In the Shadow Of Memory

Chapter 11

The evening light streamed through the window, casting a warm, golden hue across the room as Mia stood in front of the nearly empty shelves. She exhaled softly, feeling a quiet contentment settle over her as she looked at the box of books on the floor, still waiting to be unpacked. It was her first real chance to make the new space feel like home.
Kneeling beside the box, Mia began to pull out books, carefully placing them on the shelves. There was her old collection of mystery novels, the ones that had kept her up late at night as a teenager—Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, and some old paperbacks with worn covers that had once belonged to her mother. She smiled at the thought of Ellen, remembering how they would share books, sometimes leaving notes in the margins for each other.

Next came a couple of her college textbooks, ones she had been reluctant to let go of despite finishing those courses long ago. And then, nestled at the bottom, she spotted a childhood favorite—*The Secret Garden*. The cover was faded, its edges frayed from years of use. She ran her fingers over the title, feeling a pang of nostalgia before setting it gently on the shelf.

As she continued unpacking, Mia's hand brushed against something familiar but unexpected. She froze for a moment, her brow furrowing in confusion as she pulled out a small, dusty photo album. "How did this get here?" she whispered to herself, flipping the cover open.

Her childhood stared back at her—elementary school days, forgotten birthdays, and the innocent joys of a time that felt so distant now. She had been sure she'd left this album in the basement of her old house, tucked away with things she hadn't planned on seeing again for years. And yet, here it was.

She smiled softly as the realization dawned on her. "Mike," she said under her breath, knowing her younger brother had probably slipped it into the box without telling her, his way of ensuring she kept her memories alive. A warmth spread through her as she thought of him—despite his sass, Mike always knew how to make her feel connected to her past.

Sitting down on the floor, Mia flipped through the pages slowly, each turn bringing back a flood of memories. The first few pictures were of her learning how to ride a bike, her face beaming with pride as she wobbled on two wheels. She could almost hear her father's laughter, guiding her from behind. In the next, she was sliding off a playground slide, her arms raised in triumph as she hit the ground.

One image showed her standing proudly in front of her school, a toothy grin on her face as she clutched her backpack. She lingered on that photo, remembering how nervous she had been that first day, not knowing what awaited her inside those big, unfamiliar walls.

Then, as she neared the end of the album, something shifted in her chest. There he was. Mason.

In the fifth-grade section, almost every picture seemed to include him. His curly brown hair was as unruly as ever, framing his face in a way that made him look both mischievous and sweet. She couldn't help but smile, tracing the image of them standing side by side during a school event, his arm slung casually around her shoulder. He had always been there, through all the small moments, like a constant shadow in her life."

Thank you, Mom," Mia whispered, her eyes misting as she closed the album. Ellen had worked so hard to put this together, even when money was tight. She had understood the importance of memories, of keeping the past close, even as the future tugged them forward.

Mia hugged the album close to her chest for a moment, feeling the weight of it—the weight of time, and of all the things left unsaid. She knew now more than ever that Mason's disappearance was not something she could leave behind. And whatever lay ahead, those memories would guide her.
As Mia turned another page of the album, a memory tugged at her, one she hadn't thought about in a long time. It took her back to a time when school wasn't filled with happy moments but rather the sting of exclusion and the cruelty of kids.

She could still feel the weight of that day—the taunts, the loneliness, and the deep ache that settled in her chest as she walked across the field, alone. They hadn't wanted her on the playground, mocking her clothes and laughing behind her back. "Your mama can't dress you right!" they'd shouted, and Mia had done everything to hold back her tears. Her eyes stung as she wished the day would just end, that the bell would ring and set her free.

But the worst came just as she was heading back to line up before the bell. Out of nowhere, a ball struck her hard in the back. She stumbled forward, her skinny frame collapsing onto the ground, and before she could react, a swift kick landed in her side. Pain shot through her body, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wondering why this was happening. Why didn't it stop?Then, it did.

Slowly, she looked up, her vision blurred with tears. Standing there, holding the ball, was a boy with a mess of curly hair. For a second, she thought he had been the one who threw it, but his eyes weren't on her—they were locked on Billy, the one who always took her lunch and led the charge in tormenting her.

The boy didn't hesitate. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size!" he yelled, throwing the ball right at Billy's chest.

Billy scowled, stepping forward to retaliate, but the boy was quicker. With a swift move, he darted to the side, then slammed into Billy's legs, sending him sprawling onto the asphalt. It was chaos—whistles blew, teachers ran over, and the fight was broken up in seconds. Billy was sent to the nurse, and the boy was dragged off to the principal's office.

Mia didn't see the curly-haired boy for a week. The bullying stopped, but the sting of loneliness didn't go away. People still looked at her, still whispered when they thought she couldn't hear. She didn't know why the boy had helped her, and part of her was too scared to find out.

Then, the next Monday, he surprised her.

It was lunchtime, and Mia was sitting alone as usual when the boy sat down next to her. She glanced at him, unsure of what to say, but he smiled at her like they'd been friends forever.

"Hey," he said casually, unwrapping his sandwich. "How's it going?"

Mia blinked, still unsure. "Um... fine, I guess." She kept her voice low, feeling awkward. 

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before asking, "So, you're not mad I threw that ball at Billy, right?"

Mia's eyes widened. "Mad? No, I—I mean, why did you...?"

"Because he's a jerk," the boy replied with a shrug, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "You looked like you needed someone to stand up for you."

Mia didn't know what to say. No one had ever done that for her before. "But... you got in trouble."

"Worth it," he said with a grin. He glanced over at Billy, who was sitting a few tables away, glaring at them. The boy waved, then made a fist, shaking it in Billy's direction. Billy immediately looked away.

Mia couldn't help but smile, just a little.

"I'm Mason, by the way," he said, sticking out his hand. His brown curls bounced slightly as he leaned toward her.

"I'm... Mia," she whispered, taking his hand awkwardly.

"Nice to meet you, Mia," he said cheerfully, as if they hadn't just survived a schoolyard brawl. "So, wanna walk home together after school?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Sure."

From that day forward, Mason was by her side. He walked her home every afternoon, and every time they passed her house, Mason would wave to Ellen, who always smiled at the sight of them. "Hi, Mrs. Johnsonville!" he'd shout before turning and sprinting down the street.

Ellen would turn to Mia, her eyes twinkling with joy. "It's nice to see you with a friend," she'd say, watching Mason disappear around the corner.

And just like that, Mia's life had begun to change.