By Raletha
When I did the shopping the next morning, I passed the stall of a green grocer who was selling punnets of fresh strawberries. Few Earth native crops grew well in the Colonies, but for some reason, strawberries did for a short season on L2. Not well enough that the berries weren't expensive though. I spent a third again more on groceries that day buying the strawberries and real cream—even more expensive—to go with them.
At noon precisely, there was a knock on the door. Trowa stood there, in casual clothes: a dingy turtleneck that I guessed had once been either black or green, faded jeans, and well worn boots. It flattered his slender build, and without the stage makeup, the colours of his skin, eyes, and hair all appeared more vibrant. Duo still hadn't returned from wherever he'd gone that morning. Another resistance meeting I supposed.
I invited Trowa in. He sat at the kitchen table while I made us coffee. The small-talk was forced—he didn't seem keen to engage in conversation about minutiae and the mundane. So after I joined him at the table, I turned the conversation to his amnesia, trying to find out how much he might remember. It turned out not to be much. I thought that was sad.
He shrugged off my sympathy. "Catherine says I'm better off not remembering."
"Why?"
"She says my life was a sad story. I was a soldier and an orphan."
"A lot of us are that. A lot of us have sad stories, Trowa."
He didn't say anything.
"I'm sorry Duo's not here today. He had to go to a meeting."
"Did you ask him about me?"
"Yeah. A little." To be honest, I hadn't asked him much more beyond, 'so who was that guy?'.
"What did he tell you?"
"You were fighting on the same side, for the Colonies. You were allies." I didn't think I should mention the Gundams to Trowa. It was too sensitive a topic to broach so soon. "That's pretty much it, unless you want me to speculate." I grinned.
He made a small grimace.
"I know, it's not much."
"It's all right."
He didn't look all right to me; more like he was slipping into some kind of introspective void. He was like a shadow of a person, sitting there with no past, and because of it, no real self or identity. What kind of compass could help orient someone lost like he was?
Solutions I probably couldn't offer him, but I could offer him friendship and new memories. I got up from the table and retrieved the strawberries and cream from the fridge.
"To make it up to you, I have fresh strawberries." I put the small glass bowl on the table full to the brim with washed, hulled, and halved berries. They glittered like gemstones. "Real, fresh strawberries. Not dried, not frozen, not stewed to death in a jam." I set the dish of whipped cream beside them. "And real cream too.
"Now," I continued, "I don't care what you do or don't remember. If you've been in space, you probably haven't had either of these for a long time—if ever."
He selected a strawberry half from the bowl and brought it near his face, staring at it hard. He sniffed it before he slowly placed it in his mouth and closed his eyes as he chewed.
It was a strange ritual, but it intrigued me. I watched him as I spooned some berries and cream into my own dish. I became fascinated watching his face—his closed lips as he chewed, his eyebrows raising in—I hoped—approval.
After he swallowed, his eyes opened. "Earth," he whispered.
"Earth?"
"The strawberry reminds me of Earth somehow—it's nebulous, but the association is strong."
"Eat some more, maybe it'll help?" I pushed the bowl closer toward him.
I received a halting narration as he ate.
"I think I remember a strawberry patch—the plants seem too large, so I must have been smaller."
I smiled in encouragement, but he wasn't paying attention to me.
"The sun is hot, and the ground dry. I can hear insects—cicadas mostly."
"You've been to Earth?"
"The strawberries were warm from the sun, they smelled... they smelled like nothing other than a sun ripened strawberry on a summer day. Nothing else smells like that."
"And they tasted?"
"Perfect," he said, and looked directly at me. I saw my wonder reflected in his eyes, and saw the shadows behind his gaze dwindling in the flickering light of his recollection.
"Anything else? Where were you? Were you with anyone?"
He shook his head, and I saw the shadows returning. "No, it was just a flash, a snapshot really. It might not even be real. Maybe only something I dreamt."
"No—I'm sure it's something." On an impulse, I reached across the table and put my hand over his. I wanted to help push back those shadows for him. "You remembered something real, Trowa, I'm sure of it."
tbc.
