Memory Lane

Part 14: Gentle Reminder

I wake up in the nurse's office with my head throbbing and my mouth dry. A cold towel soaks my forehead. Beside me, a fan whirls, blowing air slightly cooler than the temperature in the assembly room in my face.

Above, fluorescent lights scream at my eyes. I wince, retreating into the cot. When did the world get so loud?

Chiyo hands me a paper cup. I gulp down the water greedily, but I get no relief from my suffering. By drinking the water, I notice that my throat is swollen. I can barely speak, managing to croak out an incomprehensible sentence.

"The nurse says that you're quite sick. Something about a flu or a fever."

The strange European accent of her English makes the scene disorienting. I can't believe I didn't notice it before, her shortened vowels chafing at my ears. Still, I thank her. I assume that she was the one who dragged me here after I fainted.

"Your sister helped me. She just went back to class. She's quite a diligent student, already worried about assignments. I can't say the same about myself."

Her hazel eyes twinkle with mirth. I can't decide if they're brown or green so I settle for something in between.

"How touching. You've stayed with me to avoid class."

"That wasn't the only reason." She has the gall to look outraged. "Truthfully, you intrigue me. You're like a mystery I can't solve."

Now where have I heard that from before?

"I'm no mystery." Why do people think that?

"Then who is Elle?"

The air leaves my lungs. "How—"

"You were whispering her name in your sleep. Who is she?"

Who were you, Elle? I'm thousands of miles away and yesterday, I would have still been sure that I knew you like the back of my hand. But today, sick and bleached by the fluorescent lighting, I'm less certain.

"She was someone close to me." Someone I loved. Love. Because I still do love you.

"You cried a little when you said her name."

Of course, I did. But that didn't mean I was going to spill my guts to a pretty girl who smelled like cherries just because she had a strange interest in me.

"Your English is weird," I say, letting the intrusive thought slip out.

She frowns at the remark. "No, your English is weird. You've got a funny accent like a movie character."

I sit up in the cot. "And you don't sound like anyone I know. You don't speak English like other Japanese people."

She opens her mouth to object but then snaps it close. "No, I don't suppose I do. You can probably tell I'm a hafu, right?"

I nod. It was true that she did not look entirely Japanese.

"My mom is German," she explains. "I learned my English from her. You're not the first person to tell me that I sound funny."

I suddenly feel sympathy for Chiyo. It occurs to me that she might have been made fun of for both her English and Japanese solely based on her unique appearance.

"I'm American," I offer as a truce.

Her eyes widen. "So you're quite wealthy."

"No, nothing like that," I quickly say, but then I pause. My mother's marriage did change our financial status. Technically we weren't poor anymore even if I felt that the money didn't belong to me.