Forget me not (Adam Silvera)

Fresh Start.

Who are those strangers?

I ask myself when those exact strangers are beginning to talk into me as soon as I step out and into the court. I have no idea what they could possibly want from me, other than what they're telling me and much of it sounds absurd anyway...

Apparently, according to them, there's something to be mended. What do they want to mend for? I don't even know them! There should be nothing between us that would put us in such a situation in which we would have to sort things out, like we were formerly associated, like we were friends.

That's what gets me, because it's the thing they claim we were at some point. Friends. Holy hell, that word sounds absolutely absurd when applied to those people. Because those people most definitely are not my friends.

One of them, someone who wants to call himself "Baby Freddie" ,for whatever reason that I have little interest in knowing,  keeps trying to reel me back into conversation every time I take another step away.

But by the time I've reach my doorstep most of what he says is lost to me, and not because of my amnesia but because I was barely listening and had no further intention to exhaust my already fragile frontal lobes with an information overload. So I simply shut out of listening altogether.

My latest memory goes back somewhere one month ago and most of my experiences are filled up with Jordan. He's been good to me, so all of those memories are positive ones. I have nothing to feel bad over, so I simply don't. Life is good.

Later in the kitchen I tell mom about the whole experience and she is quick to brush it off as something completely irrelevant. "It's okay, just ignore them." She says. "There's crazy people in every nook and cranny around here."

"That's true."

She freezes with her hands in the kitchen drawers where the forks and spoons are (and the knifes too o_0) and looks over her shoulder, smiling at me. "How are you and Jordan doing? I hope he is nice?"

"That's also true." I say and her smiles broadens.

It's when Eric comes into the room to take a well earned break from gaming all day. He's been sitting there playing with his friends since morning when there was an update in the game world they were playing in. I didn't care so I didn't know about the specifics and he doesn't tell us much about it either, he's seen munching on a floppy sandwich he had quickly put together and leaves already.

Once he is out of the door I try to reload the image of him in my mind. It's something I do once in a while just to test that I'm good to go with my brain and that it isn't showing more setbacks than it has already suffered so far. And I (and mom, and Eric, and Jordan, and everyone else who cares about this squishy thing inside of my big head) hope it's not getting any worse.

I see Eric briefly back in the kitchen but frozen in place as he walks towards the door. My brain immediately zeroes in on little details, more specifically the meat cut that is sticking out of the bread like a pink, round tongue.

It's a funny memory. So I will probably recall it more often whenever his name pops up. Like, in association with him. For sure.

"Can I bring some of these cookies to Jordan? They're good." I ask as I get up.

"Sure why shouldn't you? He'll probably like them then, if they're good."

"Well, yes." I say and begin packing a few of them into a large paper bag. The crusts still expels some of their inner warmth alongside with their dimly sweet smell that was escaping towards the window.

It was a stretch but, a silly thought crossed my mind then. That perhaps those guys were after the cookies all along after they caught a whiff of them. And now I almost felt bad for not sharing, and I would've actually felt bad if they hadn't scared me so much with how they pressured me to keep listening to their complete bullshit.

I crumple the paper bag with the cookies up and leave through the front door.