, his coat already on, grabbing the car keys from their neat little rack by the door: he was so orderly. Like her aunt was. 24

‘Leona, why don’t you invite that nice girl over for dinner tomorrow night, the one you have over working on that project for school?’ this asked over baked chicken breast swimming in white wine sauce. She was puncturing the tender meat with her fork, having carefully marooned the peas on the other side of the plate, and having masticated all the pasta already. She shrugged, taking a careful sip of apple juice from her cup. 25

‘I don’t know. I don’t think I’m the type of girl she’d usually hang out with.’ she shoved her fork into the chicken again, but didn’t take a bite.26

‘She seemed like a nice girl. Maybe you should give it a shot? I’m sure she’d love to get to know you. You’re a nice girl, Leona…you should make friends.’ her aunt took a bite of her own fast disappearing chicken, which her husband who was a chef had cooked. He never said much in discussions like this, he made it clear to Leona that she should do what she was comfortable with when she was comfortable with it, as long as it wasn’t illegal and didn’t get her into trouble that was.27

‘I just don’t think she’s the kind of person who worries about the stuff I worry about. It seems like she’s more concerned with the kinds of clothes she wears then anything else. She’s nice though.’ she rolled the pea’s around on her plate a little bit more, and finally took a bite of chicken. He looked up at her from the other side of the table, he had a lot of friends, he fit in great. He let her hang out with him and his friends a lot, but she never got to know any of them but him. He gave her a soft smile. He knew, he understood.28

The car ride over was so quiet, but she knew everything was still okay by the way he gently squeezed her hand just before he started the car, and by the gentle look in his eyes. She knew he still understood. The studio, to her, looked so glum without the sun shining on it. But it was open, and there were people inside doing work. She went to her room, and all her things were there. Everything she had kept at his apartment anyway. He had not destroyed the work she had with her there, luckily enough. In the back of her mind, she had been worried about that. He followed her in, and as she carefully put away pictures and camera’s, he slid his hand along her shoulders, a comforting gesture. She smiled, faintly, at him. She always did. It was a secret they had. She picked up the three paper bags that held all her clothes. She always traveled lightly. There had been a note from him on top. She hadn’t bothered reading it. He had of course, but she didn’t care.29

“C’mon Leona, lets go rent our favorite movie. I don’t have to work tomorrow, and I know you don’t have to come in here.” He smiled, taking a bag from her as he led her out of the building.30

‘Leona, hurry, or we’ll miss the bus.’ he was pulling her down the sun kissed step by the hand, after the group of his friends that they were going to hang out with. She was clutching her books to her chest, her backpack heavy and oppressive with homework. She smiled though as she ran, her converse worn and a faded kind of orange, her striped t-shirt new and bright in the sunlight. It was orange and white. Her jeans were ripped at the knees and completely faded from too-many washings. The tree’s seemed too green, the sky wasn’t blue enough, and everything was much to slow. But as she flopped into a seat next to him, he casually draped an arm around her shoulder, and everything was alright. The kids around her were excited, and the bus had an air of anticipation she didn’t quite follow, but she didn’t mind, they were talking to her, and she was answering questions. No, she wasn’t really related to him. Yes, they lived together. No, she didn’t have a lot of friends. Yes, she liked books. No, she wasn’t straight-edge. She smiled, she liked the energy, she liked the attention. 31

She liked the feeling of his arm around her shoulders, his body pressing close.32

They got off the bus and followed one of the older boys home. The rest of the group split into smaller groups, but all were making for the same house. He held her hand, he looked at her funny, and it made her look away and blush. Her aunt had never told her it wasn’t okay to like him. And he had only been there for a little while, so it would be alright. They weren’t even related at all, they just lived in the same house.33

