What I Can't Recall

"Did you hear about Jack and Rachel?" Ellie asks, as she stuffs her mouth with the popcorn left over from the movie. We're both laying on my bed vertically side-by-side, heads propped up on our elbows.

"Nope," I say, shoving a fist full of the popcorn in my mouth, "but I'm sure I'm about to find out."

"Well," Ellie starts out, making sure to swallow her popcorn before going on, "Jack caught Rachel making out with Tom in her basement, so he stormed off. And so Rachel goes to find him at his house and walks him totally hooking up with Ashley. Then come to find out Ashley's boyfriend- Tom- was not only cheating on Ashley with Rachel, but with some Freshmen named John, too."

"High school drama," I mutter. The old me would have probably found this interesting and dramatic, but now it just seems childish. All the things I used to find so horrible hardly seem bad at all now, maybe even a bit funny.
"Hey, Ellie, will you hand me my cell phone? I need to look at something." I’m still expecting a text from Jake. He said he was going to earlier, but I haven’t gotten one yet.

"You're closer," Ellie complains, but gets up nonetheless. She walks over to my dresser, and in the process of grabbing my phone, knocks off a tin can and whatever was resting on top of it.
"Shit," she mutters, bending down to pick up the things. She takes notice of something I apparently can't see, because she goes on to ask, "What's this? Reasons I'd kiss you?

I quickly jump up out of bed and rip the piece of paper out of her hands.
"That's, er, nothing," I hurriedly say. I suck at making excuses.
Ellie gives me a knowing look. "Tell me," she commands. "Tell me now."
.
"Well," I start, sighing. It’s a long story. "It all started the night we got in a fight. Afterward, I kind of just started walking and…”
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"This is great!" Ellie exclaims after I've finished my story, "Bryler's cute and you've liked him forever- I can tell. And Jake is hot. So it's a win-win situation."

"It isn’t like that at all. In fact, it sucks. I can’t explain it. It’s like… You know that saying that when you love someone, you give them a piece of your heart?"

She nods, signaling for me to go on.
"Well, it's like that's what happened, except I've given them both a different piece of my heart. You know? And now having to chose between them would just kill me, because either way I'm still going to be missing part of my heart."

"Oh," she says, a look of realization crossing her face. "Then, um, why don't you just... not chose?"

"But then I won't hardly have a heart at all," I say, looking down at the floor.

Ellie goes quiet after that. I look down at the piece of paper in my hand.

Reasons I'd Kiss You.
Reason 4: You see things differently than everyone else.

"Was there anything with it?" I ask, peering over to look at the floor beside my dresser. Laying on the floor is simply a small, yellow flower.

"Can you hand that to me?" I ask her with a begging smile. I don't feel like getting up.

"Fine," she said with a sigh, walking over and it picking up. "But I'm going to go take a quick shower."

She hands it to me, and I take it carefully, wondering where Bryler found it. Once she's left the room, I look down at the scrap piece of paper once more.

After a moment of trying to connect the reason and the flower, it hits me. It's a very hazy memory- it's one of the older ones- but I can still remember it.

It was early May, and I was just barley five years old. Bryler and I were sitting outside in the grass, playing, while Mom and Sarah sat on the porch sipping lemonade and talked about something mom-ish. It appeared to be a pretty day, but some time between playing Dinosaur Adventures and Tag a huge rain cloud seem to have appeared over us.

"It's gonna rain," Bryler told me, a slight frown on his little face. He looked the same for the most part, his features were just a lot smaller, and his hair was cut a lot shorter. "That means the angels are crying. Something sad must've happened."

"That's not true," I argued, not wanting my good mood to be ruined, and just being the type of kid to want to argue. "Just 'cause they're crying, doesn't mean they're sad."

"Why else would they be crying?" Bryler asked with a puzzled look. I couldn't help but notice that his front tooth was missing, and automatically felt the spot where mine was missing, too, with my tongue.

