Torn Tears

History Lesson

I unlock the front door and let Jess in. She walks slowly in, almost tip-toeing.

You won't hurt anything, I want to say. I hold my silence, though, as she explores the small living room. She runs her long, slender fingers over the end table next to the sofa. She stops to look at the royal blue beta in its small glass world.

She begged me for it, that fish. She said she always wanted a beta, but her parents forbade it. So, of course I bought her the thing. She named it Bruce, after the main shark in Finding Nemo. I tell her this and she shakes her head.

"Don't you remember watching Nemo?" They took even the tiny details. I goofed up big time, letting this happen.

"I barely remember my own name, Lucas."

I hesitantly rub my palm between her shoulder blades, just the way she likes it when she's upset. She tenses under my hand, just enough that I notice. "Do you want a tour of our castle?" That was always our joke--calling our sardine tin apartment a castle.

A short giggle escapes her. "Does it get bigger than the living room?"

I grin. "This place could be its own country." I remove my hand from her back and offer it for her to hold.

She pretends not to see it and I pretend not to care.

"So this is the kitchen," I lead her through the living room to the other side. "I spend much more time in here than you do."

"Why?" Her eyebrows knit together.

I laugh a bit," You can't cook, Jess. It's the only thing you suck at. You always insist on helping with the dishes to make up for it, though."

"I can't cook?" she asks.

"You burn water. You can do anything else a thousand times better than me, but not cooking." I pat her shoulder sympathetically.

"Am I a vegetarian or anything like that? Do I have allergies?" Her eyes show how overwhelmed she feels.

I cover a sigh and answer. "You could never be a vegetarian. You like chicken nuggets way too much. As for allergies, you can't eat pistachios without getting a rash."

"Pistachios, huh?"

"And I hate them so it's not even a real pain to keep them out of the pantry," I tell her.

"Can I see the bedrooms now?" Jess looks up at me.

I nod, meeting her eyes, six inches below mine. I decide to show her my room first, saving hers as the last room in the apartment, aside from the bathroom.

I guide her down the hall to the room on the right. "This one is mine."

She walks in and browses over my sloppily kept desk covered in her notebooks. She doesn't know they're hers, though.

"May I?" She touches one.

"They're all yours, Jess. The desk just wouldn't fit in your room."

Instantly, she pulls out the chair and begins devouring her words. With a smile, I lay on top of the blankets on my neatly made bed. The furniture is arranged so that the desk is just to the right of head of the bed with a tall floor lamp occupying the small space between them. The left side of the bed is pressed flush against the wall. A short little dresser is at the foot of my bed.

After all of the emotions of the day, I doze off.

*****

How did my life end up like this with me having no recollection of it getting to be this way?