He offered her the popcorn, but she refused. She didn’t much like the taste of it, but it was mostly the sound of the squeaking when she chewed it that made it unbearable. It sounded to her like she was eating a mouse. He smiled and set down the bowl. His arm casually found itself a place on the other side of her shoulder, and he nonchalantly pulled her into the small curve of his body. She easily rested her small hand on his belly. He looked down at her, a smile curving his soft lips. Lips she remembered. His doe-brown eyes were black in the light. The movie was almost soundless, they didn’t need the volume up, they knew every line by heart. He slipped a warm hand around her chin and tilted it upwards. There was a wounded sort of hopefulness there, in his doe-brown eyes and the wrinkle in his forehead and everything.34

“Don’t forget me, Leona. Please.” his voice was so quiet, so afraid. And the movie in the background had taken on the same tone. And she could feel him shivering against her, and she knew it wasn’t from fear.35

The kids were all drunk, verve pipe was playing in the background, and some of them were making out while the stuffed themselves on pizza and popcorn. Some new movie was playing on the giant-sized television that no one in their right mind would ever have bought, let alone used. She was sitting next to him. She hadn’t gotten drunk. She didn’t like the taste. They had accepted that after she took a few polite sips. He had said something of course, to appease them. He was curled against her, just as sober as her. His face was nuzzling into her shoulder. He had tilted her chin down then, and looked up at her with a frightened look that made his eyes wide and child-like, so hopeful, so wounded.36

‘Don’t forget me, Leona.’ he said softly, leaning upwards. His soft lips brushed hers, and everything melted after that. She never forgot him.37

“I didn’t forget you. I didn’t forget.” She leaned up for him this time, she leaned into him so the world would melt and she would forget everything else but him. And she didn’t care what the smiling people in the pictures thought, because they didn’t matter. Even if they did mock her when she looked at them. They weren’t lonely like she was, they didn’t forget like she did. But that was okay. His hands were so soft on her arms, so careful. Maybe he thought she’d break. Maybe she would. She felt like breaking all of a sudden. She felt like breaking.38

‘Leona, mommy has something for you.’ the words were slurred. She’d be breathing again. She made her way cautiously into the bedroom. Her dad was passed out again, he looked so frail, like her. His hair was dark and rich looking, soft, like a kitty’s. Her mother was sitting next to him, running a frail looking hand through that hair, and holding out a small bear.39

‘I got it for you honey. I got it with the extra money. I know things have been rough…’ mommy had cried in the shower. Mommy had held her close last night and whispered that everything would be okay when she finally disappeared. Everything would be okay for everyone. Mommy had cried in the shower.40

There was blood running down her mothers inner elbow.41

She inched closer, ‘Mommy?’ she slurred the words, so it sounded more like she was making a small noise then saying a word. Her mother nodded, and motioned her closer. 42

‘Yeah, honey, mommy got you a present so you don’t forget.’ She waved the soft looking bear. It had bright green eyes like her mother, and it was white. It was very pretty. She reached out her hand to pet it, and it felt like touching clouds. Her mother handed it too her, and she buried in face in the fur, trying to blot out the sound of her mothers sudden sobbing and the sight of her father passed out again. Her tears were hot and real, and not even the smell of incense made it go away.43

‘Mommy…’ it was a small, ragged cry, and her mother scooped her into her lap, holding her close, burying her face in the girls perfectly straight red hair.44

‘Shh…Leona…shh…it’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.’ 45

“I’ll be okay…” she whispered, her face cupped in his large, soft hands. He nodded; there was something less frightened in his face now, hungrier. She had always tried to rationalize him in her mind, but it never felt right. None of them had ever felt right. He knew that, and she knew that he wanted to feel right to her, he wanted to be unforgotten. And so far, he was. His hands slid down the soft cotton of her shirt, over her ribs that jutted out like sharp ridges. It was soft, and it reminded her of so much so suddenly, she pulled away. The movie was still playing in the background, everything was how it had been, but she didn’t feel like she had. She felt like she was going to forget again. But she wouldn’t, because she never forgot with him. She never forgot.46

