Whenever I read stories about girls my age, I wonder what happened to my childhood. The doctors tell me that this memory loss problem is temporary and it will go away, but they don't know that I see them twirling their fingers around their heads when they think my back is turned.
He's out of our lives, but he's not gone. The doctors tell me that he is a figment of my imagination, but I know they are lying. All I have to do is close my eyes and he's there, smiling so widely that I can see all three of the teeth that he has left, telling me how pretty I am, touching my arm and putting neat little braids in my hair and stickers of flowers and butterflies on my nails.
I shudder just the way I would if ice jumped down my back. Then I shake my head to rattle the images and stop the flow of pain. I bang my head against the wall often when I do this, and the doctors put me in a straight-jacket because they say that this is not helping my amnesia.
But today the therapy sessions have ended and I am finally going home. I am riding the big yellow bus instead of the small one and there are regular people everywhere. I hope I don't get lost and I hope those dark clouds will stop following me. But I will keep going because I am the eternal cock-eyed optimist who always sees a rainbow after every sorrowful storm. The past can no longer hurt me! I won't let it!
"Why is this happening to me? Why am I so cursed?" I cry aloud, unable to help myself. People roll their eyes around me.
But it doesn't matter because I, Cherry Tatterganger, am going home!