In Memory (27 page)

I miss his silence.

75 Days, 14 December, Sunday

It’s been a strange day. Stranger than yesterday even, which is saying a lot.

It was the coldest it’s been for a while, and the hospital was even feeling the chill. When I went to go get another blanket for him, they were nearly out. The last one they had was pale blue, and so thin it could barely be called a blanket anymore. A tissue blanket, maybe.

Terra was working until eleven, so I was given permission
to stay with him until then. D
oubt the staff would have been so accommodating if he didn’t have his own room. Plus, they all know me well enough.

Since I
agreed to do a few tasks for Bee in the kitchens
, I was gone between eight and nine, which is when he woke up again.

He was struggling to sit up when I walked in. Gasping aloud, I rushed to his side, gently urging him to lie back down, to not strain himself.

“Aerie…” he whispered again, touching my face.

“Hey, it’s okay… I’m here.”

He let his hand drop to his side, and he
licked his lips, swallowing. C
ould tell he was trying to say something. His words came out as subtle changes in his exhalation, forming
whispery
sounds. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” I asked, tucking a few flyaway strands behind his ear.

He seemed to be struggling for an answer, moving his head around as he thought about it.

“Not… exactly.” He winced, and licked his lips again. “I remember… seeing my sister. But…”

“Do you know who it was? The one who hurt you?”

I had to verify the story. Even though I was about 96% positive it was his father, I still had to make sure.

“A man… I don’t know him.”

My heart fell at that. I thought for sure, once he named his father, it could mean someone would do something. If his father was telling the truth…

“He was… very angry. I don’t know him.”

“It’s okay. Thank you for telling me. You can just rest now.”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes, and relaxed under my touch, exhaling out a soft breath.

So now what? He didn’t say it was his father.

But he didn’t say it wasn’t. He doesn’t remember. This is why I never trust these important moments to something as fragile as memory.

I’d never given a reason for writing this before. Now I know what it is. It’s because I don’t have faith that I’ll remember everything important.

It’s not written in stone, but it’s written in time.

Something more easily forgotten.

74 Days, 15 December, Monday

Today was a weird day. Maybe I should get used to these weird days in the hospital. I think maybe I’m just used the usual kind of humdrum ‘do this
errand,
peel these carrots’
type of stuff I usually do here.

With Noah here, there’s always something else to anticipate.

It was weirder than ever before today though. After doing a few things after school, (cause I actually went today, for the last three days before break) I went to his room, number 616.

He wasn’t in his bed when I got there.

Which was terrifying.
L
ooked up and down the hall, checking to see if he was around, or if any other nurses were looking for him.

H
urried into his room, and saw that both his IV needles were
lying
on the bed. Wildly, I looked around, initially under the impression I would find some other evidence of his lack of being there.

His sheets and blankets were thrown across the bed like he had just got up and walked away of his own accord. That seemed impossible, but you never know with him.

There was a bandage
on the floor beside his bed. P
icked it up, and then heard a noise, which seemed to be coming from the small
bathroom set into his room. C
an’t believe I forgot there was a bathroom attached to the room.

S
trode over to it, and slowly pulled the door open.

And there he was, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, the
centrepiece
of a pile of bloody bandages. He was nearly naked, with the white hospital smock draped loosely around him. His gaunt reflection was reflected in the tall mirror on the opposite wall, lit weirdly by the
incandescents
filtering through the door.

Taking a few measured steps, I made to reach out to him, stopping when he spoke. His voice was stronger than yesterday, but still very soft.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Noah… you’re…”

He
unravelled
a length of dressings from his wrist, revealing a thick deep cut across it. “I don’t recognize these.”

I was silent, stricken as I watched him.

“I don’t know what happened to me.” He started picking at the gauze on his face, peeling the tape off. His movements became rushed and panicked, like he couldn’t rip those bandage
s from his face soon enough. H
eard an abrupt change in his breathing; he hissed in a few short erratic breaths, pulling the bandages from his face.

“Noah…”

“I don’t know why I am so horrible.”

He opened his eyes, tears freely flowing as he stared at the scars and bruises now exposed fully for him to see. His voice
raised
in volume, and had a noticeable hoarseness to it.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.
I don’t know
!!!”

Now sobbing, he grabbed a handful of the discarded bandages, placing them over his damaged body, frustrated tears soaking his face as the dressings refused to stay in place and mask his body.

S
wallowed the lump in my throat as I sank down beside him, pulling him into my arms. “It’s okay.  It’s okay to not know.”

“It’s not!” He hid his face in his hands, “I’ve always known. It’s wrong for me to not remember something!”

“It’s okay, it really is.” I held him closer to me, hoping in some way I could help him.
His skin was clammy and cold on my touch, and he shivered and jolted with his cries.
The way his shoulders trembled like he was a leaf barely clinging to a tree… it sticks in my mind.

