Page 7 of Forget Me Not
“Leave it to Gunther to cook steaks for a vegetarian.” Aimi sighed. “What excuse are you giving him this time?”
“I’m going to tell him I just started my period and can’t leave the house.”
“Can’t?!” Aimi howled, slapping her knee. “Shark week with a twist: when the blood runs, the great white gets kicked out of the water!”
Syve just smiled as she typed out her reply.
“You’re sure it’s under here?!” Aimi hollered from deep inside the closet. “There’s so much shit in here. What the hell!?”
Syve chuffed, still slowly digging through the box of fabric Aimi pulled out earlier. While she wasn’t sure if she still wanted to touch the fabric she’d originally purchased, let alone use it, shehopedto cut costs by working with things she already had on hand. That included the fabric from Bozeman. She set aside a few yards of a golden yellow plaid and at least a dozen yards in various shades of gray.
“I’m positive I threw it in there, but like…I literally threw it. So, it’s probably going to be all the way in the back,” Syve called back. She was grateful her friend was willing to dive through boxes for her. Some of them were eighteen years old, left mostly untouched since her parents died when she was ten—their belongings, boxed up and stored away for the day when she was old enough to decide what to do with them, only seeing daylight when they were moved from one closet to the next.
The rest of the boxes belonged to Erhard.
“Oh! Wait! Hold on—I found something—shit,” Aimi cursed, and judging by the sound of cardboard slamminginto the wall, she had tripped. “All the way in the back, like you said. I found this journal—fuck—on top of this…box?”
Aimi finally stepped back into view, her messy bun knocked loose and hanging limply off the side of her head. She was carrying an old wooden chest with a dusty, leather-bound book sitting on top. With an exaggerated groan, she heaved the box onto the table in front of Syve, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
“Jesus,” Syve coughed, reaching across the table to pick up the notebook and blowing dust from the cover. “Why did you bring outthisthing?”
“Cuz it’s locked, and I want to open it,” Aimi said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Locked? I don’t remember anything being locked…” Syve trailed off as she flipped open the journal, it was leather-bound and worn from years of use with the silhouette of a deer imprinted on the cover. She’d been using this book for years to scrawl her notes and rushed sketches every time inspiration struck—except, she had notbeen usingthisbook. Syve stared at the first page in confusion, she had not been using this journal because this was notherhandwriting and these were notherwords.
“Syve? What’s wrong? Is it all there?” Aimi circled the table, carefully stepping around the mess on the floor until she was standing beside her friend, her voice full of concern. “Babe?”
“It’s not mine? It’s the same journal, but it’s not?” Syve flipped through a few more pages until her eyes caught a word that was familiar. “DearestOisín?” Her voice caught, and her body began to tremble. She turned around, never taking her eyes off the book in her hands, and carefully slid onto the table. Aimi did not hesitate before clambering up beside her.
“Oisín? Was that a family name? I thought you had made it up.” The severe confusion was written plainly on Aimi’s face as she tried to figure outwhyNoah’s middle name was written in this twenty-year-old book.
“DearestOisín,“ Syve read aloud, her voice shaking. “I’ve been writing in these journals for as long as I can remember, never knowing who they were for—until now. The rest of my words will all be for you. I guess that is, if you ever want to read them. I’m probably putting the cart ahead of the horse again—your father and I only got the news this morning—”
Aimi gasped and Syve added, “I think…I think this was my mom’s? I don’t understand. I don’t remember ever hearing the nameOisínbefore. I found it by accident when I was Googling baby names and clicked on a wiki page by mistake—you know that part.Oisínwas the son of Syve in this old legend—I would remember if my mom had called me that, wouldn’t I?”
Aimi just sighed, shrugged and snuggled close into her side. “Maybe when you saw it yoursubconscious remembered it? Maybe she only called you that when you were really little?”
“You don’t suppose this chest was Mom’s too then, do you?” Syve gestured to the locked box next to her. Now suddenly just as interested in opening it as her friend.
“If I say yes, does that mean you’ll let me at it?” She did little to conceal the excitement in her voice.
“Actually, MacGyver, before you get too wild and break your way in—I have this necklace upstairs, it used to be my mom’s, it’s an old skeleton key and the metal matches.”
“The metal…matches?” Aimi deadpanned, giving Syve a you’ve-absolutely-gone-and-lost-your-mind-now look.
“Oh, shut up! I mean the color and style of the key match the box so I don’t think you need to smash your way in like the Kool-aid man.” Syve ran up to her room, digging quickly through her jewelry box for the necklace. When she returned, slipping the key into the lock with ease, Aimi groaned.
“Dammit! I really wanted to test my lock picking skills! This feels too easy!”
Ignoring her, Syve gently lifted the lid, wincing as it creaked loudly. Inside were easily two dozen tomes, all leather-bound with the same doe burnt into each cover. Sighing, she pulled out a book at random. A few seconds of flipping through the pages confirmed it was another diary, filled with her mother’s words.
“Why was that one left out? What do they say?” Aimi asked the room. “Are you going to read them?” This question was softly directed at Syve.
“I-I don’t know.” Syve inhaled deeply, placing the journals back inside and closing the lid, “But that’s tomorrow Syve’s problem. Today Syve still needs to find her own damn notebook.” She clapped her hands then turned to face Aimi.
“Back under the stairs I go,” Aimi groaned, hopping down from the table and trudging her way back to the closet.
Thirty minutes, ten more boxes, and three distractions later, Syve finally had her sketches in hand.
