I Remember Her.

"Once upon a time on a cold winter's night-"

"Mommy?"

I looked down at my five-year-old daughter's little face. Her eyes were a bright blue, innocent, not yet touched by the world. I smiled warmly at her. "Yes honey?"

"What...is a winter?" She struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar word. My smile faded slightly. Sorrow filled my stomach. Had they taught her nothing of the past? Why must I send my child away every day, left alone in this cold house? Tears began to brim my eyes, so many emotions waving through my head. Hurt, anger, regret. But she could not see it. I couldn't let her see me like this. You're not supposed to be weak in front of your daughter.

"Winter is what people used to have. It was a season. Remember when we talked about seasons?"

She nodded her head excitedly. She was always proud of knowing things."They are from before the Transition, right mommy?"

I nodded my head. "Yes, good. Winter is cold."

"Cold?" I sighed again. Of course she had no memory of 'cold'. Cold was something of the past as well, before her. "Yes, cold. Cold is uncomfortable, you would not like it." I lied. "Now we have no such thing as cold." I loved the cold, I always had. Cold meant snow. Cold was pretty. I often missed it.

I looked at the ceiling clock. It was time for her to go to bed. I closed the old, worn book and set it on the side table. "Honey, can you go put your pajamas on? I'll tuck you in in a minute. She groaned but obliged, dragging up the stairs. I remember those times of being a child. Going to bed was the worst part of the day. Now, I couldn't wait to bury my head under the sheets, let my imagination take over my mind, and forget the gloomy, repetitiveness of my life. Of our life.

I listened to hear her drawer opening upstairs. The subtle noise meant she was doing what I told her too. I looked out the window, past the holograms that held against the glass, and onto the quiet street. I began to daydream of when there was winter. Her image danced across my eyes. I remember her. She was so graceful, I was always jealous of that.

The memory of when we first went sledding came into my head, and I let myself retreat into my mind. Sara was her name. Adeline was mine.

"Adeline! Adeline look!" I look over to her, smiling despite the cold wind blowing across my sensitive skin. She is pointing to something in the woods. My eyes scan through the trees until I see what she is looking at. A deer, standing still, attentive. We look at each other and giggle, until I put a finger to my lips, silencing both of us. We watch as it becomes frightened of our presence and dashes away, into the woods. We continue building our snowmen.

Now I smiled in real life, my heart aching for the loss of those times. Another memory of when we were older, 13 or 14, slipped into my mind, and yet again I sunk into my reminiscence.

"We...need...to slow down!" I yell between large intakes of breath. We are running, running fast. Away from something. What was it again we were running away from? Ah, yes. Sara's grumpy old neighbor. I remember Jim. He hated when we snuck into his yard, but this time it really was because of a ball that had flown over the fence.

I laughed now, remembering that summer. A new memory of us at sixteen or seventeen. I remembered how I started to feel something different when hanging out with Sara. Being friends did not satisfy me, but I didn't know what it was that I wanted, until one night during the early spring. My heart begins to swell when I think of her, how beautiful she was that night. Why did I ever let her go? It was not my choice.

I remember kissing her, softly, fast, before running all the way back to my house. I remember my heart beating so fast, and I couldn't tell if it was because I had run away, or because of what I had just done.

And I remember the day she moved away, left me in the small town with no one but my parents. It was horrible, living with my parents. I was in love, but I could never tell them because all they would do is hate me more. I never wanted to be like them. I would never do that to my daughter.

My memories subsided, and I became aware of the familiar sound of my husband returning home. My husband. My husband. The awful word replayed over and over in my head. I didn't want a husband, I never did. But it was not my choice, that's how the world worked now. That's how it must be done. Anger for the world filled me, and my nails dug into my clenched palm as my husband walked through the front door.

We made eye contact quickly, there was no need for words, not when they were so unnecessary. It was so sad. My spouse, the one I was to spend the rest of my life with, and I barely knew him. We were chosen for each other, but not my each other. He followed his normal routine of immediately walking to his office and closing the door, quietly, so our daughter would not be disturbed. I'm sure he could care less if our daughter was awoken by this or not. It was my job to take care of her, and the children to come.

I lifted myself from the couch and made my way upstairs to my daughter's bedroom door, opening it quietly. She was already in bed, asleep. I tiptoed in and pulled the chain of the lamp, turning it off. Leaning down to her head, I pressed my lips softly against the smooth skin of her forehead, before walking out. I stopped in the doorway, turning around to look at her one last time before heading to my own bed.

"Goodnight Sara." I whispered. "Merry Christmas."