I Remember You by Cathleen Davitt Bell

Author:Cathleen Davitt Bell [Bell, Cathleen Davitt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-385-75457-6
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2015-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

“So what was it like, that time?”

We were still lying in my bed, but now we were eating pancakes from a shared plate. We’d made them together while our feet froze on the linoleum kitchen floor, and then we’d raced back upstairs.

Lucas speared a hugely syrup-saturated bite with his fork, held it in front of his eyes like he was inspecting it, and said, “What do you think? Could I get more syrup on here?” I giggled and sank deeper into the pillows. And then, as if the entire course of our relationship had not been dominated by unanswered questions, he began to talk.

He talked as we finished the pancakes. He talked as we set the plate down on the floor. He talked as the light changed in the windows, as we ran downstairs for cups of tea, apples and peanut butter, tuna sandwiches, Oreos, toast. I asked questions and Lucas answered them. He talked and he talked and he talked some more.

What remains with me from our conversation is images and short bursts of story. Lucas could only remember the parts that had stuck with him for some reason, those memories that are like souvenirs you pull out to look at time and again.

As he shared one memory after another, I began to realize something. Maybe it should have been obvious, but I hadn’t thought of it before.

I realized that what he remembered was not guaranteed to happen the same way again.

Most things, Lucas said, were the same. The way he felt when he was around me: a lifting in his chest, a happy shortness of breath. But other parts of that “time before” had been different. And it wasn’t just that our first kiss had taken place months earlier. Or that this time we had his terrifying secret between us. Lucas himself was different. He was more careful, more appreciative of what we had.

And I was different too. Or at least, Lucas said I was. The concept was beyond my comprehension—I mean, Lucas’s extra memories were changing him. Fine. But how could I be different when I couldn’t remember anything but the time we were living in now? “Please,” I found myself saying over and over. “I think all of this would be a little easier to understand if you stuck to specifics.”

“Okay,” Lucas said. “I’ll try.” He said he remembered my bedroom, my house. He remembered sharing an apple bite for bite with me on a sunny afternoon in his car. He remembered a fight we had over his not coming to watch a debate tournament. He remembered the way I smelled. (“That’s a good thing,” he clarified after I gave him a look.) He remembered the way my hair felt in his hands, how protective Rosemary had been.

“She’s not protective now,” I said.

“Last time, she didn’t like the way I treated you. This time, she’s afraid you’re in too deep. She’s afraid she’s losing you. She’s afraid you’re going to get hurt.”

Lucas remembered that I got him to study a lot more.

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