Memories

Chapter 5

1988

"You know," he said, sipping his cappuccino, "I think I liked the blanket look better. You do realize this is the first time I've seen you in actual clothing?"

I laughed. "Sorry I can't go out half naked all the time."

"No, no, this is much better. Very pretty."

"You know, I don't even know your last name. I know nothing about you."

"David Yeager. Capricorn. Favorite color: red, favorite band: The Smiths. I turned twenty last week. I am going to a vocational school in Manhattan to become a nurse."

I leaned forward. "What about your family? Do you have any brothers, sisters...?"

"That's a question for another time. It's your turn—spill it."

"Uh, Willa Tyler, age nineteen. Known for making snow angels in my underwear. Studying at Columbia University to become a teacher."

"Oh, come on. That's all stuff I knew already." He sat staring at me, waiting for more details.

"I hate cream cheese. I wish politics didn't exist. I have a weakness for stray cats. My favorite color is purple, the dark kind, like grapes. I love the smell of espresso and freshly mowed grass. I'm afraid of clowns. Satisfied?"

"What's so scary about clowns?" he laughed.

"Have you never seen any horror movie ever created? They all feature murderous clowns that hide in sewers, just waiting to rip your face off. No, thank you."

"Fair enough."

"So why nursing? Not that there's anything wrong with that, just, why?"

He contemplated for a moment. "It's personal, in a lot of ways, but the bottom line is I just enjoy helping people. I would be a doctor, but I don't have enough money for the schooling. So, Nurse Yeager it is."

We were silent for a while, sipping our drinks while the rest of the world rushed around us. His eyes were shimmering in the lighting of the coffee shop, some intermittent mix of blue and green, accidently creating the color of waves crashing on the shorelines.

"Would you like to come back to my apartment with me, Willa?"

Sometimes I catch David staring out the window when it rains. He'll stop whatever he's doing and stand in front of our sliding glass door, watching the water race down in droplets. He traces them with his finger as if they were made of lace. He'll press his hands up against the glass like he is a prisoner of this house—a caged bird that never sings.

1989

"Come on, Willa. We've been dating for two years. You've met all of mine!"

"David, I've told you a hundred times. It's complicated. I don't—I just can't."

I read the anger on his face and realized how important this was to him. David only got angry in extremely rare moments, like during a murder or something.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked quietly. "Why are you keeping secrets?"

I looked down for a long time, playing with the red string coming off the vintage couch I was sitting on in our small apartment. I knew that he was right, that it was time to face the truth of my lineage. I couldn't understand why my heart was hammering in my chest, why I was so terrified of revealing the truth.