r e m i n i s c e | an original.

ch. 2: Amalie

AMALIE
"now and then i think of when were together. like when you said you felt so happy you could die..."

No one bothered to finish the story for me. They think they don't have to, because they don't. This story goes on like this: I asked Elio if he wanted to play hide-and-seek with me, since I was playing by myself (yes, I was a strange child). He didn't ask any questions and immediately, eagerly, and cluelessly responded, "Sure!", though it sounded more like "shore" and I'm pretty certain that he didn't know how to play. That's why I knew he would be my best friend. He didn't doubt himself, nor did he doubt me, and I loved it. We played for hours, with him pretending to understand the concept and failing shamelessly. His sister eventually came by to play with us as well, and she got the rules easily. When it got dark, we all went to Elio's hotel because we agreed that immigrant parents are always more stressed out, and though I had one, they had two and were prioritized. We skipped along the sandy roads and got to their hotel. I won't ever forget how Omar looked when he welcomed me in to their tiny hotel room, even with my sandy flip flops. He was right next to Lucia, Elio's beautiful mother, who had an eased smile and her hair pulled back so that you could look her right in the eyes and smile back, even if you were a stranger. But Omar, he looked at me like he was looking at someone he had known his whole life but had never met - he was awed and confused.

"Do I know you?" He asked me kindly.

"Eh, probably, I've gone on like three planes in my life so the chances of us making eye contact is a lot higher than other people's chances with you. Welcome to Waimea- " I beamed like the confident firecracker that I was, and I stuck out my pale hand as I had seen Mommy and Dad do countless times. " -I'm Amalie Clarine Durand, but you can call me Amalie, unless you like long names." Omar immediately crouched down next to me, put my small hands in his strong, dark ones, and looked me straight in the eyes.

"I'm Omar Essa. Can I meet your dad?" He asked me gently. I nodded with a big smile and grabbed his flip phone out of his pocket. If he was surprised by my overactive manner, he didn't let it show, and put in the password for the device.

Five minutes after calling my dad, while Omar and Amira and I were playing with their new beyblades, Lucia received a call from the front desk, saying that someone was waiting for their child. Omar, Elio, and I all went to the front of the hotel to meet my dad. I was teaching Elio hand games and how to hop over the cracks in the marble floor when I heard Omar stifle a gasp. I looked up to see my dad with his mout hanging open like a cartoon character.

"Omar?"

"Julien?"

They collided in a big hug that I joined eagerly, with Elio following my lead, though less eagerly. From that day, our families were inseparable. The Essa's even lived with us for a few months until they figured out their living situation. Amira and Elio were my younger siblings', Dominic (age 7 at the time) and Ella (age 4), idols. Omar and Lucia were "Uncle Omar" and "Auntie Lu". We were the closest families you could imagine, and we were glued together by the friendship between our fathers and the strong, blossoming friendship between Elio and me.

Of everything I remember from before the past two years, the Essa's are easily the most prominent in my mind. How couldn't they be, if I woke up in the hospital saying, "Hey, Elio, do you think they caught us?" I'm not sure if Dominic or Ella payed the doctors to make that up to embarrass me, or if I really thought that my best friend would appear from wherever he is and say, "Nope, we're all good!" On that note, I need to know where he is. I know he's gone, I know they're all gone, but no one wants to tell me anything they think will upset me - that upsets me more than anything.

In the past week, I've been told countless stories that are intended to "trigger" memories that are the most necessary. So far, the only thing that the stories have triggered is my exhaustion. And apparently some "attitude" , according to Mom, though I have no clue what she's talking about...

I just wish everyone would stop being concerned with me. The specialists said that the only thing wrong with my brain was a minor hit to the area near my hippocampus (not directly to the hippocampus), the part of the brain used to create new memories. Because of this, I can create new memories just fine, but I'm going to struggle to remember recent events. I guess doctors consider "about two years" recent. Interesting. So I have no clue how that fateful fall occurred - my family doesn't either - but I remember all of the past week, from waking up in the stiff hospital bed smelling like a new car, to getting bed rest at home, being told useless stories I still remember and watching lame movies that seemed to have their humor renewed, since I don't remember the last time I watched them. Apparently, summer break started two weeks ago, and I get to spend my break with lots of juice, cookies, and extreme exhaustion.

I'm fine, really, but no one seems to understand that. Not remembering things is not the worst thing that could or has happened to me! In fact, it feels good to forget sometimes. I'm sure there have been negative things in the past two years that I would've wanted to get rid of a week ago. Also, the doctors say that I don't need to be caught up on school memories (curriculum, scores) unless I don't get most of my memories back by August. It's a good thing I have a nine out of eleven weeks of summer left to do that.

I look around at the empty room I'm being held captive in. I'm hungry, I decide. Certain that no one can hear my deer-like footsteps, I crawl slowly out of bed and pad gently across the hardwood floor in my socks. I've nearly made it to the pantry without being yelled at, or "kindly corrected", as my parents call it, when I look to my right and see Eleanor, in all her 10 year-old glory, sitting on a kitchen stool with her legs crossed like a supervillain. I scoff and prepare for her usual speech...

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Ms. Myosotis. That's the special word for those forgot-me-not flowers, you know." She said in the maniacal way she had been trying to perfect for her school play. I rolled my eyes at these daily dramatics, but let her continue. "It seems you are on your way to the fridge, yes? Wait, no - the pantry! Well, my darling Amalie... I could get you to the pantry without being seen, or I could give you this important piece of information..."

Ella was way over the top with most things, but considering the lack of information that I had been given in the past week, I gave in. Nodding, I requested answers from my younger sister, and not the cheese and crackers my stomach was still craving.

But as Eleanor shyly neared me and tiptoed to reach my ear, the words she whispered made the hunger worth it.

a/n: ooh spooky i wonder what she whispered 🤭 i didn't proofread this too much but i'm not someone who gets mad at grammar police so go ahead and correct me lol. i'm struggling w tenses, and also the rest of the english language rn 😬 hope u enjoyed! constructive criticism is fine or whatever but compliments r great, too!