Don't Forget Me

Chapter 18

My first Sunday back at St. Joe's this morning felt more like some sort of funeral service than it did Mass. In the hundred-yard walk from our pew to my mom's car, about thirty people stopped to touch my shoulder and tell me how sorry they were for what happened. Like I'd died or something. 

Samantha McDonald from the year below me asked if I was okay and then immediately tried to touch my scar.

My kindergarten teacher asked suspiciously if I really drove my car into the reservoir.

Mr. Yardley told me about his cousin who went into a coma and never woke up.

Old Monsignor Becker, who I can't even believe has made it two more years,told me it's all part of His plan.

Not a single one of them said something that might actually make me feel even slightly better. They wanted to make themselves feel better, or even worse, get the gossip on Wyatt's latest news.

I've been going to Mass my whole life, so I'm used to sitting through the fifty minutes of monotony and the gossip that spreads after, but today... I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"Roseanne." My mom presses her hand down on my knee until my heel settles onto the cracked pavement underneath our picnic table at the farmers' market.

"Sorry," I say. I didn't even realize I was bouncing it up and down.

"You haven't touched your food," she says, her eyes flicking down to my hot dog smothered in yellow mustard and mayo. It turns my stomach. I don't even know if I like hot dogs anymore, but the longer I look at it, the sicker I feel. So I push it away from me to the other side of the wooden table. "I'm not hungry," I tell her as a big German shepherd strolls by on a leash, sticking his nose out for a hopeful sniff.

"Roseanne." She swings one leg to the outside of the bench to face me. "What's going on in your head right now? You haven't said a thing since we got here."

That's the problem. I don't know what's going on in my head. I don't know what I want. Part of me wants desperately to move on with my life, just accept this clean slate, but everywhere I go everyone keeps reminding me of this unknowable past and the questions that I don't have answers to. That I might not like the answers to if I did find them.

I changed. Sometime over these last two years, I became someone who ditches her best friends and skips out on senior prom. Someone who is totally fine with staying in Wyatt for college. Someone who has a crush on a boy but doesn't tell her mom about it. Someone who has grown apart from her dad, and who sneaks off into the woods in the middle of nowhere without telling any of her friends or family.

I can't just forget that all of these things happened in my life even though I don't know why they did, because they still affect all my relationships now. And most of all, I can't forget the way my mom looked at me in the kitchen that day. I will never get that look out of my head, no matter how much I want to forget it.

"Talk to me. What's wrong?" she asks as I pick at a peeling wood chip on the table.

"What if what happened between us happens again? I don't ever want to hurt you like that again, Mom, but if I can't remember what happened, how do I know I won't just do it again?" I ask, pulling back.

My mom stutters around her words for a moment before saying, "Roseanne, nothing is going to magically happen that makes you and me grow apart. You get to choose how you want to live your life now. You get to choose who you want to spend time with. You and me? We're going to be fine. Just... look at us. Hanging out like old times. Making meatballs and talking about boys. Roseanne, I know you've been really focused on remembering, but... would it be so bad if you just... didn't? I mean, of course if it happens it'll be amazing, but if it doesn't, well, sometimes we all need a fresh start," she says sheepishly.

I sit back, a little shocked to hear her say that not having my memories could be a good thing, but... the longer I sit with it, the more I see where she's coming from. I don't know what it was like when things were bad between us, and I can't change that it happened, but I know that sitting here with her in the sunshine in the middle of the summer farmers' market... feels right. It makes me think maybe some good could come out of all this after all. Maybe she's right. Maybe I've been chasing after the wrong thing. Maybe I can use this as a second chance... to do things right this time. And maybe I don't need the answers to do that.

I reach across and wrap my hand around the back of hers on top of the table.

"Maybe a fresh start would be nice," I tell her.

Perhaps starting off with a clean slate could mean also applying to some other colleges, maybe even some out of state, instead of just trying to figure out why I chose Bower.

"One day at a time, right?" she says, touching her hand gently to my cheek. "You want to walk around with me?"

"Sure," I reply as she gathers up my untouched hot dog and stands. "Hey, Mom, actually... I'll eat that."

"I thought you weren't hungry," she says, furrowing her brow.

"Changed my mind." I pick it up, taking a big bite as I climb out of the table to follow her.

Yep. I still like hot dogs.

Maybe the last two years were just a detour, not a path I have to figure out why I was following in the first place. Maybe I can still be the person I wanted to be.

.........

An hour later we've almost made it to the end of the twenty or so tents set up around the parking lot.

"Well, I guess you're not going to tell me how your date went," Mom says, inspecting a basket of fresh-picked apples.

"You know, it was actually a lot of fun. I really like hanging out with Oliver."

"Yeah? You like him?" she asks, smiling over at me.

"Well... I'm not really sure. I'm kinda just getting to know him. You know?"

"Just take it slow. Sometimes it just takes a bit. That's sort of how it was with me and your dad."

"Really? What do you mean?"

She laughs, getting lost in the memories. "He would come into Billie's, where I used to bartend. Him and all his rowdy friends. I bet your dad asked me out ten times over the course of that couple of weeks, always right in front of his buddies. I thought he was just some jerk who was looking for a hookup, but... then he started coming in alone and he'd sit up at the bar and try all my new drinks I was concocting. Give me feedback. We did that for a few months and then I don't know. It wasn't some big spark between us or anything. He just... grew on me. My big Louis."

"Ew." I audibly gag. "Mom, please, I just ate."

She laughs. "Just hang in there. Give Oliver a chance."

"I will," I reply, feeling encouraged.

"So what all did you guys do at the fair?"

"Lots of games. And I got a caramel apple."

"And you only ate the peanuts and caramel off, right?" she asks.

"How else would I eat it?" I joke as we try a few chips-and-salsa samples.

"Then we actually ran into Lisa Manobal in the animal barn."

"Oh, how is she?" she asks, before her eyes go wide and she starts fanning her mouth. "Oh my lanta. That's hotter than Hades." I roll my eyes and hand her my water bottle.

"She's okay, I think, but she seemed sort of sad. We might hang out again. I don't really know."

"I think you should. She seems like a nice girl who could probably use a friend like you," Mom replies, panting like a dog between words.

Huh. I feel guilty. I hadn't really put a lot of thought into what Lisa might need. I could use a fresh start, but from what I saw with her mom, maybe Lisa needs that too.

Maybe she could use a friend like me just as much as I could use a friend like her.