What I Can't Recall

"September? September?" I hear a voice say from over me. I look up to see Bryler, drenched in sweat from head to toe. I have an impulse to say ew, but hold back. I throw a look over at the clock, to see it’s been about an hour and a half since I went to sleep. Bryler eyes the diary in my hand.
"Was it really that boring?" He asks me, half-teasing and half-not. He looks exhausted.

"No... I was just tired. I got through most of it," I say, sitting myself up on my elbows, still feeling really tired. It’s been a long day.

"And what did you discover?" He asks me curiously.

“Dad is a guy named David Jennings," I start, "he sounds so wonderful. I can't wait to meet him and-."

"-meet him? I don't think that's such a good idea, September...," Bryler trails off, sounding worried. He always seems to be weird nowadays about something. He needs to take a major chill pill.

"What's the matter with meeting him? He's my dad. We used to always talk about meeting our dads when we were little, remember? We decided that your dad was in the army. He was nice, brave, serious when called for by the situation, but was also fun. You said that he wanted to find you, but he just didn't know were you and Sarah were, remember? And we decided that my dad shared the same love of art as me. We decided he lived in Paris, and was on the way of becoming one of the greatest artist in the world, and that, one day, once he had lived his dream of being famous, he'd come back to get me. Remember Bryler?"

"September, we were eight when we decided that. Mom and I have been living in the same place for years. Don't you think that if he were looking for us, he'd look here, first? The town where we all came from?"

"Well, okay, maybe that's a little unrealistic for your dad. And, okay, he probably isn't a great artist or anything, but he doesn't even know about me. Mom never got to tell him she was pregnant. In her diary, he said he wanted to be a father to her, once. I know he'll want to know me. I bet he'll take me in right away."

"September, a guy will tell a girl anything to get in her pants. No teenage boy actually wants to become a father."

"Maybe Dad was different. You're just... jealous or something.”

"Jealous? What the hell am I jealous of?"

"That my dad actually wanted me, and yours didn't."

As soon as I say it, I wish I can take it back. Okay, maybe not as soon as I say it, but as soon as I see the look on Bryler's face.

"I'm so sorry, Bryler," I say instantly, leaning over and putting my hand on his arm, as if that could keep him from storming off in anger. "I didn't mean it. I was just mad. You just don't understand, I have to see my dad. I just have to. I don't have anything left in the world anymore. I've lost Mom, my grandparents, my house, my privacy, and my life. I've lost everything."

"You haven't lost me," he says quietly, with a kind of calm resting on his face that almost scares me. He then turns, and starts to walks away; I can tell I‘ve offended him.

"Wait!" I yell, grabbing on to his sleeve. I jump out of the bed, standing close enough to him to be able to smell that Bryler smell- the Colbot gum and guy smell. "Wait. Look, I really am sorry. Please, don't go."

He looks at me and says, "What if he has a family?"

"What?"

"Your dad. Even if he did want to be a father, what if he has another family now? What if has a wife, and kids? It's been fifteen years, September. He's moved on. Why would he want some kid, from some earlier life of his? You could ruin everything."

"Well, waita be optimistic about it. If I had a kid I never knew about, I'd want to meet them."

"How could you have a kid and not know about it?"

"Oh, shut up. You knew what I meant. Please just help me find him," I say, then I drop my voice, "Please."

"Maybe," he allows.

"You have to promise me. Promise me, Bryler. Promise," I say, holding his face just inches from mine. Our eyes are locked. There is silence. The only thing I can hear is the tick-tock of the clock, my heart pounding, and Bryler breathing deeply in and out. After what seems like an eternity, he gulps and manages to say, "I promise."

"Good," I say, and let go of his face. He hesitates, but after a moment he takes his eyes off mine and pulls away. I make my way back to the bed, and he follows after me simply to pick up the diary off the spot where I put it on the night stand.
"So, is it a good read?" He asks.

"Yeah," I say quietly, not making eye contact. I don’t want to think about it.

"When, you’re done, maybe I'll read it. That is, if it's okay with you," he adds on thoughtfully.

"You can take it now," I offer him, not really wanting that book anywhere near me. It was just a constant reminder; as if it weren’t already seared in my brain.

"I thought you weren't done?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowing together, as if he couldn’t possibly contemplate that I wouldn’t want to read the whole thing.

"I am as done as I need to be,” I tell him simply.

He gives me a strange look for a minute, but then shrugs and sticks the journal into his pocket. He comes over and sits in the chair next to me, knowing I don‘t want to be left here alone.

"September?" He asks after a moment or so, but by now my heart is calming down, and I am beginning to drift back towards sleep.

"Yeah?" I managed to mutter, sleepily.

"You sure you still want me here since you‘re gonna sleep and all? I could leave. Do you want me to? "He asks, sounding as if he thought it wasn‘t a good idea for him. I don’t ever understand that boy. First he wants to stay; then he’s practically begging for me to tell him I don’t want him here

"No," I say, turning the way that isn't facing him. " Stay here."

"You sure you want me-" he starts, but I don’t intend to let him finish. I want this conversation to be over.

"Who wouldn't want you?" I say, ending the conversation, or so I think, until I hear the quietest of a whisper.

"I can think of one person..."