Speaking up would be the obvious thing to do, but I can’t bring myself to say more than I already have. Doesn’t mean I’m not grateful as hell when she lifts her head and breaks the silence. “If you could turn back time to any moment in your life, what memory would you choose?”
I mull over her question, pinching my lip between my fingers before my hand drops, my fingertips such a short distance from her bent knees. Reaching out would be easy. Feeling her skinwould be easy. Instinctual. Pulling away is what would ruin me. That’s why I don’t do either.
My life has been a string of unfortunate events. My childhood didn’t include things like learning how to ride a bike or getting a skateboard for my birthday. Most of my experiences in life are somehow tied to my mom and her addiction. When I was a kid, there was no way to get around it. Back then, I’d wondered why the hell the state didn’t take me.
When I turned eighteen, not much changed. Living at the house with her, I endured the visuals of seeing her stumble through the door with a faraway look in her eyes between relapses. I’d watch her go days without eating, then binge on the little we had in the house. I had a small stash of crackers and peanut butter in my room for those days, worried that she’d eat through my food, too. No way in hell was I going to trudge over to the neighbors after that first time.
Most of the time she forgot about my birthday and holidays, though that became more prevalent the older I got, and the remembering got worse with each year. One time, when I was nine, she bought me a pogo stick. The general store in town had them lined up outside that year. I can remember the smile that broke out on my face when I opened the gift wrap and saw it. She paid enough attention to realize it was something I’d like, but that attention didn’t last long.
So yeah, there’s not really a single day in the past twenty-one years of my life I’d like to go back and revisit.
I’d rather daydream about the future than return to a past where I could recount every unfortunate detail. “I wouldn’t go back and revisit any.”
I barely notice the curiosity that shines on her face in the dark. “Why?”
“I’m not here to live for the past,” I tell her. “The only place I want to go is forward.”
Daydreaming about a future I could have one day is so much more alluring than losing myself in memories that have only tried to destroy me.
“That makes sense.”
“What about you?” I ask. “What memory would you pick?”
She smiles softly. “It feels silly to share now after your answer.”
It’s not.
I admire people whose lives have been so drastically different from mine. It means they didn’t have to go through what I did, what I still do.
I don’t want to miss whatever she’s about to share.
“Tell me anyway.”
“Have you ever heard of Assateague Island?”
I shake my head no.
“It’s this beach that has wild horses.”
Wild horses? That piques my interest.
“Anyway, when I was thirteen my family vacationed there for a week. The moment I saw the horses for the first time, this sense of tranquility fell over me. It’s hard to explain, but I felt at peace.”
Like I do right now.
“There were white ones and brown ones, but then there was this loner that was brown with splotches of white on its sides. I thought it was the prettiest horse I ever saw.” She smiles, recalling the memory. “My parents rented a house that overlooked the ocean where they would come and go. I’d sit in the kitchen nook, peering out the window, waiting for them to walk by. I’d watch them for as long as they’d stick around. The last day we were there, they never came. I remember wondering how it was possible that they could bring me this calmness but also this sense of anguish.”
“You became invested.”
“Yeah, I guess I had. That’s probably a strange memory to want to go back to, especially since I left with this emptiness in the pit of my stomach.”
“It’s not strange.”
It’s admirable she picked a memory that brought heartache. It means she’s willing to look past it, that it’s more important for her to seek beauty than harp on ugliness.
“Why is it that,” she swallows through a short pause, “the things that make you feel the safest can also make you feel the worst?” Her eyes flick to mine. I wish it weren’t so damn dark. Would it be weird if I hopped out of the tub long enough to flick the light on and settle back in?
I’m desperate to see the emotion filling her eyes because I know it’s there. I can feel it in the way her words swirl around me. In the way she sits across from me sharing her thoughts.