‘Honey, if you ever lose this bear, you’re going to forget all about me. See his green eyes? That’s what helps you remember me. Because his eyes are green like mine.’ A nervous smile and Leona clutched the bear to herself, afraid to forget. Her mommy never told her what would happen if she forgot: She never had too. She took the bear everywhere with her until it was stained and dirty, but still she kept it, terribly frightened of leaving it. As the social worker had ushered her out of the house, she had screamed and kicked.47

‘I can’t forget him, I can’t forget!’ the woman just smiled, and took the thing away.48

‘It’s dirty and old, your auntie will be able to get you lots of new things.’ they had left the bear behind, and Leona started forgetting her mother, she would have forgotten everything if her new mommy didn’t look so much like her real one, but without the bear, it was almost impossible to remember anything. Without her aunt, there was nothing. Without her mother, there was only the sky and everything else. There were no reassuring hugs, or the commonplace sound of a thud on the mattress when they breathed too much. And she couldn’t remember there ever having been anything else but her aunt, until she met him, or something caused her to remember herself.49

“I’m just there. Waiting, aren’t I?” His hands were folding over a small, full breast when she said it, it caused him to look up suddenly, and a look of such sudden understanding crossed his face that she felt she could cry.50

“No, Leona. You’re not waiting.” his voice seemed so soft a whisper that she thought she wouldn’t be able to hear him, but the words carried straight and clear. His hands slid to her waist, and stayed there, lightly running his thumbs against her skin. She sighed and leaned back into the pillows. 51

“I wonder if I’ll ever find Me.” it was a musing aloud, less a saying then a wondering, and she closed her murky eyes, wanting to blot out everything. She wondered if this was what it was like for her mother when she wasn’t doing lines. If this was what it was like for her to come down from her high and realize how messed up everything had been. And to care that it was messed up. He pressed his lips to her belly, and she sighed.52

Leona lay curled up amidst pink blankets. The room was pink, the curtains were white, and frilly. Toys that had been there since she arrived were exactly where they had been. She hadn’t touched them really, and if she did, it was only for a few moments. It was the middle of the afternoon. She had just finished watching a movie about some princess who falls in love with a prince and they live happily ever after. She wasn’t very interested in that either.53

‘She’s just getting used to things. Her mother died, I’m not sure she knows that.’ that’s what her uncle had told her aunt when they discussed calling the social worker in, or finding a counselor. Leona knew they were talking about her. But everything was so muddled. Without her mother or her bear, she wasn’t really aware of what was going on. Sometimes, she’d go into the shower and turn it on with all her clothes on, and she’d just stand there while the freezing water pelted her until she started crying, because she couldn’t remember what she was doing. Her aunt was always there though, to dry her off and get her fresh clothes and cluck her tongue. Sometimes she’d be sitting down in a little ball, rocking herself. She tried to make the thud on the bottom of the tub like her mom used too, but it never worked. She wasn’t heavy enough. Sometimes she’d bring heavy things with her, and turn on the water and drop them because she wanted to remember, and she couldn’t. It was just like her mommy said, without the bear, there was nothing.54

‘Leona, honey, why do you do that?’ her aunt always asked her whenever she rescued her. The reply was always choked and muddled.55

‘Mommy always said I’d forget. I need to make the sound, then she’ll come back. All the air will go out of her and she’ll come back.’ she sniffled as her aunt rubbed her dry.56

‘Leona, your mommy is gone. She can’t come back anymore. Your still here though. Your still here.’ she hugged her then, folding the small, frail girl into her arms, and holding her tight. Whispering that everything was going to be okay.57

“I’m still here.” she whispered into the phone clutched desperately in her small hand, as if she were afraid of losing the voice on the other side.58

“I’ll be home tomorrow at noon, so it’s okay, right Leona? Don’t forget me, please, god, don’t forget me.’ it was whispered to her like a prayer, and all she could do was hold the phone a little tighter.59

“I won’t. I won’t.” she seemed to chant it. She ran a nervous hand through her dark, heavy hair. The apartment was dark except for a soft light in the bathroom. 60

She said goodbye and hung up the phone, and for a long time she sat there, holding herself, remembering the way he smelled and the way his hair felt in her hands. The way he looked at her, everything.61

