Memories: A Collection of Short Stories and Things

Memory

This is a short story I wrote very late at night. Hope you enjoy.

A gloriously pink sky was shot out from a setting sun in a rural, seemingly abandoned town as a man pulled up to the parking lot of an apparently meaningless building. The building hadn't seen the likes of any kind of life for many years excepting for that of the photosynthetic kind—different types of vines climbing up the red brick walls. The yard in front of the building wasn't a particularly fabulous sight either; the grass had yellowed and died long ago; patches of dirt were visible through it, and a tree had fallen over right in front of the doors.

The man parked his car, leaving it running while he slowly finished off his cigarette, preparing for his walk through the past, letting the warmth of the smoke fight the nervousness that was coming over him. He had never been much of a smoker, but he felt he needed the crutch to get through his days now. His whole life had changed during the past month when his wife of only two years had died in a car crash, also killing their unborn child. In a blink of an eye he was left with nothing, leaving the man to wish for some way that he could go back in time, before any such things had happened. He even wished he could change the past. Such a strong feeling of want was what ultimately drove him to this building.

The man finally turned the ignition of his car back toward him and his vehicle went into a quiet slumber. Opening his car door, the man stepped up onto the old, faded pavement. He rubbed what was remaining of the cigarette on the heel of his shoe and flicked it across the lot then shut the car door.

He raised his hands and buried them deep into his pockets as he walked towards the front doors. Fully recognizing the tree, he suddenly remembered her. Beneath the tree was where he spent time with his first love, Lucy. As the man stood gazing at the fallen tree, an image of her youthful self emerged for the man to clearly and fully remember; gloriously blonde, wavy hair reaching down her back; bright green eyes with thick, long lashes whipping out of them: a thin and perfectly beautiful body. The man recalled how they would spend hours sitting under the tree; trying to do paperwork to better their future, but when they were together, it was impossible to do anything productive. They always ended up talking and staring at the sky. On one occasion, the man remembered, they sat under the tree until the sun had fully set, and darkness filled the yard. The man walked the girl home. However, when they arrived at their destination, they simply stood outside of her house, not saying anything, almost stalling for a few more minutes to be together. The two looked at each other, and finally, after weeks of wishing to do so, the man made the boldest action to press his lips onto hers. The girl didn't reject him; she let the action happen, for although the man was completely oblivious to it at the time, the girl had longed for such an event as well. The man realized and wished he would've done so sooner.

But through time, Lucy became just another memory. It was appropriate that the tree had fallen over. The man stood and wondered for a moment where Lucy was now. It was funny the way that this building's systems used to work; after thirteen years together, a group of children separate and are thrown into the world as individuals. No longer known as just another mindless worker, the children became people of their own.

The man pondered for a moment the peculiar way that simply an exercise of the senses could recall such long forgotten events. He climbed over the tree and opened the door with a loud screech, noticing that the windows were broken out of it. This was the entrance of the building that led to the first five groups of children, each group separated by a year. The man only had a few memories of this place; playing on the playground; not doing any homework; and, although others certainly did, the man had never disrespected one of his teachers. He had always been intimidated by them as a young child.

One teacher, the man remembered, took a particular liking to him. Mrs. Grenn took an interest in the boy as soon as she saw him. First and foremost, the boy was a good student and not a problem in class at all. He was quiet, and barely spoke out of turn. He would talk to his friends, but he would never do so when not permitted. The boy was intelligent, test scores showed that, however he would never raise his hand to answer a question, or share what he had written in his free-writing journal for fear of being wrong. But unlike his past teachers, Mrs. Grenn sensed that about him.