Lest I Forget

Ummmm la croix

Mitch sat down at the kitchen table and tapped his fingers in a rhythm, staring at his phone like it held some of the most perplexed news he had ever received. In reality, it was only a simple text message.

I don't know who u are... but ur name seems extremely familiar.

He figured he might be over-analyzing the message a bit too much... but after thinking a bit, he felt it wasn't enough at all. Could Scott possibly recognize Mitch in some form?

No. It couldn't be. It's not medically correct. His doctor said that he would never regain his memories. It's not like he could get hit again and regain everything.

Mitch stared off to the side as if the table could give him answers. He thought himself silly for thinking inanimate objects could tell him all of his answers. The table would just bend its legs and walk away, leading him to all of his answers. If only it were that easy.

ur name seems extremely familiar.

Okay, Mitch thought, now holding the phone in his hand. He tapped on the message once, as if he were alerting the phone that he was reading. Mitch is a common name, right? Does he have my full name in his phone? What if he's previously met a Mitch Grassi? I'm a one of a kind, damn it. He set the phone down and walked towards the fridge. He opened it up and pulled out a lime colored can of La Croix and popped the tab, the liquid misting gently onto his hand. He took a sip and walked towards the living room and leaned against the wall. He began speaking out loud, as if Wyatt were listening.

"So. I'm familiar. I am recognizable. There is something about my name that triggered a memory. What the hell was this memory, Mitch?" He took another sip of his La Croix and after he swallowed he blew out a puff of air as if he had just taken a drag. "Maybe he's just being cute. Maybe he just wanted to start conversation. Saw a name in his phone he hadn't seen and thought, hey, I'm bored and I'm gonna message this guy. I mean, it's not like Grindr. He can't see my photo. He ca—" He froze. He all but ran to the table and picked up his phone. Lo and behold, the contact that went along with Scott's name was a photo of Scott, which could only mean that there was a photo of Mitch on Scott's phone. But how did those two correlate? "Never mind. I'm losing my mind." He set the phone back down and took his drink back to the living room and sat down on the couch, rubbing his hand on his leg. He needed to do something about that message. He needed to respond. Needed to—

Buzz. The phone vibrated on the table and before it could finish it's one second of vibration Mitch had flown to the table to see the incoming message.

S: Sry if I weirded u out. Do u have my number in ur phone?

"Shit. Should I respond?" Mitch looked around for Wyatt, hoping to seek an answer from his furry-less friend, who was nowhere to be found. "Thanks, sis. You're so helpful." He pressed on the text box and his fingers hovered over the keyboard, pondering how to respond. He pressed the A key, just to satisfied him to see he'd made progress, but immediately panicked when he realized that Scott had an iPhone and could see the bouncing text bubble.

Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit. RETREAT! Mitch erased the A and set the phone back on the table. "God, you can't even text your own boyfriend."

Boyfriend. Mitch couldn't help but laugh. He was having a hard time texting his boyfriend. This couldn't be good for his healthy relationship. "Just respond."

And so, he typed.

M: I do have ur number.

"Great job, Mitch. You left him hanging SO long and all you could text back was five words." He scrunched his nose and sat down on a chair near the table and downed the rest of his La Croix, gently hiccupping after he finished. Immediately his phone buzzed.

S: Good... how do we know each other?

"God. What do I tell him?" Mitch waved his hands around like he was talking to someone. "So, you're my boyfriend. You've got a serious memory problem and you don't remember me. But, you asked me out. You were such a gentleman. Now, how's about a kiss for the random stranger? Pucker up, daddy. GOD shut me up. Wyatt! Your momma is stupid." He bit his lip, shaking his head to nothingness. "What? Maybe I can tell him I knew him from—NO." His fingers went flying. Maybe it would work. Maybe.

M: We were in all-state together. Remember chichester? He bounced his leg under the table nervously awaiting the response. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was how he remembered his name. It was a long shot, but it was worth it. Maybe he could remember him somehow. He'd only wished he hasn't met him way back when Mitch had a fashionable bowl cut and acne in every crevice of his face and had barely come to terms with his sexuality. Those were the sexy days.

Buzz. Mitch glanced at the phone and immediately grinned.

S: OMG u were a tenor 1. Didn't we eat at hard rock together? Mitch had to stop and think to himself. This was still August of Scott's graduating year. Scott would've remembered this because All-State happened in February. They had only hung out six months ago in Scott's eyes. This was all tangible. Maybe, just maybe, it could trigger something. Maybe.

M: We did, and yes I'm a fab tenor 1 but I can sing higher than altos (: Mitch's confidence slowly started creeping back. It was funny how information could help him refresh.

S: Ofc. That's where I remember u. What r u doing now?

M: Drinking high dollar French soda.

S: What's it called?

M: Ummmm la croix

S: That costs as much as dr pepper

M: Don't give her a price limit.

S: Do u wanna hang out today? Super random but I'm bored. Mitch couldn't help but grin. His Scott was even friendly over text messages. He could be friends with anyone. That was one of the attributes he loved about Scott... he'd be that person who would befriend everyone at the party.

M: I suppose so. We can sing chichester. I'll be the boy soprano. There was a pretty boy soprano part that Mitch had wanted to audition for way back when, but the clinician actually chose a young boy to do the part. He'd forever regret that he couldn't do it... maybe it would've helped Scott's memory get jogged even faster.

S: Where can we meet? I'm excited! Mitch grinned. Scott was absolutely precious.

M: How about RCA? As soon as Mitch sent that text he tapped on the table once more. How would he have known that Scott records at RCA? Why didn't he pick a neutral spot? Starbucks is always great. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

S: How ironic I record there. Meet u there at 11?

M: Perf. (; Mitch never did his smiley faces the correct way. He always thought himself a rebel. A rebel who was going to appear to his boyfriend as a perfect stranger, essentially.

Mitch went to his closet in his bedroom and searched for one thing. He knew it was in there somewhere. He was a hoarder of music, especially music that he held dear to his heart. This piece of music was so beautiful, so complex. He marked his music every which way with colored highlighters and even had a Tigger sticker on one of the sections (placed by his voice teacher) to remind him to be bouncy and sing light. He was determined to find it... to have something that he shared with Scott. Something tangible.

And then he found the music, the cover falling off and the pages dirty from the wear and tear over the All-State process. It had been awhile since he'd seen this music, really.

Ha-ri'-u l'A-do-nai kol ha'-a-rets. Such a light, lilting Hebrew section. Such memories bonded behind this piece of music. It was funny, really, how many memories sat within this piece of music.

Especially when a photograph slipped from the back. Mitch picked it up and examined the picture. It was from another one of their pieces, two soloists standing up front.

And, lo and behold, an ensemble behind them, with Scott and Mitch standing there. In the same room. Yet they never knew it.