This chapter sort of absorbs and expands upon the idea in an earlier story of mine, "kate's list." I thought it was appropriate for the situation at hand.

chapter 1: all that we've left behind

            Kate and John sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other.  A fresh notebook lay between them, open to the first page. They both held pens.

            "Thanks for humoring me on this," Kate said, tapping her pen against her foot.  "I just thought . . ."

            "It's a good idea," John reassured her.

            "And it's something to do," Kate added, and they both smiled.  Their strained attempts at entertainment had been something of a sad running joke for the past couple of weeks.

            "You want to start?" John asked, picking up the notebook.

            "Okay." Kate took a deep breath.  "When I was a little girl I was addicted to Sweettarts. I would separate them by flavor, and then eat one flavor at a time. My favorite flavor was cherry, so I would save those for last. . . . I was an extremely hyper child."

            John smiled at the thought of Kate as a happy little girl and wrote down "Sweet Tarts," not really having any idea what they were.

            "And . . . oh, remember My Little Ponies?" she excitedly asked John, who of course didn't. "I had so many of those. I had my horse phase, like all girls, and not only were they horses - - come on, they were pastel colored and stuff! They were great!"

            John wrote "My Little Ponies," starting to feel a little left out.

            "My friends and I would take all of our ponies to one friend's house and just play for hours," Kate said rather wistfully, imagining herself back in her best friend's basement.  She suddenly remembered that all of those girls were now dead, and the dangers of making this list became jarringly apparent.

            The idea of compiling a list of things past had occurred to Kate one day when she couldn't stop thinking about the world they had lost.  She had thought it would be a therapeutic way to remember certain things, as well as a nice way to keep from forgetting other things.  And it might be nice to share the list with their children one day . . . . But she was already getting emotional.  Still, she did think it was a good idea, and she wanted to see it through.

            "Your turn," Kate said hastily, taking the notebook from him.

            "Um . . ." John stalled, thinking as hard as he could.  He hadn't had candy or toys as a child, or friends.  He hadn't had anything but guns and his mother.  The guys that occasionally flitted in and out of their lives didn't count, and though he had been friendly with the Salcedas he didn't really miss them.  He didn't feel himself missing anything or anyone that he hadn't already lost long ago.

            His thinking turned desperate when he saw Kate's chin begin to tremble.  All of this had come so natural to him, and he didn't think he was doing a very good job helping Kate adjust.  "Video games!" he suddenly blurted out. "When Mom was in Pescadero, I loved spending weekends at the arcade in the mall."

            He was proud of himself for having thought of something, but even as Kate wrote "videogames" she was clearly distraught.

            "Maybe this is a bad idea, John," she said softly. "Maybe it's shallow to miss things, objects, especially when so many people have . . . "

            "No, Kate, no," he interjected, grabbing her hand. "Things help define our lives, along with the people in them. You're not just missing 'things,' you're remembering the world, and the memories of the people you were with when you used them . . . . Like your friends and those - - horses." Kate looked up at him, her eyes watery. "And I want to hear about your life. This seems like a nice way to do it."

"But you, John, you didn't have those things . . . . You've led such an important life, and here I am reminiscing about plastic horses." She squeezed his hand. "I just don't know if I can prove my worth in this, if my life can ever be as important as yours."

            Looking into her eyes, so full of worry and self-consciousness, he had a sudden flashback.  "A green t-shirt," he said.

            Kate's brow furrowed. "What?"
            He frowned, straining to bring the past into focus.  "A light green t-shirt with a . . . horse on it?"

            Realizing what he was describing, she smiled.  "I did have this green shirt with a dark green sparkly unicorn on it. It was my favorite shirt all through junior high."

            "You were wearing it that night . . . . I remember."

She put a hand to her mouth in wonder. "You do?"

            "Yeah. You had worn it to school that day, and it set off your hair so beautifully. . . . I think that was, honestly, the first time in my life I had ever thought of anyone, or anything, as being beautiful."

            Kate could hardly speak.  Her memories of that night were sketchy at best, but images were coming to her mind too.  "You had on that damned Public Enemy shirt. Part of me was like, 'We get the bad boy thing already,' and the rest of me was like, 'Ooo.'"

            They laughed, still holding hands.

            "I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember not taking my eyes off of yours. And if I'm not mistaken . . . you kissed me?"

            Kate blushed, looking down at the notebook.  "So um, should I add . . .?"

            "Definitely."

            Kate wrote "green sparkly unicorn shirts," smiling to herself like a thirteen-year-old girl.