You were crying in a way that I had never seen before. Your face was beet red and your cheeks were slick with tears. We were inside your house, sitting in front of the Jesus statue. I stared at his hands nailed to the cross, disturbed by the fake painted blood.
"We threw away all your things," your mother said. "We didn't think you would come back ever since you chose to live in sin with that girl."
"You are no daughter of ours," your father added. "You have some nerve coming back here, bringing that unnatural creature with you!"
The unnatural creature in question glared at them. They had no right to speak to you that way, especially with the way your mother behaved. Your parents were the last people to preach about sin after the way their reputations were dragged through the mud.
But they were still your family. You expected some grace after Evan outed us. After all, didn't Christ forgive humanity for their sins? Not that I knew anything about the Bible, but you told the stories often enough that certain details were familiar to me.
You only wanted to go back for your things. There was a dance that the school was holding. The theme was masquerade since Halloween was right around the corner, but I'm not so sure. The buzzing in my head makes it unclear.
I was with you because I was afraid of what they'd do to you if you went back alone. Two against one was an unfair fight. A few punches from me would even things out. Not that I planned to be violent with your parents as much as I wanted to slap them at the moment. But they certainly weren't receiving you peacefully.
They continued their verbal abuse, blocking us from what had been your room. You tried to shove past your mother, wanting a specific dress for a costume you dreamt up to wear to the party. I used the distraction to break down the door, revealing the mess within.
The first thing I noticed was the shattered full-length mirror. Broken glass littered the hardwood floor. Your swim trophies were smashed and the lamp on your bedside table was a heap of torn fabric and scattered ceramic. Your bedsheets were ripped thoroughly, laid on the scratched-up mattress as long neat scraps of cotton. The fairy lights that you had adored turned into a fire hazard, every miniature bulb destroyed.
I guess they meant it when they said you were no daughter of theirs.
You gave up fighting your mother to go in. There was a hollow look in your eyes when you saw the mess before you.
I went in for your sake, my sneakers crunching on the mix of glass and plastic on the ground. I pulled open your closet, cringing at the burned fabric within. Your parents were thorough with their destruction of your possessions.
Nevertheless, I grabbed your ruined dresses despite the condition they were in. Your clothes had sentimental value even if you couldn't wear them.
I carried you back to my family's home afterward, remembering the way you shook as you cried. You were so small in my arms, so heartbreakingly fragile. The sun falling among the stars.
I can see why I didn't want to remember this. It was a horrible night. You hadn't wanted to talk about it afterward. But it wasn't personally traumatizing enough for me to block it out.
Bits and pieces of October return. We were reading The Scarlet Letter for English class, an ironic choice of text if there was any. I ignored Evan's texts and struggled with precalculus. Your grades slipped, but not enough to take you off the honor roll. I ate a cookie in the shape of a pumpkin at a bake sale. The important stuff.
Someone banged a tuning fork against the wood and the images faded. The incessant buzzing returned and the smell of smoke crept up my nostrils. The darkness solidified, turning into a wall that wouldn't let me walk further into the memory.

YOU ARE READING
Memory Lane
Mystery / ThrillerNana Yamashita has been an absolute trainwreck ever since her girlfriend went missing nearly a year ago. She can barely remember who she was before that fateful morning when she woke up and realized that something had gone horribly wrong. Stuck in t...