Remembering

Sometimes it’s hard to remember. I wonder if my memories are truly my own, or a reflection of stories I remember remembering.

I sit on the steps and stare out across the river. The weather is marvelous – a gorgeous blue sky with cotton candy clouds. Is this what they call ‘azure’, I wonder, as the wind runs her fingers through my hair, mischievously weaving them into braids.

Closing my eyes, I pretend that I am a large, leafy tree, cupping small pools of sunshine in my outstretched palms. I hear the little tank of optimism inside me gurgle as it refills itself, and I imagine, as I bask in the sun’s warm embrace, that I can almost feel again.

A shadow runs across the page and I pause, turning to only see a shrinking back. Stupid, nosy man, I think, and write some more. The ink glides out smoothly into right-slanting, cursive black letters that make my eyes glaze over when I try to read what I have written. Behind me, I hear girlish squeals and rustling trees as Ed Sheeran croons softly to me.

I think about my memory of that day. The small details come back to me, lapping at the sides of my vision like sea waves: The crying, the argument, the struggle. But the one that stands out most of all is the cleaver. It makes my stomach feel like it has been weighted down with small self-replicating metal balls churning ceaselessly.

Her voice rings out loud and clear, even though it’s been years. I almost expect to see her when I turn around, standing behind me with it clutched tightly. I daren’t do so, and fix my eyes instead on the roiling waves. Adrenaline floods my veins and my heart quickens.

But my gaze wanders of its own accord, and now I stared at the ground, transfixed by the shadow creeping infinitesimally towards me.

5 inches.

4.

3.

2.

1.

The shadow merges itself with mine, and I jump as a warm hand lands on my shoulder. I swing around wildly to see that no, thank God, it wasn’t her. I close my eyes and press my fingers to the spot between my eyebrows. The world turns dark red. All of a sudden, it feels like a furnace.

‘Ready to go?’

A drop of sweat streaks down the side of my face.

I open my eyes.

And see blue skies with cotton candy clouds.