Page 36 of Mangled Memory
I nod.“I will.”
I watch the sun peek over the horizon in the side mirror as we hit the foothills. The light is perfect when we reach the pass.
“Do you want to hike to any particular point?” Christian asks as we wind through the dancing gold aspen leaves.
“Let’s just drive a while. I kind of wish we’d brought the convertible so we could see the sky.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his thumb strokes my knuckles as I watch the forest through my window. After a couple of minutes, I speak up. “Pull over when you can? There’s a creek back there that’s worth finding again.”
It takes another three miles to find a place to turn around. But we make it back to the spot and park just off the road.
Christian rounds the hood and opens my door, grabbing my bag from the backseat before placing a hand low on my back and following me into the brush. The shadows are on the cold side of crisp, since the sun hasn’t made it under their cover.
I trail my fingers over the bark of trees as we pass thinkingabout the ecosystem of these stunners. Their roots are one as if a family or one giant tree. No one tree exists on its own.
The squish of leaves under my boots is echoed under Christian’s as well.
A twig pops under me.Snap!
My memory swirls, like ink dropped in water, and my mind is sucked into a past I do not know.
“I forbid it.”
“Youforbidit?’ That’s laughable”
“I’m not laughing, Ayla. And this isn’t a joke. There will be consequences if you go through with this.” And with that, he slams the door to his office on me, the sneer on his face as cold as ice.
Do I even know this man?
My head whips over my shoulder, trying to rectify the man I’m with and the man I remember.
The man Iremember.
“What is it?” His eyebrows rise as he meets me where I stand.
“Nothing. Just trying to see everything with fresh eyes.” The latter isn’t a lie. The first definitely is.
We walk on in silence, neither of us filling the fall morning with chatter. My memories retreat into shadow and, for now, it’s a relief.
I eventually halt but walk a wide arc around a brook that babbles as it breaks over the rocks in its path.
“Here works.”
He slides my pack off his shoulder and hands it over, extending a hand for my coffee mug. It’s a natural gesture, as if we’ve worked in tandem for years.
I set up my tripod and the only camera I brought and take several stills.
The gold of the aspen’s leaves reflects the morning sun, creating a halo that infuses the treetops. Shadows below are given no relief. The water has that ethereal silver haze, as the movement remains while the rest is frozen in time. It’s like the color was leached as it moved toward the ground.
Dark versus light.
Shadow versus sun.
Memory versus…what?
I’m lost in thought until a coffee mug crosses into my line of vision.
“Thank you.” It’s weak, but it’s something.
