I pause, wanting a moment to go by before I have to tell him again that I’m going, but before I get the chance to, he’s talking.
“Do you still play music?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips like he’s daring me in some way. I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion.
“Music?”
He nods. “I remember you played the piano.”
I feel really freaked out all of a sudden.Who is Terrell?
I squint at him again, taking in all his features. I still can’t figure it out.
“You’re trying to remember me,” he states.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling bad.
He shakes his head, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “Nah, it’s okay, memory is weird like that—I just find you really memorable…” He pauses, eyes drifting to my side. “It’s probably melting now… I’ll take that away for you.” He lifts the frozen bag up, and my side immediately misses the cold sting.
I wish he’d finish his sentence. I want to know why I can’t remember him.
He leaves the room and I poke my side, the feel of my finger sending shocks to my chest.
I scan his room slowly. It’s clean, but small and old like mine. Wallpaper peeling at the corners, and a torn-up desk chair with the foam spilling out.
Terrell walks back in and I see this as my chance.
“Where should I know you from?” I ask.
“Middle school,” he starts, looking away. “We used to talk quite a bit before you left. I was new to the school in eighth grade and you were… nice to me. We also kissed once, I guess, and… It was my first kiss, and you don’t really forget those—”
“We kissed?” I splutter, not expecting that.
“Just once,” he repeats, stopping himself like he wants to say more.
Why don’t I remember him?
“And you remember me?” I ask.
He nods, like it’s a weird thing for me to ask.
“I could never really forget you, Devon. Besides, when you got into that fancy school, you were the talk of the neighborhood.”
I remember the eggs thrown at my house when I got in.Resentment breeds contempt.
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember much from around that time—it’s like my memory is faulty.” There’s a twinge in my side.
“Memory is weird like that,” he says again.
I knew something was familiar about him, but I feel like I would remember someone I kissed.
Maybe I don’t know myself like I thought I did.
Memoryisweird like that.
Terrell didn’t really give me a choice in this—him walking me home—but I’m glad he didn’t. I can’t walk well without it hurting, and him helping me hop along makes the journey a little more bearable.
Plus, he doesn’t talk too much.
We get to my front door about twenty minutes later—it would have been half the time if I wasn’t injured. He finally lets go of my waist, letting me stand on my own.
