December. January. February. March. April. May. Those were the six months I couldn’t account for. Six whole months of nothing in my brain. Or was it more?
In November 2016, I realized that you were missing. Later, in June 2017, I settled in Japan. Now in August, I sleep in a hospital bed, imprisoned by my coma.
If I really think about it, there are concerning gaps in my memory of that time. I remember the mess of your mother’s affair with Evan’s father, but I can’t recall what happens after, specifically the events leading up to your disappearance. I only vividly remember the aftermath, the scrambling to find you in a place where no one knew your name.
It started in September 2016. That was when the dominoes fell and turned our lives into an unsolvable dilemma. The whole town knew that I was a lesbian and you were bisexual. Your parents changed the locks to their front door so you had no choice but to live with me. My mother didn’t do anything so extreme, but she turned a deaf ear to any word of my sexuality. It was none of her business, her silence seemed to say, even though I was her flesh and blood.
But she started to ask that I keep the door of my room open, an indication that she didn’t exactly approve of my relationship with you. Too bad that whatever she was afraid of already happened.
At school, your popularity ranking fell. You would have been at the bottom of the list if I wasn’t there. Weirdly enough, my ranking had a brief spike. Something about boys liking it when girls kiss each other. Ugh.
Our love wasn’t anybody’s fetish. The feelings I had for you were sacred. I would die for you in a heartbeat if I had to. I wished that it was me they found floating in the pond, my body a shield for the knife that cut your throat. Even though I imagine it, there is no way for me to bring that image to life.
I can’t go back in time. It’s frustrating how many times I have to remind myself of that. No matter how long I sit in our memories, I can’t force the hands on the cosmic clock to go in the opposite direction.
To be fair, I was not the only one who was living in that past. Harry, your ex-boyfriend, sometimes still acts like you guys were together. I’ve seen it in the way he would lean in to hug you for a second too long or brush his hands on your waist. Before he knew about us, he would even slip up and call you “babe” fresh after the separation.
But he found out in September. There was no avoiding it for any of us. I remembered because he tried to fight me because of it.
Most boys wouldn’t have done what he did. Society believes that women and girls make up the weaker sex, less capable physically and mentally. Regardless of whether or not that was true of Harry’s opinions, most people agree with what society dictated, whether consciously or subconsciously.
But Harry was a modern-day feminist and I stole his girl. He told me women were just as strong as men and that he didn’t believe in any of that sexist crap.
I think he just wanted to punch me.
You told me not to meet him. He was nothing to you at that point, a mistake you wanted to forget. But I wasn’t afraid of him.
It was a matter of pride. If I was a prettier girl, maybe it wouldn’t have bothered him so much. But I was ordinary. Ugly, even, depending on the angle a person stared at me. At least that’s how I imagined he thought of it.
I had a different line of reasoning. I wanted him to know that if I had to, I could fight him. It was caveman logic. I believed that I could protect what was mine.
I also just wanted to beat the shit out of him.
We met in the baseball park next to the football field behind the school. He showed up empty handed, overconfident in his strength. I had a knife in the pocket of my jeans.
One might say that it’s unethical to bring a weapon like that to a fist fight, but I’d argue that when it comes to dealing with a guy like Harry, it was a strategic move. He was filled with heterosexual male rage. Toxic masculinity was pumping through his veins. Boys have done worse with less going on in their heads.
I made the first move. I don’t think he actually expected me to come because my presence alone caught him off-guard. The reality of fighting me dawned on him and he hesitated for a second longer than he should have, wondering whether he could punch a girl.
My fist collided with his face, knocking him to the ground. I wasted no time placing a well-aimed kick at his groin. For the purposes of the fight, I came to school wearing steel-toed combat boots. He curled up on the ground and whimpered from the impact. I kicked his stomach to keep him down, practically stomping on him.
“Leave Elle alone,” I said. “Her life is already hard enough without you acting up. She’s my girlfriend, not yours or anybody else’s.”
He sneered, a bruise blooming on his cheek. “Do you think just because you kissed her that you know her? I’ve done everything with her and she still left me. You’re not special. It’ll be the same with you.”
I stomped on his head. “You never even got the chance to fuck her. You’ve barely lived a second of life with Elle. Face it, you were nothing to her when you were together and you’re nothing now.”
He grabbed my leg pulling me to the ground. Invigorated by his wounds, he finally landed his first punch, hitting me straight in the eye. Stars burst in my vision. I clawed at his face, drawing blood. We fought like kids on the playground, the only rule of the match between us being to cause our opponent pain.
At his second punch, I felt around my pants for the knife. I could end things quickly by sending him to the hospital.
Before I could pull the blade out of my pocket, a baseball bat came between us. I looked up to see Evan in his team uniform. The cuts on his face had mostly healed, a smattering of bandaids holding his skin together.
“Stop fighting,” he commanded. “I’ll call the cops if I have to.”
“Stay out of this,” Harry yelled. “It’s none of your business. Besides, shouldn’t you be at home with your cheating father?”
The boy who was once my best friend ignored that remark. “You’re on school property. The principal will suspend you or worse, expel you. Any scholarships you might get from colleges would be revoked.”
Harry pulled back, fear filling his eyes. He was counting on a basketball scholarship to put him through school. “Fuck you,” he spat out, walking off the field.
“And you,” he said, turning to me. “You should know better than this.” He pulled my arm out of my pocket, revealing the knife. “You could have actually killed him. If you ever get caught up in a fight, bring a baseball bat instead. At least that way your opponent would be alive after.”
“This is all your fault.” I glowered at him, my fury from the month before spilling out. “If you kept your mouth shut about Elle and I, I wouldn’t have to be dealing with shit like this.”
“I had to tell. You know why.”
“No, you didn’t. You could have made something up about someone else. But you specifically chose to out me. Do you know what Elle has to go through? You knew perfectly well what her parents were like and yet you did this to us.”
“Nana–”
“Shut up. I thought we were friends.” Tears slipped from my eyes. I walked away before he could see more of my crying.
I don’t remember anything else after that. There’s a gray fog where October should be. I woke up in November missing you. No one knew where you were and life became meaningless.
I walk through a long dark hallway. On either side of the corridor, there’s a series of doors, each holding a memory from the past. My first steps. The childhood I barely remembered in Japan. The years of bullying in California. The first time I met you.
There’s one door at the end that I have trouble opening. While all the other doors have light shining from them, this one is pure shadow. The darkness of this memory is palpable in the air. I choke on the thick smoke of it, my eyes watering.
I try to turn the knob and a tuning fork hums in the background, buzzing against my ears. The humming intensifies. A thousand bees clamor in my head. I press forward even though it starts to hurt.
By some miracle, the door budges. I step inside the dark memory, looking for answers to October.
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpNsWCvHkc8
