Page 25 of Lotus

Gabe claps his hands together. “Awesome. Let me change really quick, then we can head out.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting across from each other in a red booth with plastic menus on the table in front of us. It smells like bacon and eggs. Bradford would occasionally bring me hot plates of fresh food, and bacon and eggs was one of my favorites. It was always a treat when I could enjoy something other than the spaghetti-in-a-can or cold soups.

I feel Gabe’s eyes on me as I peruse the menu. There are so many choices. My gaze flickers up to my brother, who is staring at me with his hands folded. “Did you wish to say something?” I wonder.

“No, I just… I didn’t think you could read.”

I draw my lips together and glance back down. “I can read. I can write. I can sketch.”

“Can you sing?”

“Not well.”

It wasn’t meant to be humorous, but Gabe laughs, leaning back in his booth with an amused grin. “You’re really something else, Oliver. I can’t even imagine what happened to you…”

I try not to put myself back in that cellar. As the days push forward, I’m finding less and less solace in the memories of my previous accommodations. “It was quite lonely,” is all I offer him.

Gabe doesn’t press me for more information, and I’m grateful for that. Instead, he picks at the peeling plastic of his menu, his attention shared between me and his food selections. He breaks the silence a few moments later. “We looked for you, you know. We were all so sure you’d turn up eventually. Your mom, especially, she…” He trails off, ripples of emotion following. “She was a mess for years. But she never gave up hope you’d be found one day. It kills me she’s not around to see you now.”

A thick heaviness envelops our table, swirling between us, making my chest feel tight. I was told early on that my mother’s name was Charlene Lynch and that she passed away a decade ago from lung cancer. My biological father died when I was merely seven-months old, and my stepfather, Travis, lives just over the border in Wisconsin.

I feel like I should miss my mother, but it’s hard to conjure up genuine remorse for someone I can hardly recall. I’ll occasionally get cloudy visions of a copper-haired woman with light brown eyes reading me a story or chasing butterflies by my side. She is always smiling. Always jubilant. The visions fill me with warmth, but I can never seem to fully grasp them. “I don’t remember her much,” I admit, my voice cracking on the last word. My hands squeeze the cloth napkin in my lap. “Everything is all mixed up. My memories feel tainted. Poisoned, in a way.”

“You were brainwashed for twenty-two years, man. It’s understandable.”

I nod through the swell of anxiety washing over me. Tapping my feet in opposite time beneath the table, perspiration dampens my brow as I look around the crowded restaurant. I observe the large groups of people moving around, speaking loud and shrill, competing against the kitchen noise of clinking plates and falling glass. It’s dizzying.

A little girl with sun-kissed pigtails catches my eye. She’s running around her family’s table in clumsy circles, holding a teddy bear in her arms. A quick flash punctures my mind, something vivid and almost painful.

“I have a secret, but I’m scared to tell you.”

“You can tell it to my teddy bear. She’s very good at keeping secrets.”

I clutch my head in my hands, causing Gabe to lean forward and reach for my arm.

“Dude, you okay? What’s wrong?”

The contact jolts me upright, and I pull my arm free, trying to shake away the shockwaves of some sort of buried memory bursting to life. I attempt to cling to the images, but they fade back into my subconscious, disintegrating with so many other lost recollections. Forcing myself to stay calm, I grit my teeth and dig my fingers into my thighs. “I just became overwhelmed by the environment. I’m not accustomed to so many people.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. This was too soon.” Gabe looks apologetic; forlorn. “Want to go home?”

It takes a moment for me to realize he’s referring to the house on Briarwood Lane and not my hole beneath the ground.

Home. That is my home now.

A quick shake of my head dismisses his offer. “I would like to eat some eggs and bacon.”

We pull into the driveway and discover Sydney sitting on Gabe’s front porch.

Myfront porch.

A flurry of scattered feelings filters through me, and my heart seems to beat a little faster, my skin growing warm and itchy. Sydney’s knees are pulled up to her chin, her arms hugging her legs, and she moves forward and back, like she’s swaying to a silent melody.

When we exit the vehicle, she rises to her feet, swiping her hands along her pant legs. She sends us a smile that doesn’t seem to light up her face in the way it usually does.

“Sydney… hell, I’ve been fuckin’ worried about you.”

Gabe races to her with an urgency I feel but can’t seem to translate physically. I trail behind him, scratching the nape of my neck with my eyes averted.

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