Memory Documentation

chapter two | documenting trying with courage

He squeezed my hands again. "Try with courage," he softly stated.

"Try with courage," I repeated in a whisper. Try with courage, try with courage. I chanted it over and over again in my head and allowed myself to be pulled into Papa's arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

"You think you'd learn all this already from all those Disney movies you watch," he mused, not at all joking.

I nestled my head against his shoulder and shut my eyes. The smell of old spice emitting from his pajama shirt filled my lungs with every breath; it's a smell I normally associated with home.

"Papa?"

"Hmm?"

An image of a smiley face on a napkin appeared behind my dark lids. "There is one person I've wanted to talk to."

✿❀✿

Standing in the school cafeteria now really put into perspective just how little time I've spent in one before. Instances of not being able to eat in a teacher's classroom wouldn't be enough to push me to eat in the cafeteria. If it came down to it, I found a lonely spot in the halls to eat. Sure, I've been in here before, but other than a brief glance inside during a school tour, the only other reason I came in here was to get a fork for my lunch. Being amongst the crowd now, scanning over everyone in search of one particular person, I felt like a tourist in a foreign country. I was so, so uncomfortable.

Try with courage, I thought, pulling on my braid.

The cafeteria was designed with dozens of long octagonal tables scattered all over the place with stools attached to the legs. Due to the lack of accommodating seats, many big groups were forced to stand and huddle around their friends' table. Despite the cafeteria looking a little less crowded due to a field trip, Chris was nowhere to be found.

I wrapped my braid tightly around my finger, cursing over and over under my breath. My resolve was crumbling with every second I stood fruitlessly looking around the cafeteria as if I was a kid who couldn't find her parents. Self-consciously aware that my cheeks were burning and probably glowing siren red, I moved to get away, to run and hide in Mrs. Ichikawa's classroom. But then, almost like the universe gave me a big "oh, no you don't," I pushed open one of the doors right as Chris himself reached to open it.

The words "Oh, I'm sorry!" tumbled out of my mouth at the same time I instinctively jerked backwards to make way for him and slammed straight into a small pole.

His eyes widened and he reached a hand out. "Shit, are you okay?"

Though my face contorted with pain and I reached to rub my shoulder, I replied with a tight, "Yeah, I'm okay."

He nodded slowly, looking clearly unconvinced, but moved to enter the cafeteria nonetheless. Four other people followed him: three boys and a girl. They were clearly his friends; I've recognized them before. One, if not all, of them were with him at all times. They only made it a few steps in when I called out, "Hey!"

They turned and I internally shrunk beneath their questioning gazes. Chris held my own. Without his big, oversized hoodie over his head, he didn't look like the walking embodiment of heartbreak. Still, he wasn't the picture of cool, calm, and collected I always remembered him to be, and still see him to be, today. The small, goofy gesture of drawing a smiley face in response to my note on his cup meant he wasn't all dark clouds and thundery days. Would it show now?

Here we go. I sucked in a sharp breath, considered my words, then breathed out. "Chris," I finally said, shoulders dropping. "You're Chris, aren't you?"