The day goes by with ease. He explores his home, trying to find familiarity in it. The house is a small cabin in a clearing surrounded by towering cedars and pines. The ground is dead and littered with pine needles. He sits outside, leaning against a stump at the edge of the clearing. After staying silent for some time, the woods came back to life. A woodchuck lazily searches for the last of the live grasses. Squirrels run and play on the forest floor, kicking up leaves in their wake. Up in a tree, a raccoon yawns and turns in his sleep. 706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTQxitKorI6
He must have done this many times before. He remembers the feeling of the bark against his back, and the dampness of the ground beneath him. This feeling of being alone but not, Zak thinks, is the most familiar thing he’s come across since waking up in his bed this morning. When the sky begins to darken and he begins to grow tired, he turns back for home. Not before he sees a scrawl of writing on the side of the stump. Z.S it says. Just another thing I can’t remember, he thinks.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7EP5PIKvDH
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Later, Aspen’s mother and father bring out picture books of him as a baby, a toddler, playing in the yard with a shiny plastic fire truck. He looks through the huge scrap book and sees himself in the embrace of a girl around his age. She’s short with huge green eyes and freckles smattered across the center of her face. Her short blond hair is tied in pigtails at the top of her head. A name pops in his head. Leah. Her name is Leah. 706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT4cHNnfkHO
He calls his mother to the couch to ask her about the girl, “Mom, who’s Leah?”706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpDII9Ut6xm
“An old friend of yours,” she says quickly, “moved out of state some time ago.”706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFFMsPuFVq9
A pang of longing hits him, “Can we go visit her? I want to meet her.”706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJGEC0PnGkY
“No!” she yells. She realizes that she’s outspoken herself and calms down, “See, Zak, your friend was not a very good one. She disrespected us and the rules of the house. She was a rebellious pest and did not deserve your company.”706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZbC3qDyXFL
A surge of anger rises up in the young boy getting out of his seat, “No! I know she wasn’t a pest! She was my friend!” 706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuMpUlxpOPh
“And how would you know that, boy,” she accuses him.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzn2pMVd5mB
He realizes he’s outspoken himself too, “I’m sorry mother. I didn’t mean to talk back to you.”706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ20c92az1cK
Fuming, his angry mother storms out of the living room. 706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn9ff4DDLVw
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Astonished by the sudden argument over something so seemingly trivial, the boy sits back in his seat. He should be sad, but it’s hard to long for someone’s approval when you feel like you’ve never met them. It’s hard to love someone you can’t even remember smiling to. Zak puts his head is in his hands, frustration building up. He concentrates, trying to find a memory to find solace in. He fails. He feels helplessly alone, and as frightening as it is, this feels familiar to him too.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr8bKFip9vV
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Now having shut himself in his room, the young boy takes this time to analyze his mother. She seems calm most of the time, but is easily upset, he thinks. Is she stressed because of me? Maybe, but I would think she’d be happier that I’m awake. What did Leah do to hurt mother? She can’t be as bad as mother says she is. Why can’t I even remember seeing her face before? I can’t remember anything me and dad did together, but at least I can remember his face. 706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡanm5E9yt2I
And about that little panic attack I had this morning: what even was that? His face buried in a pillow, defeated, he screams, “What happened to me!” He sighs. Then, a question. What did happen to him? He should have some kind of head wound if he has memory loss, shouldn’t he? His hand tentatively reaches the back of his neck, then his scalp. He runs his fingers through is hair, feeling for some kind of gash or scab. There’s nothing. I’ll ask in the morning, he thinks before pulling up the covers and falling asleep.706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuK0khLMLJu
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