She got up though, finally, and went into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, cranking it as cold as it would go, and she stepped under the loud spray of water. It seemed to pelt down around her, beating her into disorientation as fast as it could. And her clothes were soaking wet, weighing her down. She sat down with a thud that she was finally heavy enough to make on the shower floor, and it was only a few moments before her sobs started and she clung to herself because there was no line waiting for her to do outside the bathroom, and there was no aunt to rub her dry. And the water dripped down past her nose and off the ends of her hair as it kept pounding into her, a stinging type of cold that made her feel like her body was being pounded with thousands of tiny needles. Her clothes were so heavy, and the tears wouldn’t stop, and the sobs just poured out of her. And in the darkness of her mind, she knew.62

She never really forgot. Everything was just there, waiting for her to come back and find herself.63

The water still poured and pounded her though, and it was still just as cold as it had been. And she still could remember the way his hands felt on her body, what his hair felt like in her hands and how good it was to wake up and know he was there.64

‘Leona. Hey, Leona.’ he was shaking her awake; it was late at night or very early in the morning, she wasn’t sure which. She was so glad to see him though, it meant he was back. He had been gone on a camping trip with his friends, as much as she wanted to go with him, she hated camping. He was hugging her to him before she could properly sit up.65

‘I missed you. You didn’t forget me did you?’ that brought a soft smile to her face, and she rubbed a small hand along the scratchy length of his jaw.66

‘I could never forget you.’ her voice was a soft whisper, and he released her enough to give her a long, deep kiss, which caught her quite off-guard. She blushed. He moved aside her covers, crawling into the small, single-person bed and cuddling around her. They were asleep in minutes.67

‘Don’t forget me, okay? Please Leona, I could never stand it if you did.’ it was whispered in her ear sometime in the night, because she woke up alone with the sun pouring through her window. He was in his room, passed out on his bed until noon, like a normal Saturday morning with the smell of coffee wafting up the stairs, and her aunt clattering the dishes on the table down as she served bacon; The sound of rustling paper as her uncle read his newspaper and harrumphed about all the nonsense happening with the government.68

Like every Saturday morning, she made her way down the stairs, still in her soft sea-foam green night gown and bare feet that padded with that muted rustling against the carpet down the stairs, one hand trailing nervously along the wall as if she were afraid it might not be there a moment later. And just like every other Saturday morning, she sat down at the table with a quiet greeting, and started in on her breakfast.69

She had gotten out of the shower, but had done a poor job at stripping her soaking clothes from her body. She left them in a pile on the bathroom floor, puddles forming around the soaked cloth. She had stumbled out of the bathroom, naked and shivering, and crawled into bed with barely the strength to pull the covers around her frozen body. She had slept then, and thankfully when she awoke she didn’t remember dreaming. But she didn’t wake up until he was leaning over her, shaking her awake. There hadn’t been a line waiting for her to do, nor an aunt to warm her up and give her soup and cluck her tongue worriedly when she only stirred her spoon in it. There had just been the dark, empty apartment. There had just been her, wet and frozen and still crying. She shivered shaking her head. She still remembered though. She remembered everything.70

She was shaking her head no. And she couldn’t stop. The room was spinning out of control. She wasn’t sure if she was sitting or standing anymore. The woman was watching her intently though when she asked questions. There was a small band-aid over her arm where the tube had been. The woman just nodded softly, scratching some note on the faded yellow pad with a bright, smooth black pen. The ink made its mark like blood blossoming on white skin. 71

‘You say that you can’t remember things? Your aunt says you sometimes get in the shower and cry…’ She trailed off as the small, frail child rubbed at murky green eyes.72

‘I can’t remember things. I get in the shower because I need to remember. I need to feel like she does so I don’t forget.’ For a child, she spoke amazingly eloquently. The woman nodded. They were sitting in a room with a soft green colored carpet, and the couches were a darker shade of that same color. There were dolls scattered around as decoration in the room, a window that faced the city on the opposite side, with a desk and several book cases all crammed full of papers and books. She didn’t bother reading the titles, though she could have. There were pictures of the lady and her family on her desk. She avoided looking at the smiles that held false promise and hope.73

