Page 106 of Beyond The Maples
"Is this about the assignment again? I already told you I know you didn't mean to hit me that hard. I made a choice. I got us into a messy situation, and you got us out." I grab his arm, forcing him to look at me, but he still says nothing.
"Berkley, seriously, what is going on? You've been off since before our assignment. I'm worried about you. Tell me what's going on... Please?"
He shakes his head and closes his book a little more forcefully than necessary.
"Did you have memories come back with those herbs, Maple?" he asks, his voice taking on emotion I've never heard from him.
"Yes, you know I did. We all did," I say gently. I search his face, for something, but I barely recognize my friend right now.
"Well, maybe some of those memories were better off buried. I... I can't..." He's still shaking his head as he slumps forward.
I can feel the anger and pain radiating off him like thick clouds of smoke. Another person might leave him in peace to work through this privately, but he deserves to know that someone cares enough to help him figure it out.
"Tell me." It's a demand, not a request.
He shakes his head again.
"Get it out, Berkley. You can't keep going like this." My voice doesn't waver—gentle, but firm.
He looks up at me, and anguish twists his features.
"They're gone, Maple… and it's my fault. They are all gone. And what's worse,I forgot. I fuckingforgotthat my own children and wife had died. Whatever they gave me was a blessing. I knew it as soon as my memories startedto clear. Whatever you're messing with, count me out... I just need to forget, again."His voice cracks.
I feel his guilt like a punch to my heart, the wind knocked out of me more completely than when I fell from the tower. I caused him this agony. Are we all better off forgetting the hardship and pain we've endured? I'm quiet as I listen to Berkley's ragged breaths. I scoot closer to him, entwining our arms as I lean my head on his shoulder.
"What were their names?"
Tears slowly falling down his weathered face now, dripping onto the table.
"Dawson and Mavis," he says, wiping his nose as he lets out a bitter laugh. "Mavis was a lot like you. She was clever and fierce, and she could wrap just about anyone around her finger. Dawson... he was more like his mother. Gentle... kind."
He palms his eyes like it's impossible to say more, and I wrap myself around him, willing some of his pain to ebb off onto me. I'd take it, if I could. I can't imagine. If I lost either of my siblings, I think I would die.
"You're not weak because you forgot. I think our brains have funny ways of protecting us. Whatever they've been slipping into our food aids that process." Between the trauma, and the drugs they dose us with, it's not a surprise some of our brains race to forget.
He shakes his head again, staring off into the distance, utterly haunted.
"I must be a coward, because I'd do anything to forget. Even before they were gone, I was awful. I don't deserve to keep breathing while they're not. There's nothing to make right becausethey are gone." He heaves, and it's the kind of empty cry that cracks your heart in half. It's the kind of grief that slithers and seeps into your bones from just being near it.
"I'msosorry, Berk," I whisper.
"But..." I hesitate, my hands tense and ball into fists as I search for the right words. "But, I'm not sorry you're still here. You can still honour them in this life. Make this world better, so that when you meet them in the beyond, you have something you're proud to tell them about," I whisper, hoping heunderstands.
He shakes his head, but there's less resistance in his eyes. He finally leans into my embrace. We stay quiet for a little while, until he flips open the book he was reading.
"Now go plan whatever nefarious thing you're scheming and tell me later what I need to know. The maiden is about to get hot and heavy with her ghost boyfriend."
I snort, giving him another hug, and hoping he can feel the love I try to pour into it, before reluctantly leaving him alone with his grief.
Iam humming with nervous, excited energy. I'm sitting on our old, moth-eaten couch in Strayton, waiting for one or both of my siblings to get home. I was a little disappointed when I arrived to an empty house, but now I'm kind of excited to surprise them.
Getting here was strange. The type of nostalgia I felt coming into town wasn't the type you'd expect. It was like seeing everything through a different lens. As soon as I passed the familiar, deteriorated streets, I wanted to get out. I had never felt this intense need to run before, even when our lives were at their hardest, when we were hungry and alone after dad left. I had never fathomed there was any placetogo. Nothing has changed besides me, and I don't really know how to feel about that.
I hear the familiar click of the lock and stand up, giddy.
Linden plops his bags by the door and turns. He freezes, and his eyes widen as they connect with mine.
"What are you doing home!?" he manages to get out.
