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January 9th, 1990 — Cape Canaveral, FL 6:45 AM, EST
As Shelby got ready for work the morning following her date with Adam, she had a peculiar feeling. Her brain was tugging at her, as if there was something she was forgetting. Shelby had an exceptionally great memory, so she didn't often forget something.
"Shelby, your toast!" Maggie's call from the kitchen brought Shelby to attention, and the redhead quickly realized that she was, in fact, forgetting something: her breakfast.
She shook the thoughts aside and hurried into the kitchen, joining her roommate at their small kitchen table. Despite having the toast in front of her, the strange feeling continued to nag her brain. It was like an itch she couldn't scratch, right in the center of her skull.
What was she forgetting?
"Maggie," Shelby began as she spread peanut butter on her toast. "Is it your birthday?"
Maggie, having gotten used to Shelby's antics by now, simply shook her head. "I'm a Scorpio, remember?"
Shelby nodded. "Right." She frowned and continued to methodically smear the peanut butter over her entire piece of toast before setting the knife down and taking a bite of her breakfast. "What am I forgetting?"
"You don't forget stuff, Shelby." Maggie stated as she poured milk into her Cheerios.
"I know." Shelby replied. "It's just ... I've got this weird feeling in my brain, like ... like I don't know something that I need to. That I'm forgetting something. It's like when I forgot my lunch for work that one day."
"Do you have any appointments today?" Maggie questioned.
Shelby shook her head, but dug into her bag for her planner just to make sure. "No."
Maggie glanced around the room, squinting at the calendar they had hanging on the wall by the telephone. "I dunno, Shelbs."
"Yeah," Shelby replied as she grabbed her piece of toast and headed for the calendar.
January 9th was a day that held absolutely no significance to Shelby at all. No birthdays, no anniversaries, no holidays ...
So what was it?
After scanning the calendar and turning to take her seat once again, a slip of paper sitting near the phone caught her attention. It was from the notepad the girls kept near the phone, but it was ripped off of the pad and half of it was missing, as if Maggie had written down something.
"Maggie," Shelby asked, holding up the piece of paper. "Did I have any messages last night?"
"Messages?" Maggie's eyebrows went up in a look of genuine cluelessness. "I don't know, girly. Let me play through my night." Maggie often couldn't recall memories of nights she had been drinking, and due to the fact that Shelby had woken up to two empty wine bottles in the recycling bin, last night had been one of those nights.
