The Moments I Recall

CHAPTER ONE

At a glance, as I reminisce on everything that could had been, I still find myself in the exact moment that started and ended it all. Although, I am change; merely an obstacle of your making, but a vessel of blind sight. The difference between us being I choose not to see.

WHEN A TIME IN MY PRESENT MEETS MY PAST........

PART ONE

1976........

He moves me off his chest from where we stand, holding my chin up. My gaze having no where else to go, I look back at him.

"You have really pretty eyes." I mutter brushing away some hair that hangs over them. He is quite attractive closer up, a light dust of freckles occupies his nose, and hints of yellow can be seen in his turquoise eyes. I tug on the bottom of his dark blue, oversized sweater trying to keep my balance.

"You're drunk." He says sternly looking down at me with his normal expression.

"I am not drunk, I have never drunk in my life." I say. As I push his hand away, I see myself in the reflection of a rectangular mirror on the door behind him. "Look, don't I look older, I feel like I haven't seen my black face in years."

"How much did you drink?" He asks.

"I told you I didn't," I laugh. I anchor my neck back to look up at him, then the ceiling. "You should try smiling more."

"Stay here," he says holding my chin again, his turquoise irises hug his pupils as they dilate.

"Wait, I haven't even said happy birthday." I begin brushing my thumb over his bottom lip and smile. He waits, watching my eyes till I drop my hand by my side again.

"Don't move." he tells me. I watch him leave and shut the door behind him. My body feels heavy, almost like a thick, hollow metal case. All the energy I once had drained in the space of a second. I find myself under the covers of the bed in the room. The sheets and the pillow smells of lavender and the ponderosa pine momma grew in the back yard when she was a kid. Something about the smell fills a void I never knew I had. I feel myself drifting away, my body becoming light again till there's nothing.

That was all there was. This being my first mistake. If I start at the beginning, relive this life again will I finally remember all that went wrong?

1969 is when my life began, I know that for sure. I guess until I circle back to this moment, nothing will make sense from this point on.

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The year 1969.........

My head rattles against the cool, foggy glass. I watch as the blurry green trees fly past outside. Closing my eyes, I tense the muscles inside my ears to drown out the roar of the bus's engine and playful screams of all the other kids. For a moment my ears are filled with a thuderlike rumbling as if a storm is forming inside of me. Ofcourse it is no match. Outside the sky tears itself apart, or atleast thats what it sounds like.

"Just four days," I remind myself.

I turn my head away from the window, and towards a little orange-haired girl seated next to me. She laughs, pointing at her friend in the other seat. Her hair is still damp, darkened by the rain from outside with strands pasted to her forehead like mine.

I move up onto my knees to inspect the rest of the kids on the bus. My skin sticking to the rubbery, leather seat as I shift up, pinching me slightly. I think we are all under the ages of twelve, but it's hard to tell with all the movement inside. The buses constant jolting throwing me off balance every few seconds.

"How long have we been driving for!?" The orange-haired girl yells. Her large, light brown eyes staring up at me for answers.

"How long have we been here?" I think. I try to remember when I got on, but my mind is blank. The orange-haired girl had hopped on the bus so long ago. She had stared at me most of the way, eyeing me down out of innocent curiosity, most likely out of distaste. Her gaze never wavering as if unseen metal rods that extended from the bus's interior held her head in place. I remember the feeling of discomfort, my spine paralysed and wanting to slip out and up from under my skin, drawn out from me deliberately as she sat there watching me, waiting. This being the earliest moment I can recall.

I look back out the window and see a silver fence like the ones on horse paddocks or farmlands a few meters up ahead. As the bus gets closer it slows. Many cabins sit beyond the fence. Kids around me buzz with excitement as we reach the area.

"Four days," I whisper to myself. A pale older man in navy overalls opens the gate. The bags under his eyes drooped in layers of old skin, and his non-existent lips parted. He waves the driver in. The smell of exhaust leaks into the air as the bus's wheels squeal. Kids jump out of their seats filling the aisle, their mouths stretching across their faces. I am last to get off the foggy yellow bus.