Hesitating and Suffocating

Another night, another venue. Cally was exhausted, and so was the band. But there wasn’t an off day for another four days, and she knew she could pull through. Cally had gotten sick, come down with just the flu, and was sore and achey. She hardly felt up to much, and therefore had seen neither hide nor hair of John O’Callaghan since she got her tattoo, which was nearly a week ago.

She was still scared to take the plastic off.

Furthermore, her date with Kennedy had been pushed off until their off night, and he had been trying to nurture her back to health. Every night, he made her chicken noodle soup and watched movies with her, and during the day brought her tea with honey when he thought she was looking sicker. He was sweet, and she loved that.

Cally stared, perplexed by her reflection. She looked at Pat, who stood in the bathroom with her and tugged on her hair, a nervous habit she had gotten back from when she was THEIR Cally McGregor, which thrilled them all. “Pat, did I used to sit in some dark bar with you?” She asked, and tweaked her nose, her brow wrinkled in hard concentration.

Pat looked up from his iPhone, surprised. “Yeah, you worked there. I used to sit on the bar and drink and we’d laugh. That was before you and John even had anything,” Pat said, frowning. “At least, when it all began.”

“Oh,” Cally said, wrinkling her brow again as she submerged herself, and then giggled, a giggle that Pat knew. It was the same one that she used to laugh when they were in the bar. He stared, and she blushed. “Sorry. I looked silly with my face scrunched up like that,” She said, and Pat gently grabbed her arm, half in support and half needing to connect with her.

“Do you remember?” He asked, and Cally listened against the dirty tile of the venue bathroom, a small smile on her lips.

“Bits and pieces. I see scenes, in weird order. People, places, or things, all separated from where they belong.” She looked at him straight in the face, and lowered her voice. “Can you promise me something?” She asked.

Pat was in shock, still trying to process that Cally was remembering, but realized she was talking to him. He nodded, thought unsure of what he was agreeing to. He didn’t know what was weirder. That Cally was remembering things, that she was acting like the old Cally, or that she had a huge sheet on plastic over her arm. He couldn’t put things together, and sure as hell didn’t understand what was going on.

“I think I’m getting it back. I mean, it’s like a light through a crack in a window. It’s all slowly coming back to me.” Her voice was cracked and scared, and she chewed her lip. “And I think I’m finally going to learn why John left me that night.”