Memory

Chapter Four- Dimitri

"So," she says, breaking into my thoughts gently, like a breeze sweeping through a tall grassy field. "What do you want to do now? Or do you just want to go home?"

I look down at her; for a second I consider hugging the life out of her, for two reasons- one, she is beautiful, and two, she is like me, a Recaller.

I look to my right; my Ducati motorcycle-- that my dad got for me on my fifteenth birthday-- lies in wait in one of the parking spaces at the edge of the parking lot.

Hm, I have an idea.

"How about I drive you home?" I ask, looking back at her. "So you won't have to walk far."

Trystan seems to think about it. Say yes, say yes, say yes! And then, I remember that I don't even know where she lives.

She opens her mouth to speak, then as someone one calls her name loudly, I turn my head to the right to see one of Trystan's relative waiting in her red Toyota Camry. She waves to her niece, throwing me suspicious glances constantly. Her crow-black hair is pulled tightly into a bun. Her fair, tanned face taut with...distrust?

God, people in this world have some serious trust issues.

Trystan sighs, looking at her aunt, then back to me. "Maybe next time," she says, putting a hand on my arm. She then smiles in farwell, then walks across the parking lot to the her aunt, climbing into the front passenger seat. She waves to me with the same smile, then the car speeds off, and she is gone.

Man, I lost a chance at riding with her. I exhale in frustration. Well, there is next time, anyways.

I walk to my motorcycle. Settling myself comfortably in the large leather seat, I start the engine. Its roar fills my ears familiarly. Twisting the handle bars a few times, I speed off, narrowly missing the American flagpole on the lawn as I turn swiftly to the left.

I park my Ducati outside in the driveway of my home. I prop up the stick to hold it up, and when I see that it leans on its side correctly, I slip out my house keys.

Opening the door, I announce my arrival loudly. "Mom, I'm home!"

When there is no response other than a sniffle, I immediately get wary of my surroundings. I drop my backpack on the leather couch of the living room, and I walk down the hallway. Turning to my left, I see my parents' bedroom door wide open. My mother is sprawled along the edge of the bed, wiping the last of her tears with her palm.

I walk to her, kneeling down to get to eye-level with her. I wrap my arms around her comfortingly, and she starts sobbing into my shoulder.

"Mom, what's the matter?" I ask her, frowning in concern.

She starts to speak, and when she does, her voice is broken with disuse. "I...I saw your father today."

I tense completely. "Did he say anything?"

My mother shakes her head. "He was walking down the street with another woman, but they weren't talking to each other. I saw a different wedding ring on his hand..." she falters for a bit before starting again. "When I came up to talk to him, his eyes passed over me as if he never knew me. He said that if I don't stop asking him questions, he'd report me to the authorities."

She starts crying again, its soft sound something I hope will never happen again, starting today. "They got him, Dimitri," she blurts out. "He's gone."

I pull away from her, enough to grab her shoulders so she can look me in the eye. "Mom, look," I say to her. " If you ever see him again, don't ever speak to him again." I pause when she gives me a despairing look with her bright green eyes. "I know it sounds hard, but trust me. You do not want to be caught like he was. Anyways, who would be there to give me advice about girls?" I add, hoping to lighten up her gray mood.

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Sei sicuro che convincente , Dimitri." You sure are persuasive, Dimitri. I smile at the smooth, fluent Italian words from my mother.

I pat my mother's shoulder. "Come on, let's us have that lasagna we never go to eat. I'm hungry!" After my father's arrest, my mother and I hadn't touched the food; we packed it in the plastic Tupperwares and threw it into the fridge.

My mother laughs softly. "Alright, Dimitri." She stands, brushing her thighs off with her hands. "Let's eat."

Sitting in the living room with a plate of steaming, cheesy lasagna, I watch the flat screen in front of me, its sound nothing more than a muffle to my ears. My mind is too busy thinking in and out about Trystan- for some reason.

Only when the NCN- Northern California News- interrupts the show I am watching, which is my beloved NCIS, I become fully alert.

"The government has made it an order," the female news reporter begins, her voice quivering with nervousness, yet, she seems excited. "All head family members of each family in San Francisco, California, that has escaped Treatment will be taken into custody to be Treated." The wind buffets her short, dark red hair around, scarcely blocking out the building of California State Capital behind her. "After Treatment, they'll be sent back into society, not making physical contact with their family members. They will be put into a new family unit, starting new lives. Beginning at eight o'clock p.m. sharp, the Government will soon begin taking all adult family members from each home starting in San Francisco and ending all along the west coast to Apple Valley. Their children, if any, will be left alone, starting at the age of fifteen. They'll be eligible for Treatment, then."

My mother stiffens where she sits beside me. I immediately know what this means.

My mother's arrest is approaching.

And so is Trystan's aunt.

Exchanging a glance with my mother, I set my half-empty plastic plate down on the table in front of me. I stay silent as the news reporter says, "This is Briony De'Meulenaere, reporting live in front of the California State Capital building. Now, back to your regular scheduled program."

Once NCIS comes back on with one of its characters talking to a teammate, I turn to my mother. Her face is getting ghostly white with fright, her green eyes very much like mine widened with panic.

"Mom, Mom, relax," I say to soothe her. I twist sideways to put an arm around her shoulders. "It's alright. We can figure this out."

She shakes her head stubbornly. "No, Dimitri! It's over, they're taking us all. They all want to believe in their stupid little belief in 'peaceful society'." She grimaces as she raises her hands to make the quotation motions.

I glance at the television, and reach for the remote behind me. Finding the mute button, I press it, then set the remote in front of my knees. Looking back at my mother, I say, "Look, it's really easy. We'll hide you in the basement, in the walk-in closet next to the laundry room. They'll never think of looking there." I cut her off as soon as she begins to protest. "What, do you have a better idea?"

She stays silent, shaking her head.

"Good." I look around; the kitchen is clean. If there were still pots on the stove, they'll know that I don't cook and that there's someone else in the house.

I rise from the couch, reaching over to the entertainment center for my Samsung S III Mini resting on a huge pile of XBox 360 games. Clicking the lock/unlock button, my heart skips a beat as I read the time.

Seven fifty-nine p.m.

At the same time, a harsh, rapid knocking comes from the door.

I look at my mother, and I see her plate in her hands. With swift movement, I take both our plates, stack them together, and pull her off the couch, pushing her down the hallway to the door leading to the basement.

"Police!" comes the yell outside the door. "Open the door!" By that time, I have disposed of the plates in a garbage can and lead my mother into the basement.

I can now hear the police breaking into our house upstairs. And for a moment, I think I am going to lose my mother.