Remember to Forget, Revised and Expanded (3 page)

“Order fifty-two!” someone shouts.

I look down at my receipt, which says I'm order fifty-two. I turn around to grab
my food, but my dad has already picked it up.

“Where do you wanna sit? How about right there?” my dad asks, pointing to an empty
table.

I snatch the paper bag out of his hand and grip it tightly. He looks at me then down
at his hand then at the bag that I'm now holding. He furrows his eyebrows and exhales
heavily before sitting down.

“How long have you had that?” my dad questions. He points to my lip ring.

I ignore him and bite into my burger and shove some fries into my mouth. My dad watches
me closely, probably hoping I'll answer. But I don't.

“Doesn't seem like something your mother would allow. How is she?” How many questions
is he going to ask?

I shrug, not wanting to communicate with anyone right now. But then again, I never
want to interact with people.

My dad bounces his leg nervously, causing the whole table to shake. He can't seem
to keep his gaze on me either. His eyes keep wandering nervously in every direction.
The table continues to bounce, and it's getting on my nerves. I grip onto each side
of the table and glare at him sharply.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

I continue to eat in complete silence. The only noise is from the multiple people
in the airport. Once I'm done, I get up quickly and start to head out. My dad follows
closely behind, running to catch up to me.

“I thought you'd be tired today and wouldn't want to do much, so we'll just head
home. Is that okay with you?” my dad asks.

I don't respond and just follow my dad through the parking lot. We get into the car,
and I lounge back in the leather seat, putting my feet up on the dashboard. The car
smells like it's been cleaned recently. The strong aroma of cheap vanilla is floating
in the air,
and it instantly overpowers my senses. I scrunch my nose and put my sleeve
up to my face in hopes of getting rid of the smell.

“Levi, your feet,” my dad says quietly.

I look over at him then at my feet, but refuse to move them.

He sighs. “Levi, please get your feet off the dashboard.”

I keep my feet where they are and put my hands behind my head to get more comfortable.

“For the last time, Levi, get your feet off of the dashboard,” he says harshly, slamming
his hands onto the steering wheel.

I roll my eyes and obediently take my feet off the dash because I know he won't start
driving until I do.

“Thank you,” he softly says. He takes some deep breaths and starts to drive.

We drive home in silence—not even the radio is on. I decide to look out the window
the whole time and watch the new scenery. We pass lots of tall buildings and go over
multiple bridges, some of which seem newer than others. Most of the ride is just
highways, but once we get into town, there's a more comforting feel to everything,
if you'd like to call it that. We pass a small ice cream shop with some kids outside,
and a few restaurants with outdoor patios. Lots of people are walking outside, even
though it's cold. Well, cold for me anyways. I guess they're used to it. I never
knew it could be so cold in October.

We turn down a street that leads to a bunch of houses, and I'm guessing it's my dad's
neighborhood. He seems like someone who would live in an apartment, considering it's
only him, but he lives in a house. We pull into the driveway of an average blue house
with a small garden in the front, and my dad smiles.

“This is your new home,” he tells me with a forced smile. I stare back at him with
no emotion on my face.
Home
. This will never be my home.

Home is a familiar place where someone feels comfortable. I have no idea where I
am, and I'm living with a dad I haven't seen in years. This definitely isn't home.

I get out of the car and grab my bags from the trunk. I only have two suitcases,
as the rest of my stuff is being shipped here.

I wait for my dad by the door since it's locked. He finally walks up the steps and
unlocks the door, letting me in first. I take a few steps inside and stand awkwardly
because I don't know where to go.

There are a few stairs heading up to the kitchen and a long hallway beside it. I
can see a television and small black couch on the opposite side of the stairs, which
I'm guessing is the living room.

My dad shuts the door loudly, which startles me. I almost forgot I was observing
his house.

“Want me to show you your room?” he asks.

I continue to stare at the house, not giving him an answer. I feel like I'm on some
movie set, but I haven't gotten the script yet.

“Okay, I'll take that as a yes,” he mumbles. He heads up the stairs and down the
hall, pointing out different rooms. “That's the bathroom. My room is right here.
This is just a closet. And here is your room.”

I open the door and look inside the room. It's not too big, but not too small, and
it's pretty much empty. Near the windows there's a bed with a blue comforter and
matching pillows. A small desk is in the far left corner with a digital clock on
it.

“We can go get some more things, I just didn't know what you would like,” my dad
tells me. “If you want. I mean, we don't have to, it's just a thought since it's
kind of empty and—”

I walk inside my room and shut the door in his face, cutting him off. I just need
to be alone right now to think about everything that's happening.

“Well, uh, I guess I'll leave so you can set up. If you need anything, just call
for me. Wait, um, just come and get me since you don't, you know . . . Okay. I'll
go now,” he says from outside my room.

I roll my eyes and plop onto the bed, causing the springs in the mattress to creak.
I'm too long for the bed—it seems like it was made for a ten-year-old. Definitely
not for someone who is six feet
tall. I try to lie comfortably, but nothing works.
I sigh and let my feet dangle off the edge.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I pull it out to see some texts from Caleb asking
how everything is so far. I don't reply and put my phone back into my pocket. Exhaling,
I decide that I should unpack my things. If I don't do it now, it'll never get done.

I place all my pills on the desk, arranging them into a weekly container. I read
the containers for the hundredth time. Anxiety, depression, and mood swings. I sigh
as I shut the lids. The white pills seem to haunt me every day. It's like they follow
me everywhere. Without them, I can't be me, and with them I'm not me. It's like
they've taken over my life.

Once I'm done with that, I put my clothes in the closet, which is way too large.
It's almost as big as the room, and I don't see why it's necessary for a closet to
be that big. I hang up all my shirts, which have become quite wrinkly from being
in my suitcases, and fold up the remaining clothes to put them into drawers.

