Forget Me Not Page 2

  I laugh at how well she knows me. “No excuses, I promise. Even if I have to go in a pant suit!” She gasps in mock horror at the thought of a pant suit. “But seriously, my fashion forward friend, I thank you.”

  We noisily air kiss down the phone before I’m left to my own devices. Under Emma’s advice I head for Redz with an air of negativity hanging heavily over my head. The pressure to find a knock out dress is immense. Thankfully, my mood lifts when I enter the crimson comfort of Redz and the opening chords of Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon play out from the speakers. I find myself humming along and the task at hand begins to seem less harrowing.

  After trying on a million or more dresses I finally settle on a little black number made entirely of lace. There’s a black slip underneath so it’s not completely transparent, but the way that the lace carries on across the shoulders and down to the elbows gives that very illusion. It comes to just below the knee and I already have the perfect pair of shoes and jewelry to compliment it. With this in mind I allow myself to buy some new perfume and black underwear.

  I refuse to consider why.

  Laden with shopping bags, I realize that I still have over an hour before I need to pick up Benji. I wonder whether I should head to the office and do an hour’s work, God knows I need to. Next week I have my first exhibition being held in New York. It’ll be my third ever, but the other two have been local and the attendance consisted primarily of my supportive family and friends. In the city, it will just be me. I reject the option to work through my first Saturday off in a long time, knowing how little ‘me’ time I’ll find next week.

  As my mind wanders my feet play catch up, and I somehow find myself stood outside Mo's Diner. Just when I assume I can have one moment without succumbing to thoughts of Jesse it turns out my subconscious has been betraying me all along. Mo’s Diner is burdened by memories of my youth, of Jesse, and so I’ve made a conscious effort to avoid this place in the ten year long journey to forget about him.

  I hesitate at the door but eventually find the courage to walk in. The decor has changed. All signs of the Mo’s I remember have been replaced with shiny surfaces and a pastel palette that adorns the walls. It’s every bit the Fifties diner that this town suits, right down to the black and white checked floor tiles. The style may have changed but the layout has not, and so I find our seat and stare out of our window as the waiter comes to take my order.

  I order tea with milk and shuffle out of my coat, settling to survey the diner. The window looks out onto the High Street, as does every other building along this street, but it also overlooks the footbridge that once upon a time Jesse would use to walk home. His curfew would come far too soon and I remember the aching disappointment I would feel when he left. We were part of a small group of friends, but when Jesse and I were together we were in our own little world, the bubble only dispersing when he would get up to leave. His absence would normally incur my leave, and as I made my way home I would pray that he would sneak into my room, just like he did whenever it was possible for him to escape unseen from his prison of a home. I could never sleep until I was sure that I wasn't going to hear the sound of stones hitting my bedroom window.

  "Here's your tea, ma’am," the waiter says, reaching down to place my drink on a napkin. I smile politely through the annoyance at being called ma’am. Am I that old?

  As I sip on the lip scolding tea, I allow myself to continue in the exploration of my Jesse fuelled memories. It’s been a very long time since I’ve allowed these memories to play out uninterrupted. Normally, as soon as I sense his presence in my mind I shut it down, drown it out, but knowing that I may see him very soon I begin my mental preparation. It will be a shock to the system if I don't.

  The last time he climbed through my window was the night that we’d been out celebrating my acceptance letter to NYU. Everyone was so proud of me, none more so than myself. I’d managed good grades considering how little I’d studied. Any available time was spent with Jesse, and it wasn't until my parents restricted our time together that I was able to knuckle down. He was planning on going to a community college, but he always remained vague about where or what he was studying. I never investigated further. I guess I’d never had reason to doubt him.

  That particular night, he climbed the trellis that lead to my bedroom and crept through the open window to slip into my bed. This was nothing new. It was a long walk from his house and he was usually freezing by the time he got to mine. Of course, my parents were oblivious to our night time encounters. Even so, there was never any cause for their concern. Our embraces were innocent and Jesse never wanted anything more than my company and warmth. We would just lay there in a sweet embrace, exploring each other with curious eyes, and very occasionally, inexperienced hands.

  He had ebony hair that was layered to his ears and when he was nervous he would tuck his hair behind them. I always found it endearing. He had full lips and a wide smile that curved up at the ends and on either side of his mouth were the most delectable dimples. At the time, he had desperately been trying to grow a beard. What he actually managed was long sideburns and some patchy stubble, but Jesse being Jesse, he pulled it off. He was stunning, worthy of any fashion campaign or blockbuster movie. What he was doing with me, I’d never know.

  The feature that captivated me the most was his enigmatic eyes. They were varying shades of blue that seemed to alter according to the weather or lighting. They could go from a piercing aqua to deep denim several times a day. He always said that I was silly and that nobody had ever mentioned this before, but I knew that was only because nobody else cared enough to notice.

