Don't forget

Problem

It’s been a week since the day I last talked with Eric.

He gladly accepted the extra lunch I prepared for him. However, I feel like he’s been avoiding me, and I don’t even know why it seems to have so much importance to me other than the fact that his constant clicking is now harder to hear during the classes.

Ashby has changed seats with one of his friends and he is now too far away to help me stay focused.

And I swear the timing couldn’t be worse. Mr. Campbell, our math’s teacher, has chosen this sunny day to make an exam. A frustrated sigh escapes my lips.

Although I’ve read the first problem a thousand times, I still struggle to find a way to the correct answer without finding any kind of memory in the process.

Unfortunately, panic starts building up as the guy behind me hands in his exam along with three more classmates. I envy the few minutes of freedom they’ll have before the next class begins and suddenly remember that that’s the same group of students that finish the exams before the rest of us. Except that now they’re apparently missing a member.

I scan the room until my eyes land on Eric, who now’s sitting by the large windows to the left. The reason why he hasn’t finished is that his attention is completely focused on the outside world.

The teacher clears his throat, making me look back at my desk. Since I hate detention, I act as if I’m trying to remember something related to the exam; which is the completely opposite of what’s really happening.

Math has always been one of my least favorite subjects. I’ve barely passed it every year and that’s only because my previous teachers allowed me to listen to music while doing the exam. This time, however, the one at charge of my learning process is both strict and completely incapable of teaching properly.

I’ve just finished writing a possible answer for the problem number three when I realize everyone else has left already.

“It’s time.” Mr. Campbell says with irritation clear in the tone he uses.

“Please! Just one more second!” I plead, ignoring the fact that I’d probably need more than one second to finish the next exercise.

“Noah, I’m sorry, but I have to take your paper.” He states firmly, walking towards my seat while rubbing his face softly with his hands. “You may finish it the next time.”

I sigh heavily, giving up on trying and giving him the few sheets of paper with my name on them. Even though I don’t really care about having good grades, I can’t help but feel frustrated.

While I put all my stuff inside the backpack and take out my phone to play some music, I feel someone staring at me. I look up, locking eyes with the only classmate I’ve had an actual conversation with since I arrived at this school. Instead of motioning me to follow him, as I expected, Eric avoids eye contact almost immediately and walks out the door right behind the teacher.

I shake off the awkward feeling his indifference caused before putting a strap of my backpack over my shoulder and making my way to the hallway. I move my head to the rhythm of the music that blasts through the only earphone that works while I stop in front of my locker. A small piece of paper falls in the moment I open it.

After looking around to see if I can find the person who’s thrown it inside through the small gap at the top, I end up picking it from the floor. As I read the note, my head leans to the right with curiosity.

« I could help you with math. Meet me at the library after gym next Monday. »

The handwriting is one I’ve never seen before and there’s no information about the sender. Thus, I decide to crumble the paper and save it in one of my pockets just to get rid of it later. There’s no way I’m secretly meeting a stranger just for a couple extra decimals.

I go back home quickly and quietly. Not much happens until I enter the house and find my mom by the dining table. She smiles at me, watching me close the door behind me while she puts her laptop aside and gets up.

“How was your day?” I avoid her glance as she asks that question, walking directly to the kitchen.

“Good!” I lie with a slight smile, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

It’s sad that what I hate the most about remembering everything I’ve lived is that I can’t look at my mom in the eyes anymore. At least not without breaking. The worst part is that she probably thinks I don’t really care about her. I can barely deal with the fact that I’m constantly ignoring her presence, but it’s better than looking inside her dark eyes just to find the suffering she experienced through me.

I skip to the next song when the memories start playing like an old movie. My mom soon sits beside me while I eat, not daring to make more questions about school. She simply looks at me and waits patiently until I’ve finished the meal.

After having washed the few dishes I used, I go upstairs without saying a word. Once I’m in my bedroom, I close the door and lie face first on the bed, feeling the noise of the past overcoming the volume of the music my phone is playing.

I nuzzle my head in the mattress, attempting to ignore the fact that my mom is home at this hour because she’s lost yet another job. I try to focus my mind on the darkness of my vision in order to avoid memories, but I’ll need something else to think about.

Now my head’s a mess. It’s as if I’m turning pages of a photo album just to find at least one that can help me feel better. But I only find violence, regret and hateful moments until a colorful image finally pops in my head.

I let that memory display behind my eyelids along with the warm feeling it offers, leaving for later the task of finding an answer to the questions that I ask myself: “Why did I choose to remember Eric Ashby?” and “Why do I find his presence so peaceful?”