I sit down in the middle of my huge closet and lean back while I look up at everything.
The carpet is plush beneath my fingers and it feels nice. I reach up and run my finger
over the hems of my shirts, causing some of them to slip off the hangers. I leave
them sitting on the ground in a pile because I'm too lazy to pick them up.

I swallow as I realize that this will be where I'll live for the next few months,
maybe even a year. I'm not prepared to start all over again. Just thinking about
it makes me nervous. I was perfectly content with what I had been doing—absolutely
nothing. But I feel like that will soon change. I'm not sure I'm ready for change,
and I don't think I ever will be.

I don't understand how moving here will help anything. I'm in a different country,
where I don't know anything or anyone. If anything, I feel like living here will
be even worse. I don't want to give Maine a chance, as I'm almost positive that nothing
here will help, just like in Australia.

I lay down on the carpet, folding my arms beneath my head for a pillow. Jet lag has
made me extremely tired, more tired than usual. The floor feels strangely comfortable,
and I start to doze off. My eyelids become heavy, and before I know it, I drift off
to sleep.

Chapter Three

LEVI

G
ood morning, Levi!” my dad cheerily exclaims when I walk into the kitchen. I raise
my eyebrows at his sudden exuberance. I don't remember him like this. “Want some
cereal? I have Lucky Charms. I remembered that they're your favorite.”

Lucky Charms
was
my favorite. Now I hate it. Lucky Charms are too happy and cheerful
for me.

“
What are you eating?” I ask her.

“
Marshmallows,” she says, tossing a pink heart into her mouth.

“
Is that from my Lucky Charms?” I sit down beside her and grab one from the bowl.

“
Obviously. They're the best kind of marshmallows.”

“
Now what am I supposed to eat for breakfast?”

She shrugs and continues to eat.

I run my hand through my messy hair and sit down at the table. I cringe at the memories.
My dad pours two bowls of cereal and brings them over to the table. He sits across
from me and smiles.

“Did you sleep all right?” he asks.

I push the bowl of cereal away from me, which causes some milk to splash out of the
bowl. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but continues to munch on his cereal.
I tap my fingers on the table and sigh.

I'm annoyed that my dad is trying so hard. He doesn't even know me anymore. He knows
the happy, fourteen-year-old Levi. Not the mute, depressed seventeen-year-old version.
The past me isn't even close to the me at the present. Instead of trying to remember
how I was, he should just forget all of that. I'm not the same Levi, and I never
will be.

“Is there anything you want to do today?” my dad questions, breaking the silence.
“Anything you want for your room?”

I shrug. I don't really want to go out with my dad. I'd rather get the things I need
alone.

He puts his spoon in his cereal and looks up at me.

“Well, today I have football—they call it soccer here. I coach for one of the local
teams. You're welcome to come if you want, maybe you could help out.”

I roll my eyes. I used to play football—up until two years ago, actually. Universities
already wanted to accept me, but it just wasn't my thing. I always did it to make
my dad happy, but once he moved, there was really no point. When I was younger, he
would make me practice every single day. I had to be the best player possible, and
I was. But I hated every aspect of football. Nothing was fun about it—it was just
something to do. It was also another thing for my dad to boss me around with.

My dad and I never had a great relationship. He was always too obsessed with football
and work. He was a coach and a manager for one of the biggest teams in Australia.
The only thing he ever talked to me about was football. He never asked me about my
day, never took me out for ice cream. He only took me to football games. Until one
day, when he decided it was all too much. He needed a break. That's when everything
broke. The divorce, his moving to Maine, and Dad becoming distant. Most of it's a
blur, mostly because I don't care. Or at least, I try not to let it bother me.

Once I've had enough of my dad and his cheeriness, I get up from the table and pour
my uneaten cereal into the sink. My dad
opens his mouth like he's about to say something,
but closes it and purses his lips. Then he takes a deep breath and finally speaks.

“We'll leave for football in an hour.”

I don't remember giving any sort of indication of wanting to go. He can't just assume
that I automatically want to do whatever he says. I'm certainly not going to a football
practice. That's the last place I want to be.

I stare at him with an emotionless glare, and he stares back. I don't stop until
he looks away. Once he does, I turn sharply on my heels and head to my room.

I walk into my closet and slowly turn around, examining all my things. There's not
much here, since most of my things are still in Australia. I sigh and grab my beanie
and place it over my messy hair.

When I walk out of my room, my dad is still at the table. His head is in his hands,
and he's barely moving. I can hear him sigh and mutter, “My son hates me. My own
son actually hates me.”

My dad is right for once.

I slam a door so he's aware that I'm here. He jumps a little in his chair and looks
up.

“Oh, you're back,” he says awkwardly.

I ignore him and go down the stairs two at a time, my feet clomping all the way down.
I reach for the doorknob just as my dad reaches me.

“Levi, where are you going?” my dad asks.

I shrug and open the door, slipping out before he questions me again. I honestly
don't know where I'm going. I just want to be somewhere.

“But I thought we were going to the football field!” I hear him shout as I shut the
door.

I start to walk down the driveway, but hear footsteps behind me.

“Levi! We need to talk,” I hear my dad yell. “Or, I need to talk. Whatever, you know
what I mean!”

I turn around sharply and stop walking. I raise my eyebrows and wait for him to talk.
He stays silent for a few seconds, both of us just staring at each other again.

“Come back inside.”

I cross my arms over my chest, turn quickly, and continue to walk down the street.
I'd rather be anywhere than in that house. I hate my dad, I hate this place, I hate
everything.

“Levi! Please!” he begs.

I roll my eyes and continue.