We forget things for a reason.
The longer I went without seeing Caleb, or hearing news of him, the greater my desperation was to claw at memories. I tried every morning and every evening, in a hurried and frantic way, to trick myself into remembering – as though if I could catch the memory by surprise it might come flooding back. But nothing did. I tried to sneak up on the memory slowly instead, then, setting the tone with a quiet flat and the godforsaken balls that would bring about a meditative state. The clang of metal on metal set a rhythm for my breathing; in – through the belly up through the lungs and back again – out – knock. It was the steadiest I’d been for days, so I took another pull of air and imagined the taste of cider and poor judgement.
I was holding a sheet of paper and I was crying but they were happy tears rather than sad – in through the belly – and Mum was there – ‘We’re so proud of you, love.’ – and then Dad – up through the lungs – ‘Honestly, kid, you’ve done great here.’ – and the writing is blurred but the letters are big and bold – and back again out – ‘These results, God, they’re so good. We must celebrate, we must,’ Mum said. ‘Did you cheat?’ someone asked – in through the belly – but I didn’t recognise their voice–
Up through the lungs – and I could smell cigarette smoke but none of us were old enough – and back again out – so I don’t know where it was from. But there was the campfire – in through the belly and up – and I wondered whether the smoke was coming from that – through the lungs and back – but I waved smoke away and realised someone was blowing smoke on me, into my face, as though trying – in through the belly – to block my vision and– ‘Some of us tried really fucking hard, do you know that?’ – up through the lungs – and it’s the same voice but I don’t know it – ‘Fern, get out of it. You’ll make up for it at A Levels.’
And back again out – ‘Get down here! Get down here now, I want to bloody talk with you!’ – in through the belly – and I rushed down the stairs in the family home, pounding down them with speed and I was worried that I’d wake Dad – up through the lungs and back – but she was being so loud – ‘How did you do it, eh? How did you of all people manage it?’ – again out and in through the belly – ‘You’re going to wake my dad. Just go back to your party.’
‘What’s happening?’ Dad asked but he sounded like – sounds like someone else.
Up through the lungs – but my lungs were tight so I tried a second attempt and realised I was crying – in the memory. In through the belly – ‘Kid, you need to stop crying and help me.’ – up through the lungs and back. ‘I bet you cheated.’
I remember all the voices at once like a montage of anger and accusation. I realised that Fern’s mother wasn’t there anymore, then, and I wondered how she’d been replaced. In through the belly – ‘Did you cheat? Just tell me, would you?’ someone asked and they got angry when I wouldn’t answer – up through the lungs – I was worried about them waking someone but they weren’t worried at all – and there was a shuffle, scuffle then–
‘Do I know you?’
The question rang out and my chest flooded with panic and pain. My eyes snapped open and I tumbled forward, in the right time frame. I set a hand on the Newton’s cradle to stop the balls from clanging although I knew that couldn’t be the end of it. There were new memories and I didn’t want to let them go. I’d left a notebook to hand, ready for when the panic stirred, so I reached out and wrote down as much as I could remember, writing the question in block capitals – DO I KNOW YOU – with rings wrapped around it to remind me of its importance, for when I forgot again.
When the balls clapped together – in through the belly – it didn’t take long to find the thread I’d let go of. To start with it was a mess of campfires, sheets of papers, pats on the back. But I could see Fern. She was sitting opposite me with a boy wrapped around her waist and she was drunk – up through the lungs – because her eyes had that blankness that comes with booze – and back again out. As though filtered in through a faulty connection, though, the memory started to flicker. I could remember being in the back garden – in through the belly – but it was late, and freezing, and I wasn’t wearing any shoes – up through the lungs – and I was scared of waking someone up but Fern didn’t mind – and back again out – ‘Do I know you?’ In through the belly – ‘They all think I’ve gone home,’ she said but she said it with more spite than it deserved and I couldn’t remember what I said to deserve it – up through the lungs. ‘Can we do this another time, please?’ I asked and I turned and she laughed at me – in through the belly – ‘We’re going to wake my dad.’ She couldn’t even focus on me; drunk eyes couldn’t find me in the dark – up through the lungs. ‘Do you think I care about your dad?’ But Dad was already there, I think, Dad was standing by her – in through the belly – was it Dad?
‘Do I know you?’
Fern hit me – up through the lungs – I remember her closing the gap between us with a hand flat and upraised – and back again out. She closed the gap and slapped the palm of her hand against my cheek and there was a slam in my ear and my head snapped and I was worried she’d drawn blood somehow because there was heat – up through the lungs. ‘Jesus, what is the matter with you?’ I was holding my face and she was laughing, was she? ‘For those results you deserve it,’ she said – in through the belly – in through the belly – in through the belly and I pushed the breath out in a rush as though it were stifling me. ‘I won’t let it drop, you know, I won’t let you cheat, you little cheater,’ she said and her hand was flat again – in through the belly – and I thought she was going to hit me so I moved and she tumbled but she didn’t go on the floor – up through the lungs – but it made her angry all the same. ‘You think you can pull the wool over me?’ she said, and she was closer then, even though I was still backing away. ‘Fern, please,’ I started, but she laughed; a spiteful laugh like she hated me and I – in through the belly – didn’t get a chance to finish before she said, ‘I’ll kill you, you stupid cow.’ – up through the lungs – ‘For making me look stupid like that. For making my results look bad. Don’t think I won’t! I’ll kill you!’
And back again, out–
‘Do I know you?’