Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(80)

"You don't remember that drawing, do you?" she asked, studying me. My eyes twitched, puzzled by her question. "Your father drew that, back before you were born. You used to stare at that picture all the time when you were little."

"I did?"

"Derek drew pictures for you too. You'd sit at the kitchen table and he'd ask what your favorite part of the day was, and then he'd draw it for you. You had his drawings plastered all over your room. Don't you remember?"

I scanned the floor, searching my memory, wanting to recall the moments she spoke of. I could hear laughter, and catch a glimpse of his face, but the memories refused to form. I shook my head, knitting my brows together in frustration.

"Do you remember anything?" my mother inquired, her tone was careful. She examined my confused face like she was just as confounded. "You mean you don't... remember... What I went through when... Why you had to go..."



       
         
       
        

I was unable to follow her cryptic sentences. She shook her head slowly and stared into the distance, or perhaps the past. She closed her eyes and swallowed, then composed herself easily, not a trace of distress left upon her face.

"Want to go out to dinner before the game? It's at seven, right?"

I couldn't answer for a moment. Completely confused by what I'd just witnessed. "Yes it is. And sure, why not." I tried to smile but faltered, still disturbed by the sheen in her eyes that she was trying to smile away. I decided not to ask what I should be remembering. Not today.

"I should get some homework done since Evan and I are going hiking tomorrow. Let me know when you're ready to leave."

"Okay," she replied, going back to her closet.

I closed my door and sat on my bed, replaying the stunned look on her face when she realized I couldn't remember anything. I'd never been aware of how little I could recall from my childhood. I was always so determined to focus on my future and getting out of Weslyn. I'd held on to the feelings of being safe and happy for so long. That had always been enough for me. But now, I wanted to remember. Somehow it was important that I figure out what happened in the blank spaces of my life.

I opened my closet and reached for the stack of pictures under my sweatshirts on the shelf. I laid them on my bed and returned to my door to slide the lock in place, concerned how my mother would react if she saw I'd kept the pictures she'd smashed at the bottom of the stairs.

I sat on my bed and slowly flipped through the images. There was a photo of my father holding me right after I was born; another of me on his lap while sitting on the rocking chair, holding a book. I ran my finger along his cheering face, as we kicked a soccer ball back and forth. He looked so happy. We looked so happy. My mother wasn't in a single picture. I could only assume she was the one taking them.

There were others of the two of them, laughing and obviously in love. I expected to see a wedding picture, but there wasn't one. I figured she'd kept those safe somewhere, or I hoped anyway.

After examining every detail of each photo, I lay back on my bed and shut my eyes. I tried to conjure up an image, begging for the vault to open. But nothing came―not a single moment. I sighed in frustration and slid the photos back under the sweatshirts.

I went downstairs and turned on the television, but my focus kept drifting toward the rocking chair. I did remember the chair―that was something. I thought of the picture of my father reading to me in it, and tried to picture the actual moment. Nothing.

"Ready?"

I jumped, suddenly pulled out of my head. My mother slid her arms in her coat, studying me oddly.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, trying to read my face. 

"Nothing." I shook my head. Maybe it was better not to remember.

I noted my mother's choice of a tight denim mini skirt with leggings. She did take my advice to wear jeans, but not quite in the way I'd hoped. Considering her daring attire, I hoped I could convince her to sit in the parents' section, although that wasn't exactly a gossip-free zone either.

For dinner, we ended up at a small crowded pub, where college basketball games on the screens incited spontaneous hollers from the patrons.

"I don't know if Jonathan's coming tonight," she told me after ordering a beer from the overly-friendly server. Her face was drawn as she stared at the menu. "I was so awful last night."

"He told me about going to USC in the fall," I consoled. "I'm sure that was hard for you. I know how much you like him."

"I thought I fell for him," she admitted, setting down her menu with a sigh. "I don't know. I'm so confused. A part of me wants to end it and move on since it's going to end anyway. But the other part knows how much I'll miss him, and if I can still be with him for five more months, then why not?" She looked to me in expectation. "What do you think I should do?"