The Memory I Don't Recall

Bad memories don't last forever.

I don't like
the memories
because the tears
come easily,
and once again I break
my promise
to myself for this day.
It's a constant battle.
A war between
remembering and forgetting.

—Lisa Schroeder

***

In the manner of predictability, it happened too soon for Ian to comprehend.

Later, Ian recalls the event as just a simple memory, stored away in the deepest, darkest crevices of his mind to remember: a throng of drunkards throwing him and Anthony around like play things, the blood-curdling scream that shrilled in the air when Anthony's kneecap was shattered by a bullet, the way Ian had put the men at gunpoint and fired once, killing one and scattering the rest. Ian had screamed too, in that instant, as Anthony fell unconscious and so did he, the dying man across from them twitching as the last bit of life exited his body.

Anthony almost had never been able to walk again. Ian remembers that part almost too well. When he was awake, he would speak to Ian in a soft voice, willing him to respond, to show him that some part of his best friend was still the person Anthony remembered him to be. Ian would find himself crying sometimes when Anthony spoke to him, but never found the will to do anything other than to mouth the words 'I'm sorry' when Anthony squeezed his hand.

Ian dared to think that it was enough.

***

Almost precisely one month after Ian and Anthony had checked out of the hospital, Ian received a letter from his lawyer saying that no charges were being pressed against him. In all reality, it was happy news, but Ian only threw the paper in the garbage can.

The thought of Anthony didn't even cross his mind when Ian read the letter. Ian was still mute, and he had been since the day he woke up in the hospital. Even so, he hasn't seen Anthony since they were released, and it was apparent that Anthony had no interest in seeing him.

Anthony had snapped after their fifth night in the hospital. He had told Ian to stop wallowing in self-pity and to just talk to him, dammit, but the look Ian gave him was enough to make Anthony shut up after a few tries.

The minute Anthony was situated with his crutches the day of release, he walked—more like limped—out of Ian's life—For good, he had clarified. Ian had almost cried again that day, because the thought of anything ever happening to Anthony like what had happened that night was the source of all trauma in his mind. Ian wanted to call out to Anthony, to tell him how scared he really was—but never did.

It's haunting, Ian thinks, how the unsaid can be just as powerful as the words that can come out of a person's mouth.

***

Three months after Ian received the letter from his lawyer, Ian's psychologist, a blonde middle-aged woman named Dr. Reeves, gives him a call and recommends that he attends a support group at the Sacramento community center. Before Ian has time to hook up his camera and shake his head at her through the phone, she prods further, stating that Ian's time being cooped up in his apartment is 'unhealthy' and that he needs to relearn his 'social skills'.

Ian finishes hooking up his camera and stares at her, obviously annoyed at her choice of words. Dr. Reeves raises an eyebrow before stating flatly, "I think it would be good for you to go, Ian. You'll find people there with the same experiences as you. They can help you make friends, and—"

Ian suddenly bangs his fist on the table, surprising them both. The two made eye contact, briefly, before Ian dared to looked away and began chewing on his lip, fuming at his psychologist's suggestion.