She’d lost the bear. Her mommy was gone and the bear was gone and she needed to get back so she didn’t forget who she was. 74

‘Your aunt tells me you’re a good girl. You get sad sometimes though? You understand your mother is dead?’ her voice was so patient, so understanding. Like she might have trouble remembering too. She shrugged.75

‘I know they breathed things in through their nose. I know that mommy told me they were going to do too much and then that everything was going to be okay after that as long as I remembered her, and that She said I had to keep the bear or else I’d forget her. But she left out the rest. She never said the rest.’ She hugged her small, skinny legs to her chest on the floor. Her head was between her legs so she could shut out the hush of the building, the soft rushing sound of the air conditioning that made the air smell fresh and worn out and tired all at the same time.76

‘You won’t forget her. Not because you lost something.’ The voice seemed worried, but nothing was really offered with that worry, no comforting words, no exhaling of breath that always followed the sound of breathing a line in through the nose: Nothing.77

‘I’m forgetting her now. I can’t remember her; everything just goes away like I can’t remember it. I don’t have the bear, I don’t have her.’ The strength of the small child’s conviction that without either one, there could be nothing without these things; that by going without them, she was somehow betraying the memory of her mother. But the little girl knew none of this. She only knew that the longer she sat there, the faster she was slipping away. 78

‘What are the showers really for?’ the woman asked suddenly, and the little girl looked up, a distant, fuzzy look in her eyes as if she had just been awoken from some dream. 79

‘I don’t know. I remember when I do. I need to take the showers because then she won’t leave me.’ She shrugged, she didn’t know what she was saying, and she didn’t understand fully what her thoughts meant. She wouldn’t remember this woman, she knew that, she would leave the office and not come back and in a few months there would be a blank space where this woman’s face had been, and then the whole memory would be gone because her mother was still trying to live, so she took her memories. She took her memories because she didn’t keep the bear, and she had to be made to forget.80

‘Leona, don’t forget to get dressed before you go out.’ A parting warning as he picked up heavy car keys and closed the door. She sighed heavily, running a hand through heavy auburn hair. His eyes were clear in her memory, bright green, like new spring leaves on a tree. She stirred beneath the soft cotton sheets that made a soft sliding sound as they moved along the bare skin of her legs. She rolled out of bed, seeing the message tacked to the corkboard by the bed: He had called again, left his address and told her to drop by some time. She didn’t intend too. She was doing well here, with him, and she had only just started forgetting things. And they were only little things for now. She would be good for a little while longer. She stepped into the blast of cold water. Her hair ran blood red, but little else happened. She scrubbed herself until she felt raw and numb, and turned off the water, very carefully patting herself dry. She stared into the mirror as she combed her hair. There was a red marker by the sink, and for reasons unknown to her, she lifted it carefully in her small hand, as if she were afraid to touch it. She uncapped it, And unbent her opposite elbow, she drew a thin line that started as a dark clot over a vein, tracing it down her slender arm. She dropped the marker, uncapped to the floor, and half-ran, half stumbled from it, still naked, water dripping coldly down her back from her hair. She heard the front door open, but made her way into the bedroom to stand in front of the full length mirror, naked, red-marker traced down her arm like the blood running on her mothers arm, and she stood like her mother in front of the mirror, naked, unlike her mother did. And her eyes were wrong, but her hair wet was slightly curly, and her face shape was almost identical. She could remember now, and the tears fell before she even knew. She collapsed to the floor, a dull thud she was finally heavy enough to make, complimented the collapse. She huddled in on herself, a broken sob escaping finally. He walked into the bedroom then, looking down at her, the mail and a bag of doughnuts clutched in his hand.81

‘Leona, god…what the hell?’ He dropped both mail and doughnuts, curling around her on the floor.82

