Page 111 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me
“You did this the first time too, didn’t you? You ran and I chased. It was winter…” I rubbed my temples, eyes narrowed, and tried to focus on the flash of memory before it disappeared.
Tupac blasting from a boombox. Foot-high snow banked against the curbs. “You were wearing a fur coat, and I tucked your hair into your hat and kissed you…I asked you to choose me, but you didn’t. I stood on the street corner, and watched you walking away, and it hurt like hell because all I wanted was you…”
Cleo’s breath hitched as she slowly turned. “You remember that?” Her gaze flitted over my face. “Did your memories come back?” She sounded so hopeful that I hated to disappoint her.
I had no idea where that came from. Chances were I’d never get my memories back, and for the most part, I’d stopped chasing them.
I shook my head. “No.” Although that wasn’t entirely accurate. “Sometimes when I’m playing guitar, I’ll play certain chords and I’ll get a flash of memory. Or when I hear certain songs…They’re just fragments, not as fully formed as this one, and so fleeting it’s hard to grasp.”
“Like what? What do you remember?” she prodded.
I wish I could tell her that every memory was of her. But this was the first time it had happened. All the others were old memories from my childhood.
“I remember singing along to the car radio, but I have no idea who’s in the driver’s seat. My mother, I assume.” I rubbed my hand over my jaw. “I remember standing in the front yard while my father screamed in my face. ‘You were too busy daydreaming to mow the lawn in straight lines. Do it again. And this time, do it the right way.’” I snorted.
In another memory, I was practicing guitar in the garage, playing Led Zep’s “When the Levee Breaks.” My father stormed in and told me to cut out the racket. “You sing like a girl.It’s a fucking embarrassment. You’re never gonna amount to anything.”
What stupid-ass things to remember.
Why did I only remember the bad things and none of the good?
Cleo looked at me for a minute. “Your father was an asshole.”
We started walking, our pace leisurely. Soft lights glowed from brownstones and the night was sultry, filled with promise.
Our story could begin again. Tonight.
We headed east and then south on Eighth Avenue without speaking. It was enough to be next to her. Inhaling her scent. One I didn’t recognize.
“You changed your perfume. You smell like orange blossoms now.”
“It was time for a change,” she said, and I got the feeling she wasn’t talking about her perfume.
We stopped in front of a Cuban-Chinese restaurant. I lit two cigarettes and offered her one. She hesitated a moment before accepting it. Her hand trembled as she guided the cigarette to her lips.
“I’m ready to move on,” she said. “Ihavemoved on.”
“Have you met someone?”
“I’ve met a lot of someones.” She took another drag of her cigarette before tossing it on the sidewalk and stomping on it like she was putting out a major fire. “You’ve been gone a long time, Gabriel.”
Three years. Not a lifetime.I’ve met a lot of someones. My jaw tightened. “Fuck it. Let’s have dinner.”
Cigarette clamped between my lips, I held the door for her. She yanked the cigarette out of my mouth and crushed it under the sole of her shoe before brushing past me. “You’ll ruin your voice.”
I followed her inside. “What does that matter?” I slid into the seat across from her in the booth, with our knees bumping. “You’re breaking my fucking heart.”
She snatched up a laminated menu. “Only one heart was broken, and it sure as hell wasn’t yours.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Cleo
It was sosurreal to be sitting across from Gabriel again.
I always thought that if I ever saw him again, I’d be mentally and emotionally prepared for it. But the very last place I wanted to see him was at the opening night of my solo exhibition.Allof those pieces were about us. Twin flames that had burned out.
He looked like his old self again, maybe even better.
