Sometimes people ask me, “Which would be worse, being pregnant at sixteen or loosing your memory?” I’d answer loosing your memory and then be dragged into a whole lecture about how being pregnant at sixteen is completely worse because then you’d have to deal with it all by yourself if your parents don’t support you and your friends dump you. But then, I’d reply.
“When you get pregnant, it’s either carelessness or rape. The first is your fault, the second is not. When you loose your memory. You loose everything. You can never connect to friends. You don’t understand why you would love somebody. People will come towards you to give you a hug and you would back away. Immediately they would take offense to it, because they believe that they are important enough to be remembered. You say that if their parents don’t give them support is an argument, but yet, when your memory is gone… How are you supposed to trust your parents when you aren’t even sure that they are. In my opinion, loosing your memory is much worse, because you have nothing. Whereas if you have a child, you’ll always have someone who loves you and who you love back.”
Normally they’d scoff and walk away, disappointed by the intellectual comeback that the nerd had. They probably thought that something like that, they could win with. I just wish they learned that…. I had lost my memory before. It had been hell on earth for me. I didn’t know anybody and some people tried everything. Videos, scrapbooks, old friends, old houses, even a playground that I used to love. But none brought back one memory. Until I met Oliver…. Again.
“Myra, this is Oliver. You met him a couple years ago over the summer,” Maria, my mother, introduced.
I smiled as politely as I could, but not one word rung a bell.
He just chuckled though, “I don’t expect you to remember me even if you did have your memory.”
My mother took a silent gasp at his audacity, but I just smiled wider, more true this time.
“You’re from Britain?”
His smile widened and I took a silent breath in. It was a gorgeous smile, “Yes, actually. I am.”
“You sound like it.”
“So you remember that?”
I nodded, “I can’t remember memories or close people, but knowledge is still stored as if it never went away.”
“Did it ever?”
I shrugged, “For a little bit, but I don’t think I missed much.”
A silent chuckle, his shoulders bounced just a bit as his smile widened even more, “Your personality didn’t change.”
“I don’t think that loosing your memory, means loosing your personality.”
He nodded, “Good point. You are very smart.”
“Would you like to go for a walk?”
I shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Oliver’s eyes dimmed just a bit… Or maybe it was just the lighting in the small farmhouse, “Are you sure? It was one of our favorite pathways towards the road.”
That peaked my interest, “You know what, sure. Why not!”
My mother was practically gaping, because I had refused to return to the park where I had had my first kiss (information that I probably stupidly gave her or that she over heard). She was pushing too hard for me. She wanted me back to normal right away and she couldn’t handle it when I wanted to take a break. Part of me, liked not knowing, because from the looks I got when I returned to school… I must have done something quite bad before I passed out from exhaustion.
“C’mon on then,” Oliver called as he headed out the back door.
I jogged to catch up, giving him a once over. Dark brownish hair with light colored streaks and these piercing olive green eyes. He had a lean body, but you could tell that underneath he was quite strong. His dark grayish jeans highlighted a strange figure that looked as if it could only work for him and an olive colored shirt that matched his eyes. He looked… Perfect.
We walked together silently. A couple times I messed with my long crimson red hair that curled over my shoulders, but normally I just kept my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. I would look at my feet, watching my vans appear and disappear from my view.
“You look very pretty today,” He suddenly announced as a road came into our view, “You didn’t dress like this when we were fourteen.”
“So I was fourteen when I met you?”
Four years ago. We both must be eighteen now. I wonder why he didn’t think I’d remember him.
“How did you loose your memory?” He asked as we walked onto the road, standing in the middle of it.
“First of all, is this safe?”
He laughed, then nodded, “No one ever uses this road, and if they do, we could probably hear them from a mile away.”
“Alrighty then,” I looked both ways before continuing, “My parents didn’t inform me of everything, partly because they didn’t know the whole story. Although neither admitted to it. They said that I had went out late one night to practice baseball because I was on the team. Strange, a girl on the guys baseball team.”
Oliver’s smile widened, “You always wanted to be a baseball player, even though you’re a girl and could only play softball. But yet, you were horrible at it.”
I threw my head back and laughed loudly, “Are you serious? I could play baseball but not softball?”
He nodded, obviously enjoying telling me this, “You couldn’t stand softball. You said the girls had big bums and were rude to you because you couldn’t play and you were put on a good team.”
I laughed, then it dimmed slightly, “I wish I could remember that.”
