Missing Pages

        “Have a Merry Christmas,” the person at the register said.  

            “Whatever,” she scoffed, and quickly left the store. As she was leaving its vicinity, she saw a person dressed up in a costume. He wore the iconic red and white outfit, outfitted with a stupid looking hat. He also had stuffed pillows under his costume, that much was obvious. The people crowding around him didn’t seem to notice, or maybe they didn’t care. All they cared about was this so called “Christmas magic”. 

            As if that exists. She thought to herself. She rolled her eyes and walked to the parking lot. She got in her car and drove away. She couldn’t wait for it to be over. Tomorrow would be Christmas. One more day and then it would be over. Then the world would go back to normal. People wouldn’t stop to talk with complete strangers on the street to wish them Merry Christmas. The ugly lights would be taken down. And then she would go back to being happy. 

            Well, happy is a strong word. She thought. I’m never happy. I’m just usually not this annoyed. The stoplight turned red right as she got to the intersection. Just her luck. She turned on her radio and her bad luck continued. Christmas songs were playing. She switched to a different station. Another Christmas song. 

            “Seriously?” she asked her radio in annoyance. “Isn’t there any other type of song you could play?” She switched the station once more and the radio responded to her question by putting on more Christmas music. She defeatedly turned off the radio and drove back to her apartment in silence. She made it to the parking lot outside the building and as she stepped out of the car, it began to snow. 

            “Of course!” she exclaimed. “Even the weather hates me!” She ran into the building and onto the elevator. She shivered as the elevator slowly made its way up to her floor. It was taking its time. It was probably in Christmas break mode too. The woman finally stepped off the elevator and walked down the long hallway full of obnoxiously bright Christmas lights. She unlocked her door and stepped inside her apartment. She wanted to collapse into her bed and sleep. 

            Why had I thought it would be a good idea to go shopping on Christmas Eve? She asked herself. And they didn’t even have the stuff I wanted. As she was walking into her room, she tripped on a pair of shoes she had left lying about. As she fell onto the ground, she could only think that things had definitely hit rock bottom. Her head hit the nightstand next to her bed and she fell unconscious.

            Her head hurt. But why? And where was she? She opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was the floor. Why was she on the floor? And most importantly, who was she? 

            “I can’t remember,” she said softy to herself. “Why can’t I remember?” She slowly picked herself up off of the ground and looked around. She was in a bedroom. Was it hers? 

            “What should I do?” she asked herself. “Maybe I can find something in this place that will help me to regain my memories.” She jumped when she heard a noise but soon realized it was just a phone ringing. She laughed to herself. She was so pathetic. She listened to the ringing and followed it into the living room of the apartment. She located the phone inside of a purse, was it hers? The caller ID said mom. 

            “Should I answer?” she asked herself. “It might be my only way to get answers.” She picked up the phone.

            “Why haven’t you called me?” the voice on the phone demanded. “It’s Christmas Eve!”

            “I’m really sorry,” she said, tentatively. “I lost track of time.”

            “Huh?” the voice asked. “That’s strange. I was just messing with you. I know you aren’t one to celebrate the holidays, especially after the incident.”

            “The incident?” she asked. Was that the thing that made her lose her memory? Maybe this was the information she needed. 

            “You don’t need to pretend it didn’t happen,” the voice replied in a soft tone. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t outright ask about the incident, but she needed information. 

            “So umm…” she began. 

            “Oh I’m sorry,” the motherly voice said. “I’m taking up your time. I’ll let you go. Bye!”

            “Oh, wait!” she exclaimed, but the person has already hung up. “Well, at least I know there was an incident. Maybe I can look around the apartment to find information. I hope this is my place because if not, I’d feel bad about snooping around.” She first started opening different drawers in the living room area, but they were all bare. 

            “Huh,” she said. “I wonder where all the decorations are. The phone says that it’s Christmas Eve. Maybe they just haven’t been set up yet.” She walked back into the bedroom and went into the closet. She was met with outfits that all looked similar to the ones she was wearing. It seemed like this place was probably her own. She moved back the clothes and noticed a hidden box near the back of the closet. She picked it up and walked over to her bed. She set it down and opened it. The only thing there was a small, beat-up journal. It looked like it had been thrown around. The edges of it had been singed. But why? She opened it up and was surprised when she was the first date written down. It was from thirty years ago. The handwriting was rushed and messy. 

            “I got you a birthday present,” her mother said. “It’s a journal to write down all your thoughts so you won’t ever forget them.”

            “Thank you,” she had said. “I’ll write in it right now!” Her small, childlike hand grabbed onto a colored pencil and started writing. 

            My mommy got me this journal. It said. She said to write down things I don’t want to forget. But I’m not worried about forgetting things. I’ll remember everything. 

            “Am I remembering?” she asked herself. “Maybe I just need to read the rest of this journal and my memory will come back.” She flipped to the next page in the journal and found that it was written a couple months after the first entry.

            Today I had an adventure at school. I was supposed to get picked up at 2 today but daddy didn’t come and pick me up. I spent a lot of time with one of the teachers while waiting for him. She walked around the school with me and even let me into one of the classrooms to play with toys. She was really nice to me. Way nicer than daddy. He didn’t even say sorry, and mommy says that people should always say sorry. But I forgave him. It won’t happen again. 

            It happened again. That’s the only thing the next page had on it. 

            “I was waiting for even longer that time,” she said quietly. “It was hours before he came to pick me up.” She once more flipped the page. Each time she did, more fragments of her childhood came back to her. She remembered the days she and her mom went to the park. She remembered her early birthdays and the presents she got. She remembered writing her journal entries too. But she couldn’t remember anything after her tenth birthday. She had to read more. She flipped the page again, but she could tell one had been ripped out. No not one, many pages had been ripped out of the book. What had happened that had made her rip out the pages? This had to be the incident her mother had brought up.

            The next page was blank. She flipped the page. 

            “You ungrateful brat,” a voice said in her head. But it wasn’t her own. 

            She turned the page again. 

            “If that’s how you feel, why don’t I take away all your presents,” the voice continued. 

            She felt tears running down her face. She slowly turned the page.

            “I’m leaving,” the voice said. Then it was quiet. On the page were only five words. 

            I don’t like daddy anymore. It read. She slammed the book shut. 

            “Maybe I don’t want to remember anymore,” she said. “It might be best if I don’t know.” She looked at her phone. It was a minute away from midnight. A minute away from Christmas. 

            “Merry Christmas,” she said to herself, and put the journal away.

            She woke up the next day, lying on the floor. It was Christmas and she didn’t know how to feel. All her memories hadn’t yet returned. Only the ones of when she was little. She didn’t particularly enjoy Christmas. That she could tell. She’d put up no decorations. She decided to go out and take a walk. She took time to bundle up. She left her apartment and locked the door behind her. She then began walking. She knew it wasn’t the brightest idea, especially because she didn’t remember the area, but she needed to clear her head. So she walked. She saw Christmas decorations hanging up. She saw people smiling as they walked down the streets. 

            People wouldn’t stop to talk with complete strangers on the street to wish them Merry Christmas. The ugly lights would be taken down. A voice echoed in her head. It sounded familiar. She looked over at the lights again. 

            “They really are ugly. Why do they have to be so bright? People can see them without being all shiny. And is that another Santa with a pillow stuffed under his jacket? Seriously?” she asked, but this time with a small smile.