Forgetting Sylva

Record

"You don't have to do this with us here, Tom," I say. We sit against a tree, away from the cliff's edge. The wind is not as loud as it usually is, but it still tugs at my hair insistently.

Tom's hands are shaking, and I see the small tattooed infinity symbol, a sideways eight on the side of his pointer finger, on his right hand, in the same place we all have it: me, Tom, Lance and Olivia.

He shakes his head. "You guys should hear it, too. I want you to." Olivia leans her head on his shoulder and takes the recorder from him with gentle hands.

"You sure?" she asks. He nods and closes his eyes, leans his head back against the tree.

Olivia looks at me, on the other side of Tom, and then at Lance, beside her, and then she presses the button and sets the recorder on the ground, in front of us.

"Dear Thomas," her voice says, and I hear Lance take a sharp breath, see Olive reach out, and Lance's fingers wind through hers. Tom swallows, and holds his hand out to me, and I take it. And we all sit, linked together, and listen to Sylva's voice. 

"If you're listening to this, then I'm gone. It's really weird, making this for you, because I have to think of what to say, of what I will be remembered for saying after I'm gone. This will be your last memory of me; not the last time you saw me, but my voice. And maybe that's better, because I don't think I look much like myself anymore, anyway.

"What do you say in one of these things? I want to tell you insightful, wonderfully helpful things, Tom. Because that's what you've been, to me. Insightful, wonderful, helpful. I never thought I could ever meet someone like you. Someone who I could love so quickly and so easily. It's selfish, but I want you to remember me. I don't want to be forgotten; to fade away like my body.  I once had a very long conversation with Marcus, in his backyard, about death. And we talked about how, if the people who love you still remember you, retain that love, then you still exist, for as long as your memory does. That thought gave me hope. Gave me infinity. It's what I live for. Well, what I lived for, now, I guess." She laughs, and the sounds is soft and gentle. I tilt my head back and look up at the sky, clouds blurring through the tears in my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Tom, but I'm a teenage girl with no job, and I wanted to buy these gifts with my own money, and the limit on this recorder is coming close. So I'll leave you with this: a promise. I might be gone, but I won't forget you. I won't forget any of you. Our little group: you, Olive, Marc and Lance.

If I get infinity, you do, too.

I love you. I love all of you, so much.

Forever, your friend Sylva."

We are quiet for a while. Tom's grip on my hand is crushing, and I realise that he is crying; Olivia rests her head on his chest and wraps her arms around him, her fingers combing through the hair at the nape of his neck. And I think that Tom has been so strong, for all of us, that he deserves this. He is allowed to cry, now. I squeeze his hand, and then let go, and he wraps his arms around Olivia. I put my hand on his shoulder, and it shakes beneath my palm.

After a moment, I get up and walk towards the cliff's edge. I want Hannah, but she's at the hospital, visiting her father; she has her own things to deal with, and this is mine.

I sit down and cross my legs, run my fingers over the transition between rock and grass. Footsteps. Lance sits beside me, wrapping his arms loosely around his legs. He looks out at the sky, in the same direction as me. We watch a bird wheel over the water, dipping and diving with the wind.

"I miss her," he says. He does not need to explain who he is talking about. In my peripheral vision, I can see him absently running his fingers over his infinity symbol, identical to mine and Tom's and Olivia's.

I squint, til the bird goes out of focus, til it could almost be a girl, floating in the wind, light as a feather and silvery as metal.

"Me, too," I say, simply. "Me too."