Always Forget to Never Remember

We were sitting in my room. Tyler was on the floor, leaning up against the wall. He was turning an old looking pocketwatch over in his hands and the lines of sunlight filtering in through my upturned blinds were crossing over his face. I sat up on my bed, buried in blue and pink galaxies that twisted together with red cheeked pikachus. We were supposed to be going out to eat, but I decided at the last second that my bed was quicksand and not even god himself could pull me free. Unfortunately Tyler was somehow more powerful than the big G. He had spent the last couple of minutes reflecting so much sunlight into my eyes that the trails were starting to give me a headache. 

All the while we were talking about magic. About the powerful and the powerless. About the dazzling and the mundane.  About me and him, and where we fit into things. 

“Please,” My hands pressed down on my blankets as my back slouched against the wall, shooting air out of every corner, “I basically don’t have any magic in me.” 

“C’mon Marissa. Your powers are awesome. Think of all the cheating on tests and always winning arguments.” He shot me one of his smiles, and then shot my retinas while I was distracted by his mischievous beauty. 

 I flinched back and dove into my covers “Hey! First of all, it doesn’t work that way. It’s too slow. It’s boring. No one cares when people can throw fire or make 50 versions of themselves.” My hands were flying in every direction under the blanket, as if that might somehow help my argument . If I didn’t know any better I might’ve thought I was a goo monster or busy destroying some spider’s web.

“Only Party tricks, those are!” Of course he brought out the damn Yoda voice. I didn’t see why then but It makes sense now. His imitation wasn’t very good, but it did take the edge off an argument.

“Why have magic if you can’t show it to the world?”

“ some empathy, you should have. Something, you got. Stuck over here with squat to my name, I am.”

A violent snort came from pikachu mountain, “Please never mix modern language with the Yoda voice.”

“OOYL. Totally tubular, that is. Yeet this watch, I will.” 

The blanket mountain erupted like a volcano with a screaming me coming out the top, “That doesn’t mean use the Yoda voice with random slang dumb-”

the pocketwatch flew, right into my forehead. The only sound in the room; the blankets ruffling as the watch tumbled along, finally taking residence in my lap. And then, ever so softly, with my eyes locked onto his, “yeet.”  And with that we devolved into a witch and non-warlock cackling the bad times away, lost in love.

“Ah ha! Defeated the magic mistress, I have.”  Yea, that only made things worse. It took almost a full two minutes for us both to calm down enough to form coherent thoughts. The birds chirping outside the window could even be heard for a  peaceful second.

 I released a sigh into the vacuum between us, tossing my head back and mentally resetting,  “What was that you said about always winning arguments?”

He threw his hands into the air, “How many times have you used that line before?” He looked exasperated and too tired of my bullshit. I couldn’t help the upturn of my lips. I was about him an entire pot worth. I took a moment to close my eyes and relive all the times we’d had this discussion before. I shrugged my blankets to the floor, gathered myself into the most boss-ass-bitch posture i could think of, and attacked. 

    “23.” 

“Ha!” He jumped up and jabbed a finger at me, “I told your ass it was useful,” his voice steadily climbed up to jet engine levels as I started completely losing it again. After another  half a minute of trying to bring myself from dying asthmatic to jubilant history teacher I leaned forward, knocking his pocket watch to the ground between us, “It’s Pointless!”

---

My head jerked up with a start. Where am I? What day is it? Why am I sweating? I could feel it dripping down under my jeans that were just shorts, and the jacket that I swear was a tank top a second ago. Now the sky was above me instead of cracked plaster. The sun’s rays bent around someone’s figure as they flew in front of the fiery death trap. Dear lord, what just happened? My head sinks into my hand as dark remnants of the light dance across my vision and my heart rate returns to normal. 

“Oh,” My body deflated even further as the present finally re entered my reality and took the place of memory, “right.” My thumb instinctively ran over the pocketwatch’s engraving. Always remember to never forget. A smile irks my lips; I almost forgot I still have the watch. The words floated over my lips as my fingers filled the grooves in the bronze. 

“It used to be that simple back when we were joking in my room, huh?” I finally observe his last keepsake. The one thing that still binds us together. It was still just as shiny as the day I first saw it. Almost like it was stolen out of a memory. The hands still working diligently, completely unaware that I’m holding it now. A sigh escapes me. He must’ve set the locks on it to let me in. Or maybe there were no locks on it at all. That sounds like something he would do.

I lift the watch to decide it’s final resting place. Next to the roses? Maybe right on the stone? Or under the fresh soil, to have the one last secret between us? A moment of consideration. I turn the watch over and over, watching the light catch at each different angle. My aching heart travels through my jaw and down to my nails with every beat. I let myself fall under its spell for just a moment. I took my attention from deep within to just under my skin. The pain and the sorrow roar like the waves of tsunamis, and the memories whip around like the winds of a hurricane. I have to choose. Am I strong enough to endure this forever? Can I be the rock that refuses to erode against a never ending storm. One minute passes. Two. Three, and I come up to breathe. There’s my answer, I guess. It had to be done. 

I close my eyes and lift my face to the glowing warmth above. “One last time. And that’s it. We can be done. One. last. time.” My knuckles shake. The second hand rattles. Inhale, two, three, four. Exhale, two, three, four. Go. 

    His face flashes by. My breath catches in my throat. I’m In my room, at the coffee shop, his grandpa’s barn, graduation. The aching inside grows sharp thorns, pushing further beneath my skin with each passing story. A thousand emotions pass in the space of a second. Elation, resentment, sadness, love. A tear exploded against my forearm while waterfalls flush out every last bit of him. My eyes locked into his as the setting melts and changes and blurs.

    “I’m sorry,” I choke into the vacuum between us.  

    And then it ends. The ground resolidifies, the thorns wilt and recede, the pocketwatch falls from my hand. Lodged into soft, freshly turned soil to forever lay and rust and decompose. Along with every last memory we ever shared. 

My fingers brush over the words again. This time my hand wasn’t shaking. It wasn’t hesitant. The watch was warm though, not unlike the distant glow of the sun above.

“I’m sure I must have loved you,” the breeze carries my voice so far I can  barely hear it myself. “I must have loved you so much and so deep that I couldn’t see myself loving again while still knowing your name,” 

I force myself off the ground, my knees complain about the harshness of the earth. I brush off the loose specs of dirt, wipe drying. tears off of my face, take a single breath, and walk away. I make sure not to notice the name on the headstone. It might have started with an h. Or maybe a t.