Page 60 of Frost
“Don’t forget me, little light.”
The words enter my mind, like bits and pieces of my dream are coming back to me. But I can’t remember who said the words and why. Was it even a dream? Perhaps I heard it from a movie instead. I can’t remember.
Fuck. There’s a ton I’m struggling to remember today. Areas of my life are fuzzy. Moments gone. I don’t know where I got the necklace I haven’t been able to convince myself to take off. I don’t know why the house is filled with junk food and why I cried when trying to throw it all out. And why I’m holding on to this dumb plush like it’s someone special to me.
I place the plush back on my desk and wipe at my eyes. The lump in my throat stays put, as if I’ll break down again any second.
“Pull yourself together, Luka.” I hang my head forward and lock my fingers behind my neck, taking deep breaths. “You’re just having an off day.”
However, my off day turns into an offweek.
I find myself crying at the most random things, like when I’m flipping through the TV channels and come acrossThe Wizard of Ozor when I walk outside and see snow on the ground.
As days pass, that weirdness begins to fade a little. I eventually throw out the unhealthy food and drink the peppermint mocha creamer. My emotional outbursts lessen, and I even start to laugh at myself when I remember how oversensitive I was a week ago.
But the ache in my chest is deep.
“That’s a pretty necklace,” Mom says when I visit her the following Saturday. She touches the stone and smiles. “Where’d you get it?”
“Oh.” On impulse, I gently grab it. Holding it close to my heart seems to help me feel better when I’m upset. “I don’t remember. I thought maybe you bought it for me.”
“Nope. A crystal like that is something I’d never forget.” She tucks her dark hair behind her ears before leaning over and skimming the recipe in the cookbook. “How does apple cobbler sound for dessert tonight?”
“Sounds good.” I look out the window above the kitchen sink. The day is overcast and cold, and snow clings to the trees in the backyard. Temperatures usually start to warm up around mid-March, but until then, winter holds strong.
“You okay?” Mom asks, drawing my attention again. A deep wrinkle forms between her brows.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Your eyes seem kind of sad today is all. Like you’ve lost a dear friend.”
“No.” I move my gaze back to the window. “I haven’t lost anyone.”
Mom cooks beef stroganoff for dinner. Dad’s favorite. Then we eat the apple cobbler she baked, along with a scoop of ice cream on top. I leave my parents’ house around eight and head home. Too restless, I decide to write. It’s the final book in my series, and I want to make sure I do the characters justice. Nothing ruins a well-loved series more than sloppy writing and a messy plot for the final book.
As I type, I hear the wind pick up, and the branches of the tall oak tree outside the window creak.
Tap.
I turn in my chair and look at the window before standing up and going over to it. A shape darts out of sight, and for a brief second, I could’ve sworn I saw what looked like wings. Knowing my eyes are just playing tricks on me, I sit at my desk and get back to work.
Days pass, and with each one, things return to normal. The strange ache in my chest goes away, and before too long, I can’t remember what it was like to have it there in the first place.
***
“When does your book release?” Dad asks, slowing from a jog to a fast walk.
“December tenth.” I walk beside him on the sidewalk. He called that morning and asked if I wanted to go on a jog in the nearby park. The spring day has a slight chill, but the sun is warm. “My publisher just told me yesterday.”
“I’m proud of you, kid.” He puts his hands on his hips and works on catching his breath. Sweat glistens on his forehead and dampens his dark hair. “I remember when you wanted to be an actor. Your mom still has the video she took of your Peter Pan play.”
“Oh god,” I groan. “Let’s pretend that video doesn’t exist.”
“Nah, you were a cute kid. Always making up stories and acting them out. It’s no wonder you grew up to be a novelist.” Dad stops to sit on a bench, and I plop down beside him. The tree in front of us has started regrowing its leaves after the harsh winter. Buds cover the branches, and some of them have opened up to reveal pink flowers. “Hard to believe it’s already April.”
“I know. Seems like winter was only yesterday.”
“Speaking of yesterday,” Dad says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I saw Colton in the café when I stopped in to get your mom one of those blueberry scones she likes so much. He was with his new boyfriend, I guess.”