After that, I got him back into bed, and called Terra to come in and assess the damage he had done to himself when he pulled off the bandages.

The supervising doctor was not pleased, and made mention of
using more sedatives on him. P
rotested this, rather vehemently, and probably put the doctor out rather a lot.

Dunno
,
don’t want his mind to be influenced by anything; not when he reacts to his loss of memory like that. His memories seem to be his most precious things.

W
ould be neglecting my position of guardian angel if I allowed him to lose possession of any more of his memories. They’re important.

Again, I stayed with him for as long as I could. H
e looks so alone in that room;
don’t want to leave his side.

A thought also occurred to me today. When he gets released… where will he go?

Initiall
y,
figured that he’d just come home with
me and Terra
; it was just a natural thought.
But then… hmm.

Most people seem to believe that cock-and-bull story about the intruders. So would the hospital release him to his father? Maybe I could say that it’s obviously not safe for him there, and he needs outpatient care anyway, so he should come with us.

I’ll have to choose my words carefully.

Again, my search for the perfect words.

They will be mine one day. Those words. My search will never end until I possess them.

N
eed to give them to him.

73 Days, 16 December, Tuesday

For most of today, I sat silently in class, numbly taking in the surroundings. A couple of the nicer girls in class asked me where Noah was, which was kind of odd.

“He’s in the hospital.” I replied, figuring they’d probably say he deserved it or something.

“Oh no!” The brunette one, Julia, exclaimed, “What happened? Is he okay?”

This was not a reaction I was anticipating. “
Er
… he-”

“It was a break-in, I heard.” The other one cut in, I think her name is Ariel, “And he tried to stop them from hurting his sister! He’s so brave!”

“Really?” Julia seemed impressed, and then turned to me, “You see him a lot, right? Can you send him our best wishes? We want him to get better!”

“Ah- yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” I smiled at them, in spite of the rushing thoughts meandering through my mind.

“Great! Let us know how he is tomorrow, okay?”

“Y-yeah…”

It was a weird occurrence. I’m happy about it, don’t get me wrong, but the idea of people actually being worried about him,
caring
for him, was extraordinary.

I’m conflicted about this lie/story now more than ever.

Is it better for him to be considered a hero, protecting his home and family, someone to be
admired…

Or is it better for the real truth to come out? To have people know about the years of abuse and pain he’s endured, along with the stigma of being alienated by his curse…

C
an’t decide which is the better option.
To offer a lie of omission and finally be accepted by people, or to tell the truth and risk being a (freak, curse, taboo)?

People would say he’s lying. His father is too influential. Noah’s word against his father’s would be something akin to trying to cut a tree down with a feather.

But…

What if people’s opinions have changed enough because of the lie that they’ll finally believe the truth?

It seems like backwards thinking, but maybe…

C
an wish if I want to.

Noah seemed
more… well
today. He was alert, and seemed much less sad. He still looked disdainfully at the new bandages covering his arms, and regularly picked at the ones on his face, but made no mention of them.

“So…” I began, noticing he turned his attention from the picture of a vase to me. “A couple girls from the school wanted to send their best wishes for you to get better soon. You know, Julia and Ariel, those two girls from Math.”

Blankly, he surveyed me, and I looked right back at him, at a loss for anything else to say.

“They… they weren’t lying, were they?”

“No, I don’t reckon so. They seemed pretty genuine. They believed that story about the intruders in your house though.”

“And you don’t believe it, I take it?”

“Well, no. I think your father just made it up.”

“I don’t know the man who attacked me though.”

“What do you remember from it?”

“Mostly the fear.” He looked pointedly out the window, avoiding my gaze. “It was night, I remember the windows were all dark, and there were candles lit. As soon as I entered my home the attack started. I ran away, stairs… I remember the man’s face in my mind… but not who he was. He told me-” He cinched his eyebrows together, “-that I was a freak, a defect… and that I-” he swallowed, his one visible cheek burning pink, “-I was going back to that place.”

“What place?”

Silence. He didn’t talk again for the rest of the evening. He did give me a hug goodbye though, and I saw him cover his face with his hand as I closed the door.

There’s something he’s not telling me. About ‘that place.’

72 Days, 17 December, Wednesday

Julia and Ariel did come and see me today, just like they said they would. Ariel presented me with a card and a small box of chocolates, chirping out a friendly “Happy Christmas!”

I smiled,
then
thought it would be polite to address them by their names, so I did so, still smiling broadly at them. It’s a good feeling to know that people are interested in his health, and aren’t afraid to think of him a curse.

Also, it’s rather nice to know that people will actually talk to me t
oo. Since I was Noah’s friend,
guess I was included in the general consensus that ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.”

Sort of a reference there.
Haha
.

Meaning of course, that we were, in the general idea of the word, dead to the rest of the class, unless they were feeling particularly snarky and needed someone to belittle.

At the hospital today, he was still very quiet, and seemed to be thoroughly preoccupied with other thoughts.