  Jesse’s mom loved him, but was stuck in a relationship with a man who did not, Dale. He was a difficult man, who, after spending half of his life in the army, couldn’t disarm his need to control and overpower. He came into their lives when Jesse and his brother were just children and immediately made his family’s life hell. Jesse’s mom continued to allow him to stay, knowing that it was only due to his payout from the forces after an accident that they had a roof over their head and food on the table. Over matters involving either Jesse or his brother, Ted, she tended to side with Dale for an easy life. Ted was the only other person who loved him, but he enrolled in the army as soon as he left school, replacing one battlefield with another, leaving Jesse to survive on his own.

  Jesse and his family life was something that we rarely talked about. He’d offer mere snippets of information, but the bruises spoke for themselves. I never pushed him to give away anymore than he wanted to. I knew that I was his distraction and I did my best to make his time away from home as enjoyable as possible.

  Normally, an hour or two after slipping into my bed our hushed talk and gentle embraces would send us to sleep, but that night of celebrations was different. We were pretty tipsy after Jesse had stolen half a bottle of whiskey from Dale. He knew the repercussions he would face, but Dale’s wrath was an everyday occurrence for Jesse and he insisted that we needed something to calm our nerves.

  This would be the night that we both lost our virginity.

  Ten years have passed since that monumentally significant night and yet I remember every single detail. The way he looked, the way he smelt. The way it felt to be connected to him in such a way. He was tender and cautious, always checking that I was okay. A perfect gentleman. Of course, as romantic as it felt at the time, looking back I can see that it was all over too quickly and that it was painful, but to me it was perfect and it always will be. It was an act of intimacy that would bind us together forever.

  After sharing the most generous of gifts we lay side by side, facing each other as we giggled and promised each other the world. This was no high school fling or drunken one night stand. We’d been together for the last two years, innocently at first, and now as lovers. I loved that boy with every element of my being and I believed that he loved me. It was big love, novel worthy love, movie love. I missed him all of the time, even when he was lying right next to me,
and at that moment I felt like the rest our lives was just beginning. We had just sealed our relationship in the most precious way. He owned my virginity, and I his.

  My hand swiftly flies to my flustered face as I realize where I am. My fingers fan out against the warmth of my cheek, ineffectually hiding my embarrassment. I scan the room, checking that no one has been watching. I feel like I’ve been caught out. I have. This was a beautiful, private memory and I’m now overwhelmingly aware that I am surrounded by people.

  Thankfully, not one person has bared witness to the sweetest of my memories and so I gradually begin to relax. I check my watch and see that it’s almost time to collect Benji.

  I leave Mo's Diner, once again wearing my rose tinted glasses, and float freely on down

  The High Street.

  Chapter 3

  Hours later and my feet still haven’t touched the ground. I’m giddy with nostalgia, so much so, that Benjamin insists I’m drunk. How he’s come to this assumption is beyond me, considering that he’s never even seen me drunk. He milks my good mood for all he can and manages to escape his usual bed time, but as he falls asleep curled up in my arms I remind myself to allow this more often. Today’s been a good day.

  I have carried him to bed and now I’m flicking through the endless TV channels in the hope of finding a distraction. It’s no use. How can I possibly concentrate on anything other than Jesse? Today, I opened the safe and uncovered the Jesse files that had been stored away for years and now I can't remember the combination to lock them away again.

  There’s only one thing for it. After turning off the TV, I tiptoe up the stairs, past Benji’s closed door and into my bedroom. I switch on the harsh light and ease the door shut so I don’t disturb him. I pull myself up onto my dresser chair, after dragging it into my wardrobe, and scramble through several years worth of nonsense until I find my objective. Confronted with a dusty, customized shoebox, I sit cross-legged on the floor.

  My cherished time capsule is covered in old lilac wrapping paper and is decorated with masses of doodles in black ink. Hearts and flowers. I really was a walking cliché of a young girl in love. The thought makes me smile.

  My eager hands fumble to remove the lid and I’m met with my very own buried treasure, not gold or jewels, but movie stubs and concert tickets. Beneath them lays my reason for unearthing the box. My yearbook. Bound in deep red leather, looking and smelling as it did the day I placed it in there. Not surprising considering I haven't looked at it since. When Jesse left, the memories within it became unbearable.

  I scan through the mosaic of faces, recognizing almost everyone because the majority still live near. I stop at Emma's face. What a beauty she was, and still is. She has the same dark hair that flows long past her shoulders and her big brown eyes are bright with hope.

  On the next page my eyes flit to my own mug shot. My hair’s short and wavy and my face is plump with youth. It’s obvious that the young girl is me, but I seem so different. The biggest difference being how happy I appear. It's just a photograph, just one click of the camera and yet somehow it seems to capture my all. My smile is full and my eyes sparkle with hidden secrets. I’ve quoted some auspicious lyrics from a favorite love song, further highlighting my sappy frame of mind. I can’t remember the last time I looked so completely happy.

  After searching hundreds of faces, I finally find his entry. It reads, JESSE LEE JENNER and he declined to give any further information or quotes. He sits inside this little window with a plain black t-shirt and the quietest smile on his otherwise expressionless face, yet his photo screams out from the page. Gone are the rows and rows of faces that surround his image, it's just him. A face I haven’t seen in so long, too long. His eyes are bright from the camera flash and they burn the bluest of blues. His gaze is directed slightly off camera and I wish so much for him to be staring right back at me.