His eyes softened at the mention of my memory, “You never finished your story.”
I laughed lightly again, “Right. So I went to the ball cage where they pitch balls at you. No, I did not get hit by one. I was hitting them well apparently. I was using so much of my energy. The doctors said I was probably upset and that I knew baseball would cure it. They told me I passed out of exhaustion at about 3 am. No one found me until noon. Still passed out on the ground. Every body thought that I was dead, but one person noticed how I was breathing and quickly called an ambulance. Now, I won’t have my memory back for a while. He said, that one action could bring it back. Or that it would slowly come back. Lately, I’ve only had knowledge. I don’t remember anything else. Not my mother, my father, my siblings, my team mates, my apparent friends,” I sighed, “No one.”
“Did you think coming with me would jog your memory?”
I shook my head, “I’ve lost hope in that for now. My mother tried to drag me to a park where I had my first kiss, but I didn’t want to go. I told her that if it comes back, it will be back. I didn’t need her putting pressure on me for not remembering something.”
Oliver sighed, “That must suck.”
“What does? Having my mother push me to remember something I can’t?”
He shook his head, “Not remembering your first kiss. It’s usually the first kiss that defines somebody. Whether it be long and sweet or short and nervous. Sometimes quick and lusty too.”
I laughed again, “And why does it matter. I can’t remember it.”
“You could always make new memories.”
My eyes locked with his and I could see it in his eyes that he wanted to kiss me. And you know what? I wanted to kiss him back.
“That’s a good point,” I said, my fingers interlacing with each other behind my back.
I saw his do the same, “I do make good points, don’t I?”
I giggled, a little girly compared to everything else I’ve done so far, “Yes Oliver. You make extremely good points.”
Our eyes never left each others as we leaned in slightly. I didn’t know exactly why I wanted to kiss him, but during that moment when we were leaning closer… My mind set off in an array of rings. Little bells going off, giving me back memories that I had thought were gone.
Then our lips met. His were soft and gentle, slowly pressing against mine. Suddenly memories came flashing back. My birthdays, first days of school, new friends, baseball, my father and I, my mother, my siblings. Everything began returning from the beginning to now. My hands unlaced themselves from each other and into his hair, I felt his grab my waist and pull me closer to him. His tongue glided along my bottom lip and I opened my mouth to let him in and with it, more memories.
That’s when a memory popped up in front of me. A boy. Dark brown hair, with olive green eyes, hidden behind thick glasses. His body was lean and lanky and his lips were pressed to mine. I saw myself push him off… Telling him that I loved somebody else. Telling him that I wasn’t worth his time. That we were too far apart.
Another memory came after that one, the same boy in front of me now. An innocent look in his eyes as he walked towards me in the middle of the school hallway. He came closer and whispered in my ear that he loved me. Then his lips met mine again, this time quick and needy. Like he wanted me. But yet again, I pushed him away. Telling him that he couldn’t do this to me now. Not after I had finally started getting control over who I was. When I finally realized that boys were going to hold me back like they always had. And his eyes became sad, those once strong shoulders, curled in defeat. He said that he loved me again and that no matter how many times I pushed him away that he still would. He said he’d always be there if he needed me. Even if he was in England.
I remember hitting those baseballs. Whacking them as tears streamed down my face. I had gotten to class, only to hear that that boy had been caught attempting suicide. He didn’t execute it and the police got to him. That boy was the dark haired one who had said he loved me. I kept hitting those baseballs, trying to whack away that one memory. That one moment in time where I didn’t want to be blessed with a perfect memory. That moment where…. I just wanted to be alone. And not have to worry about what people thought about me. The girl on the baseball team.
And I remember that when I passed out, the last thought that passed through my mind was: I hope he still loves me. As I slowly pulled back from our kiss, my body lighting on fire from the memories and passion that was put into it. I looked into his eyes, which were sad and empty. Thinking that I had once again pushed him away.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” I threatened before wrapping my arms back around his neck and pressing my lips to his.
“Don’t you ever push me away again,” He muttered.
And that moment was when everything came back. Although part of me wanted to rewind and not kiss him for the sake of remaining clueless about his background. But as we grew older and closer. I realized that it was that one incident that made me realize just how much I loved him. I still love him now. I’m not longer Myra Amelia Scott, but Myra Amelia Scott Tennant, wife of the most amazing husband in the whole world: Oliver Andrew Tennant.
It was amazing what one kiss could do. A kiss was made to remember.