Run Away With Me

Coming home was a bit of a strange sensation, especially since I didn't consider it home. I couldn't remember it. I remembered arriving in America vaguely, and when I went in the door, the sight of all the boxes stacked in the hall triggered something in me. I couldn't place what it was though.

"Your memories may come back, they may not," the doctor had explained before I left the hospital. "If they do return, it will be slowly. I can't say you'll get everything back, but over time you may get some memories."

Somehow, I couldn't care. Not really.

"How long until we're back in England?" I asked for the millionth time.

"Two weeks, Frankie, just two. Can you last that long?" Mum sighed at me. Dad was already there, getting his house ready and the apartment for mum and I.

"Yes mum," I said over my shoulder as I traipsed upstairs. "What room is mine?"

"Second on the left," she yelled.

"Thanks!"

I opened the correct door and found another room. Filled with boxes of course. A single bed underneath the skylight window. All the walls bare except one, which was covered in photographs. I walked over, wondering if this would help me get an idea of the last year.

A photo of me and that Rosie girl was in the center. She looked younger than when I saw her, and I looked younger too. In fact, most of the photo's were of me and Rosie. A snap of her bent over a notebook, concentrating. A blurry one of her far away. A picture of the two of us pulling funny faces at the camera. And the most beautiful one, the Rosie standing in a clearing, the sun either rising or setting behind her. Her head was only half-turned, as if something in the camera's direction had called to her. Me?

It was a truly beautiful photo, and I made a mental note to keep it forever.

"Rosie," I said her name to myself, but no memories stirred. I couldn't remember taking any of the photo's, and that hurt. Though it was probably hurting for her more. We obviously had all these great times together, and I remembered none of it. A huge crashing wave of guilt engulfed me.

"Mum?" I called down from the doorway. "Do we have a laptop?"

"Yours is in the box marked laptop," my mum called back, sounding unamused. I shrugged and got out the laptop and set it up. I was sure I'd have an email address for this Rosie girl, and I wanted to tell her something. Except I had no idea where she lived.

Rosie, I typed, when the write page was up.

I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I have to talk to you. I have to say I'm so sorry. I wasn't expecting anything, I was confused and I can't remember anything. It's really scary, to be honest.

I don't know why, but I feel I can tell you anything. Maybe that is something left over from before? I know now, from previous still saved text messages and emails and photo's that we were friends. Best friends even?

Did you ever, want to be, more? I'd really like to know.

Even though I'm going to England in two weeks, I just want you to know, I'd love to still be friends with you. I'm sure you wouldn't mind?

Please reply.

Love, Frank.

Now all I could do was wait and hope.