  My dusty memories haven’t done him justice. I’m overwhelmed by the power that his image has on me. My hand flies to my chest, silencing my heart as it calls for him.

  Suddenly seeking comfort, I move myself from the floor and I curl up on my bed with the book laid out in front of me. I wrap my quilt around my body, finding some much appreciated warmth as I continue to turn page after page, looking for further evidence of my Jesse.

  Nothing.

  He was never involved in any sports teams or clubs. We never even had our photo taken at prom. There is absolutely nothing further documenting him even being at that school.

  Jesse was never popular in the classic sense of the word. He wasn’t liked for his heritage or his sporting abilities. He didn’t try to conform to the elite’s ideal of what high school should be about, so it makes complete sense to me that his time at Fairview High wasn’t documented further. Yet, people were intrigued with him. He often showed up with bruises or cuts as the result of an altercation with Dale, but his home life was so well concealed that rumors about a raucous social life sang around the school and he was soon labeled a bad boy. He was immune to the affects of his silent charm, never noticing the guys that hung from his every word or the girls that swooned around him. The reluctant alpha. He could never accept his appeal though. How could he when his confidence had been so badly beaten out of him?

  On the last page of the book my closest friends have written their parting words. Good luck, keep in touch, old sayings specific to our little click. Then, there it is, our song title written heavily amidst the scribbles of farewells. It reads, ‘Wherever you will go’ and underneath it lays the signature of J.L.Jenner with a kiss. To the side reads our initials cocooned in a cartoon heart.

  My real heart doubles in size and I feel it rise to my throat. He may as well have whispered the words into my ear for the response I’m having. Our song. The Calling had released it around the time we became serious and it always seemed to be present at significant moments along the timeline of our relationship. It played during our first kiss, on our first date. It played at my sister’s wedding when he was officially introduced to my family as my boyfriend, a term that didn't begin to explain what he was to me. It also accompanied us to our prom, the last time we danced together.

  My heart shrinks as the happy nostalgia fades away and the once hidden pain raises its hideous head.

  Three weeks after our prom, I never saw Jesse again. One day he was there and we were rejoicing in the anticipation of our summer together and then the next day, he was gone. The plan was to meet at Mo's Diner on the first day of the school break, but he never showed. I waited for an hour before I was overcome with concern. I was worried in case he’d been fighting with Dale. He’d never left me waiting before. A million ugly scenarios haunted me as I ran to his house. Dale answered, the smell of whiskey emanating from his wretched breath. Through broken slurs he told me that Jesse had gone. I didn't believe him. It could easily have been one of his vicious games that he liked to play with Jesse, or worse, maybe he was so badly injured that he was hiding him from me.

  Normally, I would wither under Dales disturbing glare, but with the adrenaline pulsing through my body I found the strength to push past him and I ran to Jesse’s bedroom. His mom was at the top of the stairs, having eavesdropped on our conversation. She stepped reluctantly to the side as I edged closer to his bedroom door. Her Jesse-blue eyes were bloodshot with sorrow but the kindness she once held for me had morphed into anger and it radiated from her. It was clear that whatever had happened was my fault.

  The minimal contents of his room looked unchanged except for his wardrobe doors which hung open to reveal the emptiness inside. The photos that I’d lovingly taken of us had been removed from their usual home above his headboard. The bed was un-slept in and a crumpled note lay on the pillow.

  Mom, I have to go, I can’t pretend that this is okay anymore. Don’t wait for me. Don’t worry about me.

  Love you, Jesse.

  With the note still clasped in my hand I left his house with no words for his family. If I hadn’t been silenced with
shock I’d have hammered them with hate and blame. I’d have cheered for him and the hell that he’d left behind. I was scared for him and anxious that I didn’t know where he was, but I was so happy that he had finally gotten out.

  From the rare occasions that Jesse opened up about his relationship with Dale, I had managed to piece together that the war began almost immediately after Dale had moved in when Jesse was barely eight years old. I was told how Dale would beat his mother and when Jesse and Ted intercepted they would take on the punishment. The physical beatings became common and more intense. As they became older and bigger, they learnt to fight back, but Dale would never forfeit his reign over the household.

  After their explosive arguments Jesse would seek sanctuary at my house and my parents would even insist on him staying over, on the couch of course. These occasions became so frequent that I knew it was only a matter of time before Jesse could take no more.

  Begging got me nowhere. I begged Jesse to go to the police, physically on my knees begged him. He never would. He worried about what the consequences would be for his mother. So together, we decided that running away was the only option. We talked repeatedly about fleeing, mostly during the aftermath of one of their altercations. Running away became eloping to beautiful foreign lands, and the pain that was causing Jesse to want to leave evaporated from the anticipation of living a dream.

  But, we planned to do that together. It didn’t make sense for Jesse to then want to go it alone, especially without telling me first. No phone calls, no letter, no stones thrown at my window.

  I fooled myself into believing that the reason for his sudden departure was because he had to get away quickly not that he no longer wanted me to go with him. I held onto the dream of our romantic escape, trusting that once he had found somewhere safe for us he would be back.