Page 41 of Love Sick

I remember the way I responded to him, like my mind and body knew he was meant for me in every possible way.

Drying off, I am now faced with the dilemma of finding clothes to wear. I look at the adolescent’s bunny print robe hanging on the back of the door. Someone left it behind, no doubt.

Without a choice, I slip it on. I have no belongings to gather, so I slither into the darkness, faced with the first day of a life I won’t forget.

I’m crouched on a bench, under a tree, trying to avoid getting wet from the rain.

Thankfully, on my journey, I passed a home which had some clothes hanging on a line and some men’s boots by the door. Everything I wear is about two sizes too big, but fashion is the least of my concerns as I scour the university for something that looks familiar.

So far, nothing. But I won’t give up.

Students run past me to get out of the pouring rain, paying no attention to me which is what I want. I need to blend in and be smart, how a predator should be.

Frustrated, I sink farther under the hood of my sweater, eyes peeled to anyone who passes me in hopes they spark a memory.

Everyone looks so…normal. I wonder what it feels like.

Two boys with broad shoulders run toward the doors, their varsity jackets pulled over their heads to shield themselves from the rain. I don’t look twice until the yellow number eight on the back of one of their jackets leaves me with a dry throat.

I clear it, but it only becomes harder and harder to swallow.

“Mom, I did it! I’m playing college football. Can you believe it?”

“I never doubted it for a minute. I am so proud of you, Misha.”

Tears are streaming down my face when a young man approaches me. “Luna?”

I quickly wipe away from tears. “Yes?”

The man with brown hair and kind green eyes quickly offers his jacket as coverage so we can get out of the rain to talk. I don’t know who he is, but he knows me, which is enough for me to jump down from the bench and follow as he runs us toward cover under the walkway.

He waits for fellow pupils to pass us by before he speaks. “You don’t remember me?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.

I shake my head.

He brushes the rain from his wet hair, as if needing a moment to divulge what he’s about to say. “My name is Kyle. I am Joy’s son. Joy is your best friend. And I was Misha’s best friend. We are neighbors. And my mom…she’s missing.”

I take a moment to process this because it’s a lot. I try and remember him, but I know that’s not how things seem to work. My memories return when I least expect them to. But if what Kyle says is true, then he knows where I live and if any place is going to help me remember, it’ll be the house in which I lived.

“Here,” he says, gesturing with his head for me to follow.

We enter the hallway and I peer at the high ceilings, overwhelmed at the open space. Being confined to my bed and tiny room for months has scarred me in ways I never imagined. The world is a big place and I am relearning how to walk in it.

Kyle stops when we reach a trophy case and a silence soon follows. I peer into the glass cabinet and see all the typical things you’d expect to see inside—trophies, ribbons, medals…but when I see a photo of a handsome young man leaning on one knee, football in hand as he smiles proudly at the camera, I realize this is also a shrine to my son.

Misha’s name is engraved onto a gold plate with the year he was born and the year he died. The words etched beneath has a sob catching in my throat.

Gone but never forgotten. Fly high, Jack. Until we meet again…

Kyle consoles me as I weep because this is like losing Misha over and over again.

I remember that smile when I first saw it the day he was born. I remember it when we sang together in the kitchen to David Bowie. I remember it so clearly because it once reflected mine, which is why I cannot smile any longer.

My reason to smile was taken away from me and then I was put into Parkfields by…

“It was Joy,” I whisper against Kyle’s chest. “Joy was the one who had me committed.”

Kyle hugs me tighter. “Yes, but she was only trying to help. Let’s go back to your house so we can talk.”

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