Please Remember Me Once More

S Perspective

You said you remembered me by the way my voice trembled from when I spoke too quickly, and how little bits of Spanish would slip out from my lips when I was angered. You remembered me by the way I constantly checked my nails for chips and stray cuticles when I was impatient, in an attempt to keep my mind off of things. You remembered me by the way I refused to wear matching socks on a daily basis, despite the regulation requiring dark, solid colored socks at the firm.

I always wondered what it was like for you, to not be able to understand faces. I've looked into your hazy blue eyes and seen them brimming with confusion, like you couldn't comprehend who you were looking at, until I spoke.

"It's me, Britt. Don't worry," I whispered in your ear, patting the small of your back gently. I watched as your face flushed with relief instantly, realizing it was me, and your stiff shoulders relax and drop slightly. You looked at me guiltily; smiled slightly, almost as if to say, "I'm sorry I've forgotten your face again."

But you never mentioned how difficult it was, you just looked away and asked about my day, like you were used the pang of terror every time you looked at me and saw the face of a stranger.

Despite all that, we made it work, in our own little way. Little by little, there wasn't as much fear when you saw me and didn't recognize me. Although we conquered that problem, we still fell apart. We agreed it was mutual, that somehow we just fell out of love. We never spoke of our future and what it meant for us. We didn't have to. When you walked out the door of the café that day, I knew exactly what it meant, I would only exist in your memories and you would live the rest of your life without me.

I didn't see you for a few months after that; I tried to avoid the places we often went to together. One day, during my lunch break, I found myself walking towards the park where we first met. I saw you again, sitting with your long legs gracefully hanging over the side of the marble fountain, tossing bits of bread into the shallow murky waters. The ducks swarmed you, quacking incessantly, snapping at the slice in your hand. You threw the last few slices in before starting on the path towards me.

I headed in your direction, bumping your shoulder slightly as we passed. You quickly turned around and apologized, "God I should have looked at where I was going. I'm so sorry. Sorry." I looked in your eyes, for any sign of recognition, and saw that same look of guilt you used to have. I didn't say a word. Instead, I smiled, nodded, and went back on my way.

Part of me wished for a different reaction, but I wasn't surprised. I wondered if I should have said something, anything, so you'd realize it was me, but I knew it was better this way. Better if you never recognize me again, and eventually, you'll wonder if I were ever real, or if I was just a figment of your overactive imagination to combat your illness. I told myself it was better this way; you'd be able to forget.