"You remember, right?"
She didn't. She didn't remember anything. She recognized the voice that was speaking to her. She recognized the calm that fell over as the voice spoke. But names, faces, they were all too hard to place. She couldn't remember. She could remember small things. She could remember a secret place hidden in the middle of the woods. She could remember a bench and a ring. She could remember the crying of a baby and the cooing of a woman trying to soothe it. She could remember soft whispers and loud yells. She could remember tears, both the burning kind and the icy cold kind. She could remember shy glances and exploring touches. She remembered so much, but at the same time, she could remember so very little.
A hand slipped into hers and with the touch, her eyes flickered. She wanted to open them. She wanted to see who was speaking, who was touching her. But the light seemed to push down on her eyelids. She felt as if she were frozen in a world totally separate from everyone else because surely she wasn't completely alone in the world. There had to be someone else there, somewhere. She couldn't be completely alone.
Panic began to rise in her at the thought. Being completely alone is a terrifying concept that few ever actually go through. There's normally always at least someone that you can talk to when you're stuck or when you're scared. But, she felt as if she had been completely alone before. Is that what the voice wanted her to remember? Did the voice want her to remember how it felt to be alone? The fear and panic continued to move up from the pit of her stomach into her throat. It burned like stomach acid. She was alone. Now, wherever she was, she was alone. Sure there was the person who was standing near her and holding her hand, but she couldn't interact with her. Her lips seemed welded together and her eyes seemed sewn shut. She was completely paralyzed. There was no way to tell the stranger to hold her, that she was scared.
"Quinn?"
It was a female voice. High, shaky, and a little airy, it sounded feminine. It sounded sweet to her and she would have smiled if she could have tricked her lips into pulling up just slightly at the corners. She knew it was her name the voice had said, but for some reason, it didn't feel right. She couldn't wrap her mind around it, but it didn't feel right. It felt…like a shirt that didn't quite fit. She felt her face twitch slightly and heard the anonymous female exhale quietly.
"…Lucy?" The voice was hesitant this time and she couldn't help but wonder why.
Lucy, that's me. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she did. She knew that was her name and as her foot jerked, she smiled inwardly. She needed to answer in some way. That was her name, and when your name is called you're supposed to answer. The hand holding her own was warm and she felt it begin to move, as if it were trying to remove itself. No, no. Stay. Stay here. Melody, stay here.She didn't know where the name Melody had come from. Maybe it was because of the way the voice seemed to dance through her eyes, making her wish that she could smile and laugh. How could she get Melody to stay, though? How could she get Melody to stay and get her to understand that she heard her. She heard her Melody. She fought with herself for control of her hand. She had to keep her there. Melody's fingers were slipping out of her hand and desperation was creeping into her mind. She squeezed the escaping fingers softly at first, but upon realizing that she had at least a little control over her hand, she squeezed tighter, assuring Melody that she had heard her. And begging Melody to stay.
"Oh. So, you do remember? At least slightly? Qui—I mean, Lucy—that's great! Lucy. Who am I?"
Who was she? Lucy felt as if she knew but at the same time, as if she didn't. It was a bit of a scary feeling if she was being honest with herself. How can you know something and yet, at the same time, not? She's me. Her mind whispered to her and in that moment, she couldn't help but squeeze Melody's hand just a little tighter. She loved Melody. She didn't know how she knew what she felt towards the stranger, but she did. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she loved Melody. Her mouth still wouldn't open, so Melody's question wasn't answered. It wasn't ignored. But at the same time, it wasn't answered. The silence fell over them and held them down for a few moments before Lucy heard Melody sigh.
"Maybe if I tell you the story? Will that help you remember?"
Yes. God, yes. Just…please, keep talking.
There was a pause, as if Melody was trying to figure out where to start. Lucy tried not to grow impatient but the longer the silence stretched on, the more her voice seemed to fade. Was she going to continue talking? She had to. She had to, she had to. Lucy needed Melody's voice. She needed it and if she never heard that voice again, she knew she'd never be the same.
"You hated me. Or, you thought you did. The hate was more just sitting love. Love that you were being forced to swallow down and hide. Passion that needed so desperately to be released and the only way you could seem to do it, was to hate me. You were popular, head-cheerleader, and everything beautiful. And then, the end of senior year came around and I finally confronted you about it. That's when everything changed. That's when everything changed for the better, I'd like to believe."