"Maybe they're just crying 'cause they're happy," I suggested, looking around. I got up and walked over to a yellow buttercup, and pulled it out of the ground. "Maybe they're just happy that this buttercup finally bloomed."

"That must be one special buttercup for angels to actually cry just 'cause it bloomed," Bryler commented, slurring some of the words on account of his missing tooth.

"It is," I decided, looking at the buttercup carefully, as if I were a professional flower-observer, and I could tell how special it was by just glancing at it. "This is a very special flower."

"What'd it do to be so special?" Bryler asked, as I felt a wet drop of water hit my arm. The dark cloud couldn’t hold the water anymore, and had finally just given way. It was raining.

"It was just born that way," I explained with a shrug, tucking it inside my pocket. I knew we were going to have to go inside as soon as Mom and Sarah noticed it was sprinkling. "I think all buttercups are born special, though. This one was just extra special."

"How come buttercups are such a special flower?" Bryler asked, wiping water off his face, where a drop of rain had landed.

"'Because they're pretty," I said with a 'duh' tone of voice. The rain suddenly started falling down much heavier, and quicker. It took a few seconds for my clothes to become damp, and another for my hair to turn darker; signifying it was getting soaked.

"Time to go inside," Mom announced, picking up her things quickly and motioning for us kids to come into the house.

"I don't wanna go in!" I argued instantly, crossing my arms stubbornly across my chest. I knew it wasn’t hard to get my way with mom; she gave in so easily.

Mom sighed. "Of course you don't," she muttered. "Well, why not? Do you really wanna stay out here and get wet?"

"I like the rain," I explained. "I wanna stay out here and play in it. It's raining ‘cause of this buttercup blooming, so it's like a party. And I wanna go to the party."

After a moment of just looking at me, Mom sighed, though a smile was visible on her face.
"Well... I guess you two could stay out here," she decided. "I mean, what good is rain if you can't dance in it time to time, right?"

I could see Sarah roll her eyes from across the yard. I knew Mom was a pushover when it came to fun things- it'd always been that way. She couldn't be a strict, unfun adult- it was hard for her. I used it to my advantage often.

"Are you gonna come out here with us?" I asked, a huge grin playing across my face. I loved my mom. I gave Bryler a superior look- my mom was way cooler than his. She let me do whatever, and she understood the important stuff. Like how it was vital to stay out in the rain.

But just then there was a yellow streak flashing through the sky, followed by a huge boom of thunder. I jumped involuntarily, and then frowned, because even back then I knew how Sarah was. She was going to force us to go inside. I set down the buttercup on the ground, thinking it should get to stick around for it’s own party, at the very least.

"Come on in," Sarah called, like I knew she would. “Rain is one thing, but I don’t want you guys dancing around in an out-right storm. You’ll get hit by lightening.”

"Another day, I swear," Mom promised with an apologetic smile, as she made her way into the house through the back door.

Suddenly, in spite of myself, I begin to cry. And not just regular crying. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs. It’s one of those moments when everything hits me at once; so much that I can’t even take it.

There never was another day. In fact, I can’t once in my entire life remember dancing in the rain with my mom at a party for a buttercup. I never took the time to do all the silly things I should have with her. She never really grew up, but I did, and at an early age. By the time I was eight, the idea of having a tea party in the living room with my stuffed animals and Mom seemed ridiculous. After my tenth birthday, I wouldn’t even touch a piece of chalk anymore; I stopped drawing those weekly “murals” on the sidewalk. When I hit eleven, I started turning down Mom’s offers to go feed the ducks every Sunday.

In fact, now that I think of it, the day she died she asked me if I wanted to take a random road trip with her to Boston and play the “Stranger Game”. It was something we’d done a lot when I was smaller; the object of the game was to find out as much as you could about a stranger in sixty seconds. Not exactly the safest thing to advise your child to do, but Mom was a different kind of parent.