‘What the hell is the matter?’ she just shook her head and let out another broken sob, exposing her elbow with the marker. He just stared at her like she was nuts.83

‘You need to get dressed.’ He stood up, collecting the doughnuts and scattered mail. She curled into herself again. He didn’t care; he was like her daddy, who never cared. Her mommy had always said that. Her mommy always cried in front of the mirror, but it was different, because there would be a line waiting.84

Her aunt never let her cry when she looked in mirror; she always talked about how pretty she was. She always gave her soup or chocolate and lots of hugs. She stood slowly, sliding on soft, worn cotton panties and clasping a worn comfortable bra on. She didn’t put anything else on. She felt that there nothing more to be put on as she slipped from the room. He just stared hard at her.85

‘What are you doing? Where the fuck are your clothes?’ he must be tired, he must be so tired of her forgetting. But his eyes were like hers, she was there, in those beautiful green eyes of his, waiting to swallow her up. She shook her head, sliding a heavy rain coat on. It had been raining all day. She laced her shoes up over her socks, sliding them into too large rain-boots.86

‘Out.’ she shrugged, grabbed the address from the cork-board, and slammed the door.87

‘Honey, we don’t have money to get ice cream.’ her mother shook her head sadly, spilling the last few pennies onto the counter to pay for the meager supply of this weeks groceries. They had the money, somehow, she knew there was money to buy more then what was on that counter. The money would go to freeing her mother, it would go to the powder that both her mommy and daddy were so dependant on. And in the silence after the snorting and the crying, they would find their liberation. And she would be left behind to remember. She was always the one who had to remember, because they simply couldn’t, it was her job. She was wearing worn corduroy overalls and a soft, matching t-shirt underneath. Her shoes were in too-large flip flops. Her mother wore fast-fading jeans and a tight shirt that showed to much of a belly that was long starved. Over it all was a large leather jacket that smelled of coffee and cigarettes. The bagger took the pennies and stuffed their bread, milk, cheese and turkey into a bag. Her mother took it, and led the small, frail and quiet girl out of the shop. They lived in a small town, and everyone knew. And there were sympathetic looks from the ladies who were her neighbors. But no one ever said anything. They never said a word.88

It was the scream of the ambulance as it raced down the street towards the intersection that led to her home that let her know they had finally done it. As she walked along the cracked, sad side walk past the bright houses with cheery curtains and inviting green grass, she knew by the way all the ladies came out to look at her sadly that the silence that filled the moments between breathing in the powder, and the watering of eyes that came after had finally been the liberation that had both wanted. She knew because even as they all looked at her, not a one of them said a word or offered the usual hello. And someone, she knew it was because that day she hadn’t taken the bear. She had forgotten her mother at school, because the bear wasn’t with her to remind her. And now her mother had gone and become free and safe without her. They had left because she forgot. The tears were spilling down her too-pale cheeks faster then she could count them as the lady with the briefcase tried to calm her and dragged her bodily from the sad house with a sagging porch and tired, peeling paint. And she knew then, she knew that they left her because she wasn’t there.89

And it was her fault that they weren’t really free. Because she’d forgotten. And that was the only way to be free.90

He held her, he held her so tightly.91

“Leona, shh. I’m here, I’m here.” she looked up and found doe-brown eyes that would never try to steal her away, and she was still shivering. He licked his soft lips, concern etched across his face like lead on white paper, so transparent and so perfect. She just shook her head.92

“I didn’t forget you.” her voice felt sore and cracked and out of place in the all to silent room. He nodded, smoothing a hand through her flat, auburn hair, along her wet cheek. He still understood, in that motion he showed as much. She just shook her head again, burying her face in his chest that smelled so comforting and like him. Nothing but him, no trace of what her mother smelled like, no incense, no powder. There was only him and his comforting words that actually brought comfort. There was only him and the safety of his arms. 93

And when the words stopped coming from his mouth, and her sobs ceased ringing through the apartment. There was only the silence that followed and came to set them free.94