The biggest thing that ever happened to me I cannot remember. Sometimes I remember it in such vivid detail that I can’t sleep. Bloody feet, “No, she isn’t trying to kill you.” I get up and walk from the room, sure that my thoughts are spilling out of my eyes, my ears, my nose, my mouth. She can see it but do they? I like to think she sees it. It does not matter anyways because I do not remember. I am headed straight towards something while the other part floats alone. I can reach my fingers out but I can’t quite grasp it, that is okay though, because I don’t remember.

I walked with love draped over my shoulders, it was for him. I saw him, he was lying on his side. I tried to cover him with it. He cast it away and it ripped a hole in the fabrique I had so carefully sewn. It wasn’t his fault. I left and tried to feel the pain, a tumor grew for every aching thought. The sickness crept into his bones. He could barely walk. “They drug me down the street, look at my feet.”

One day he ran away. He was in his underwear, he climbed over a fence. His strength would come in bursts. A strength lying somewhere beneath his brittle bones. He was running away from death I suppose. When he came home they sat him down and I just listened. The confusion was overwhelming. It flowed from his body to mine filling me with feelings I could only try to hold. He was weak again.
He put on a sweater, we couldn’t see it but we all tried our best to help each bony hand through the sleeves. I wondered what sweater it was. I saw each piece of clothing in my head. Was it the blue one? Once he came home wearing that sweater. I hugged him and inhaled deep that scent. He flipped me upside down and put my feet on the sealing. My little legs took careful steps through my home. I could see the carpet below me, I could see him below me, his chest rose and fell, he smiled, his hair was curly and black.

If I was brave I would have accepted the apple-sauce he wanted so badly. I watched them feed it to him. I had helped pick those apples. I would have realized he needed it. He wanted it, but how could he. I had heard him speak for the first time in weeks and he wanted that apple sauce. Just come back, I see you now. Each spoonful brought him closer to what he wanted, and further from me. He vomited, I felt relief. “So it isn’t real after all” I thought. If I had been brave I would have opened that apple-sauce for him. If I had been brave I would have knocked the spoon from his mouth. I just stood still watching this unfold wishing I was brave.

I carry a taste of apple sauce in my mouth. It is always there, reminding me of what I do not remember. Sometimes I put my tongue to the roof of my mouth and taste those apples. I remember a story, he was never there. That life was never mine, my feet never touched the sealing. I only carry that taste, and a memory so clear, that I somehow forgot.