Well, of course I said no. Because, first off, I didn’t want to look ridiculous. I was worried about what the strangers might think of me; standing there and blurting out a bunch of random questions at them. And secondly, I was going to a movie with Bryler. I didn’t want to be late getting back and miss it. But if I could go back, I would say yes in a heartbeat. I would spend the entire week in Boston with her; I’d find out as much as I could about practically everybody there, and I‘d wear a giant purple hat while doing so. And then I’d come home, and life would go on like it was supposed to have; there would have been no seemingly spontaneous murder. I’d be across the side-yard right now, sitting in my own room.

I don't know how long I've been crying when I hear my bedroom door open. Someone comes and sits besides me on the bed, placing there hand on the small of my back. I don't look up to see who it is, but it doesn't surprise me when I hear Bryler's low, soft voice.
"September? What's the matter?" He asks, a worried tone laced into his voice.

"I... I miss Mom," I admit through my tears, my voice growing a little louder than I‘d like with each word. “There. I finally said it. Are you happy? I’m not pretending anymore. I miss her. And I hate myself for all of this. It’s all my fault. I should have been home earlier, or not gone to the movies in the first place, or gone to Boston with her when she offered, or reminded her to keep all the doors and windows locked so that no one could get in, or told her to go have a girl’s night out with Sarah, or… or something. I should have prevented this whole thing, but I didn‘t and now she‘s gone and there‘s no getting her back.” I can hardly understand myself through my tears, so I doubt Bryler caught any of that, but I don’t care.

"Shh... it's okay. Let it out," he tells me, trying to calm me down. “It’s not your fault, it’s okay.”

"No, it's not!" I exclaim, suddenly pissed off that Bryler would even think that. "Mom is gone forever, Bryler. Forever. How am I going to get through life without her? It's just not fair. I already don't have a dad, why can't I have a mom, an anything? You just don't understand. "

"I know," Bryler says, keeping his voice calm. "You're right. I won’t ever understand what it's like for you."

"No, you won't. You’re right. You don't understand what it's like to have no family at all," I accuse, obviously still upset. I wipe away my tears agitatedly, but they are immediately replaced with even more.

"You know, you have grandparents,” Bryler points out. “And Sarah and I are like family.”

"You guys don’t count,“ I tell him with a harsh tone, though I’m not sure why the statement is true. “And they don't want me.”

"You don't know that," Bryler says, keeping his voice soothing. "They could want you. You'll just have to go and see."

"I can’t go and see. I don't even know where they live or anything," I reply, perhaps meaner than I should be, but stating to maybe calm down a little bit. “Even if I went and lived with them… I just couldn’t. Mom hated Grandma, so how can I possibly like her? And just living with them won’t fix everything, you know. It won’t bring Mom back. It won’t make life simpler. It won’t make my dad want me.”

"It‘ll get you what you want, though.” He shrugs. "A family. And maybe it won‘t be the best, but it‘ll still be a family, right? You‘re the one who wants one so bad. And it‘s not that hard to find out where people live. I bet Mom knows. I‘ll ask her, if you want."

"Can we go see them?" I ask him after a minute. "I don't want to go ask to live with them. Just go visit them. See them. I wanna know if they‘re okay people."

"Okay, whatever you wanna do is fine with me. Now, stop crying. It's all gonna be okay. I can't stand to see you cry," he says.

"Okay," I mutter, looking down as I speak. I suddenly really don’t want him to see me; I probably look pathetic. "I will."

"You promise? Do I need to stay?" He asks, obviously not believing me. I force myself to look up at him and put on somewhat of a smile. His eyebrows are furrowed together in concern. I wish he’d stop worrying over me.

"No, no. You can go," I lie. “I’ll be fine. I’m just… I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

He slowly gets up. “If you’re sure,“ he sounds unsure as hesitantly leaves the room. He stops at the door, “Night September. It’s gonna be okay.” I nod my head.

The minute my door closes, I'm crying again.