Page 207 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

They were still there, still waiting, still watching.

“Do you have a lighter?”

She scowled. “Why would I have a lighter? I don’t smoke.”

“Right.” I let out a breath. “That was a stupid question. I don’t have one either.” I stared at the paper. “Should I tear it into pieces, then?”

“Harder to clean.”

I considered. “What do I do, then?”

She pointed at the trash can across the room. “Fold it into a ball. Throw it.”

I looked at the can.

At the paper.

At her.

“Good idea.”

I folded the note—once, twice, three times—until it was small and tight and nothing like a phone number anymore. I threw it. It sailed in a clean arc, hit the rim, and dropped inside.

My hands dropped to my lap.

“Huh.” I stared at the bin, at the paper I could no longer see. “That was very anticlimactic.”

“Yeah.” She leaned back beside me, her shoulder almost touching mine. “These things only look cool in movies.”

I hummed, low in my chest, and let my head fall back against the couch.

Closed my eyes.

I would be lying if I said I never wondered about him. Where he went. What he was doing. If he ever thought about me.

But now that I knew—now that the answer was sitting in a trash can across the room—I understood that I didn’t want to meet him. I didn’t want to hear his voice. I just wanted to know he was alive.

That he existed somewhere in the world, even if he wasn’t here.

And now I knew.

Years ago, he made his choice. He left. He disappeared. He became a name I carried and a face I couldn’t quite remember.

And now I’d made mine.

“Are you planning to sleep here or something?” She tried to sound annoyed, but it didn’t land. Her voice was too soft, too warm, too close. It made me want to sleep. It made me want to sink into the couch and let her voice pull me under.

“No.” My own voice was thick, slow. “Just resting my eyes.”

I meant it.

I just wanted to rest for a minute. Let the day settle. Then I’d open my eyes and talk to her some more. Hear her voice. See her face. Be with her, just a little longer.

But the couch was warm.

And the room was quiet.

And her presence, even with my eyes closed, was the most peaceful thing I’d ever felt.