Remembering Sunday

Motionless, I stood there.

For what felt like forever, I stood there.

For all I knew or cared about in that moment, the world could have continued to spin around me for all of eternity. Evolving, building, and growing up around my dirty sneakers and bare ankles, the Earth could have covered me in the conditions of its seasons, and eroded a hole in the concrete where I was too petrified to move from.

And all while I stood, all I could do was stare.

I stared at that hauntingly familiar boy I'd just had what felt like a vivid dream about, and he stared right back at me.

For a moment, or a year, neither of us dared to move. We just stood there in complete silence, me by his mailbox, and him on his porch. The memory I'd just had swirled around me, filling my psyche with some untouchable sense of familiarity.

I knew him. But aside from that one momentary flash, I had no other indicators of why.

My head began to spin.

Who was he? Why did I know him? Why did I remember that small flash of him? Why did he know me? Why was he confused to see me? Where we friends? Where we not anymore? The questions buzzed around my skull, mixing and blending with the flashes of laughter and darkness I'd just experienced. My head felt like someone had shoved a balloon in my ear and was blowing into it. Over and over again, no matter how full the cavern seemed to feel. I had hands cased in concrete, and a stomach full of rocks. At any moment I would have thought I was either going to tear apart at the seams or crumble into nothing.

"Kennedy?" The mysterious boy said again, tentatively taking the few strides down the stairs, stopping at the base of the pathway, as though not to startle me. "What are you doing here?"

His voice was soft and full of concern as I looked at him with wide, pain-filled eyes. "I don't know..." I stammered out. Forcing my arm to lift and cradle the side of my skull which was physically throbbing now.

For another beat, we continued in silence. "Do I know you?" I asked, despite the wave that rippled through my body telling me I knew I did. Somewhere, somehow, I knew I did. And still, I just didn't know why. A reoccurring theme I realized then I'd have to get acquainted with, and quickly.

"Yes..." He said slowly. "My name is Alex."

I nodded, trying my hardest to begin and connect the few dots I had before me. "I don't remember," I admitted quietly, looking down at my shoes. "I'm sorry."

"I know." He sighed heavily, and I watched as he scratched the back of his neck from the edges of my eyes, "It's okay."

But I knew it wasn't. From the twinge of hurt that was so evidently sewn into his muttered tone, to the overwhelming sensation of guilt that began to swell in the basin of my stomach. The only thing stronger than the pain and confusion pooling inside me was the tension of silent awkwardness building in the distance of the sidewalk. So thick you could slice it with a butter knife.

"Why don't you take a seat for a second..." He hesitantly offered, "You look a little flushed."

Had I any hope in my own ability to make it home on both my feet or even remember how to get there in that instant, I might have objected. But the part of my brain that was screaming at me to do something before I collapsed right there on the side of the road projected louder than the sounds of the inflating balloon, and I nodded. Advancing to the edge of this boy's – Alex's – front porch.

The long-limbed figure flopped down on his front steps, extending his legs in front of him letting his baggy gym shorts drag and I slowly lowered myself down beside him. Something inside me should have been going off saying that this was weird. That showing up outside a boy's house you had zero recollection of not even fifteen minutes ago was bizarre. That sitting down beside him now in a somehow comfortable yet awkward silence should have been even more alarming. And yet, as I laid my converse on the wooden steps and placed my boney elbows on my knees, no internal alarm was going off.

Something about sitting there felt warm, familiar, and rather welcoming. Whether it be the last few fleeing rays of the summer sunlight still gracing my skin, the small thought that at least some part of me in some timeline once knew this porch and the boy who owned it, or maybe it was just something distant inside me that told me doing this was okay. Whatever it was, I knew one of them to be true inside me, I just couldn't quite put my finger which one.

As the soft breeze blew I looked over my shoulder to see the very wind chime I'd just watched the boy now sitting beside me smash his head into. And I'd have to admit staring at it then, in a conscious, current state, felt not only surreal but strangely nostalgic. But something began to pull at the back of my mind as I watched the glistening brass columns dance ever so slightly. And I felt tears begin to pool in my eyes with no warning or explanation. That is, aside from the oh too familiar stab to my temple that soon accompanied it as I was yanked back into my subconscious.

"I don't care what anyone says!" I argued, stepping out onto Alex's porch, my best friend following closely behind, already rolling his eyes. "Green Sour Patch Kids are by far the best color EVER, nothing will ever compare!"

"Dee, you'd say that about anything made entirely of artificial colors and sugar!" He laughed, throwing himself down into his usual spot on his front steps.

"And sugar coated too!" I pointedly added, following suit. Placing the cool can of Coke I'd brought out as well between us.

"Right!" He nodded with a laugh, "However could I forget that VITAL detail!"

"Mock me all you want, Gaskarth!" I laughed, being sure to stab my boniest of fingers into his side gaining a shrill from the spindly boy. "We both know it's only coming from a place of pure jealousy that I always have better snacks than you!"

"You caught me!" He taunted back sticking his tongue out while simultaneously nursing his side. Letting the grimace-like smile slide into a real one, he watched as I placed the brightly colored plastic into my lap and crack open the soda can. Laughing he added, "But I will be sure to mock you in twenty years when all your teeth fall out, you know they use that shit to clean battery acid off cars right?"

I shrugged, shooting him a cheeky wink as I raised the sweating can to my lips, and took a big, audible gulp. "That just means my insides will be squeaky clean!"

"Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous." He chucked, giving my shoulder a playful shove before turning his attention back on the ever-empty street before us.

A comfortable silence soon settled as it often did whenever we sat on his porch like this. Alex off in his own thoughts, thinking about whatever it truly was that encapsulated the attention of a young teenage boy. And I, as always, snacking on whatever I'd swiped from my father's cheat cabinet, looking around for anything new to investigate and analyze.

This was ritual for us after all these years. An unspoken routine we'd mentally agreed to always follow and hardly stray from. And frankly, I quite liked it that way. For the two of us, there was something always going on. And it was nice to sit here every Sunday and for just a little while feel responsible for nothing. No wild adventure, no family obligations, no chores, no – well anything. Just a little escape from ourselves, and yet we still somehow managed to do it together.

Leaning back against the railing I looked over that the newest addition to our little scenery. A large rather gaudy brass windchime Alex's mother had hung at the start of the summer. Usually, it was loud and noticeable with the energetic summer air always keeping it in full swing. But today it was rather quiet. Only soft sounds rung through the golden tubes as they tapped and tipped together in the calm draft of the porch.

In that moment, I wished I was the windchime. That windchime got to sit on this porch and do what we did just momentarily, every day of summer. And in a few weeks that windchime wouldn't have to go back to school, do homework, or be forced to try and be fake friends with the faces that would surround it. Every day it would stay exactly the same hanging on that porch.

I furrowed my brows at the hanging decoration and made the conscious decision to break the building silence Alex was probably enjoying.

"Are you scared?" I asked him, turning my head back around in time to watch him tune slowly back into reality from whatever world he'd just been on.

"Hm? Of what?" He questioned, turning to me with a tilted head.

"Of starting school..." I elaborated. "You know, senior year?"

"Why would I be?" He almost chuckled, reaching for my soda and taking a swig.

"Because it's our last year as high schoolers, you know – before we have to head off to college and be real adults!" I said sharply, as though he was supposed to have read my mind. Which honestly, he usually could.

He just shrugged, placing the can back down in the ring it'd been making on the wood. "I'm not afraid of change like you are Dee, new things don't bother me!"

"I'm not afraid of change!" I quipped back, which of course gained a pointed glare from my friend.

"Right..." He cooed. "That's why you always need me around, to keep your crazy assumptions in check to reality!"

"I do not need you!" I mocked him, kicking his knee with my small sock-clad foot, which only gained amused laughter.

"You worry too much, Kiddo." He said, as though it were a concrete fact.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting things to remain exactly how they are!" I defended, throwing my hands in the air. "I'm happy just how everything is, why bother changing anything!"

Alex looked at me then with a soft, almost knowing smile and shook his head as he watched me pop another neon green 'toxic lump' in my mouth. "I don't think you, Kennedy Paige, will ever really change."

I turned to him head-on, a smirk creeping onto my lips as I skewed my brow. "And why is that, Alexander William?"

"Because you my dear friend, are simply too outlandish to ever fault and conform to anything but yourself!"

I smiled at him then, and we both exchanged a quiet laugh before seamlessly slipping back into our old habitual silence. Alex looking out at the street, and my head turning to look back at the brass art piece hanging from the wooden beams. I gazed at that windchime and sighed. That windchime didn't have to be afraid of anything. All it had to do was be golden and noisy. It was never going to change as far as it or I was concerned.

A hand hit my shoulder with a soft thud as I whipped my head away from the memory and back into the reality that now sat beside me. Now even more familiar golden eyes stared back at me, larger and more concerned than before as I wiped at the damp streaks that had been pooling under my eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?" Alex asked, his words taking longer than they probably should have to fully process in my mind as I watched his lips contort and twist.

"Yeah... I'm fine." I quickly ushered, wiping aggressively at both my eyes one last time before I used my hands to pull my knees tightly to my chest. I didn't know what these memories were or why I was having them now or what they meant if anything at all. But the more I seemed to have them, the more confused I felt about all I couldn't even begin to remember about myself.

"You sure?" I heard him whisper. I looked up to see him staring down at me, face painted with concern and confusion.

"I'm sure." I nodded, "I just had a memory is all."

"You remembered something?" He asked as something sparked in his eyes, something that almost looked like hope. A light that only brightened when I softly nodded my head and began to slowly uncoil my form. "Did you want to talk about it?" He quickly added.

The curiosity was bright in his voice, and it was becoming clear to me that he must have known something about what happened to me, or at the very least that I had no recollection of well, anything! But the rope in my mind was pounding now, begging not to be pulled anymore. So, I reluctantly, and silently declined.

"That's okay" he quickly hushed, but I could tell from his lowered tone he was trying hard not to sound disappointed. I tried to force a smile, but it fell almost as quickly as I'd pressed it up on my lips. And instead, I turned my head once again, towards the windchime.

Sure enough, just as before, and just as in my memory it hung there. Swaying just as softly as it had in my memory, completely and utterly unchanged by the years and the seasons.

"It hasn't changed at all..." I couldn't help but mutter aloud, almost as though I was talking to myself. The one that would have probably fondly remembered what I'd just re-lived.

A rough calloused hand just barely brushed the top of my thigh then, causing my head to turn back to the boy I still could hardly remember. But still our eyes locked and I couldn't help but be mesmerized by the comfort and familiarity of their warm, golden color. They were the third thing next to my father and my handwriting that I knew without a migraine or a thought that I'd seen a million times before.

"Neither have you."

Notes

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