Red ✔

A Non-Existing Memory

I wake up in my soft bed.  The smooth texture touches my fingers as I drag them along the bed sheets.  The sun is shining brightly through my window.  I check the clock and it says 7:57 a.m.  I feel dazed from my sleep.  I do not quite recall how I have gotten to my bed in the first place.   I must have been so broken hearted that I cried myself to sleep, but there is a a memory in the back of my mind of blazing light and becoming unconcious. It must have been apart of my dream. My heart thumps in a unusual pattern against my chest. The memory of Clive rejecting me is still aching in my heart, though it is bearable now.  I can remember the stiff, cold expression on his face as if he is here with me at the moment.  "I do not love you," his voice echoes in my mind.   My heart crumbles hearing it again.  I guess I have to live with those words embedded in my brain.  I realize what day is it and lazily climb on out my bed.  I do not really feel like going to school, knowing I have to face him for the next four months and through high school for four years. 

I clean my face and wipe the water off from my drenched face.  I hear soft snores coming from my brother's room. I approach his bed.  His face looks so peaceful I almost think twice before shaking him to get up.  His drowsy face stares at me.  He shifts his blanket on his body and turns away from.  So he wants to play it the hard way.  I pull off his blankets and roll him off the bed.  The way he lands lifelessly on the floor gets me worrying about his conciousness. I check his pulse to makes sure he is breathing. Fortunately, his pulse his pumping concsistantly against his wrist.

"Alex, get up, you fat lump," I say to him.  

He moans in return.

"Come on, it is 8 already."

This gets him going.  He leaps into the air.  He immediately dives into the washroom to get ready and flings himself into his closet to change in less than a minute.  

I mutter to myself, "I should have said that years ago."

 Th two of us descend to the kitchen and we eat our cereal.  None of us talk for quite some time until he mentions about school.  He talks about his new assignment in Science and does not know how he should work with a girl name Patricia.

"Um, you have worked with her before," I say, munching my Lucky Charms marshmallows. The sweet taste is absorbed in my tastebuds, making my mouth hunger for more.

"No, I did not," he says, looking at me perlexed. 

That is strange.  He is always told me that he worked on a few projects with her.  That is why he got this major crush on her.

"Yes, you have," I counter. "Patricia? The girl you have a wild crush on? Ringing a bell."

"Oh!" he exclaims.  "You mean, my crush. You must mean Trisha. My crush. Trisha Baxter."

I give him my mystified glance. That is not right. "So, you are telling me you never had a crush on a girl name Patricia?"

"Nope.  I do not remember talking to her at all." He sips his milk.

I am scratching my head at this weird situation.  I must have gotten the name wrong this whole time and never noticed.  I do remember him clearly talking non-stop about Patricia this and Patricia that. Maybe it was a misunderstanding I am undergoing. I let this slide, knowing it might be a possibility that it can be true. 

"You guys are really perfect for each other. Trisha and you." The word Trisha does not ring a bell on my lips, but I guess I have not said it often. "Do you think you will be something more?"

"Why? I have not talked to her very much.  I usually just watch her from the sidelines when she talks to her friends.  She is always talking about clothes though. Yuck!"