248 Days

October 12th

There was something eerily familiar about Grayson Ryder. Stood tall in his Hollister jeans and light green Pollo shirt, at first, I thought he might have been an actor. He certainly had a face for it. From the unruly chestnut curls to the ocean blue eyes, sharp jaw, and plump lips, he was sure to star in my daydreams. With the amnesia and identity crisis, I didn't leave much room for boys, but I had to admit that this one was beautiful. Tv screen beautiful. But there was something in his eyes, a brief flicker, that suggested that he didn't come from fame. Grayson Ryder wasn't blessed with all his greatest desires. He wasn't loaded with money and fans. Grayson looked sad. A sadness that stemmed from something more than paparazzi and tabloids. There was a profound, achingly beautiful sombreness in his gaze. He had suffered undeniable heartbreak, that much was clear. I felt for him. He was a stranger, but I felt for him.

     He had only just walked into our history class, only just been announced as Clearwood High's newest student, but already I noted the forced smile. It was a smile very close to that I was accustomed to sharing with people when they spoke of my amnesia. It was a smile for someone else's behalf. A smile to hide your real feelings; the real feelings of being completely and utterly emotionally drained.

     I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Grayson Ryder, the transfer from Idaho had triggered something in me. Almost like a fight or flight response, my pulse sped at the sight of him, heartbeat thrumming against my veins and drumming inside my ears. It made my head spin, filled me with both a sense of excitement and immense dread; the way one would feel before mounting a roller coaster. He had sounded an alarm within me, but I couldn't decide if it was an alarm that rang after winning a carnival game, or a shrill alarm announcing an upcoming disaster.

     It had already been a weird day, and his arrival wasn't helping. Some days the memory loss bothered me more than others. Some days my mind tingled with the sensation of memories attempting to return to my subconscious. Today the tingling was worse than usual. I had spent most of my morning staring at the calendar, a part of me certain that I was forgetting something significant. No matter the intensity of the tingling, the memory never surfaced. They never did. It was incredibly frustrating, and my parents' panic only made things worse. They had always been weird about the memory thing. They were cagey; shoulders tensing every time I brought it up. So, I tended not to bring it up. It was easier to just forget about it. Forget is what I did best.

     I was trying to forget about it, forget about my parents' odd behavior, forget about the amnesia, when Grayson Ryder walked in. He destroyed any hope I had of ever forgetting.

     Sat at the back of the class, in my favourite class of the day, History, I had been quite content. A little ironic, but there was something peaceful and intriguing about learning the world's past. Maybe I loved it so much, as a form of compensation for not remembering my own past. Not many people shared my interest. Half the class was asleep, and the other half cheered when Mrs. Anderson, our school principal, in her usual knee length pointed skirt and blouse, walked in with Grayson Ryder. I was the only one that was disappointed by the interruption. Though I can't say the disappointment lasted very long. I laid my eyes on him for half a second and was fixed. And I wasn't fixed because of his beauty. I was fixed because I was certain that I had seen those blue eyes before. It was impossible. I had never been to Idaho... Still, I could have sworn I knew those sad blue eyes like I knew the back of my hand.

     Even when Mrs. Anderson walked out, even when Mr. Ponce gave us the rest of the period to work on our Civil war essays, I found myself sneaking glances at the front of the classroom. Having finished my essay last week, I didn't have much else to do anyway.

     Grayson was standing by Mr. Ponce's desk, letting the old man bring him to date on the material he had missed. He nodded politely and went through the stack of paper with his signature forced smile. I was so absorbed on fighting the urge to study Grayson and instead focus on the book in my hand, that I nearly fell off my chair, when Mr. Ponce met my gaze.