Memory

Posted on by gmfx

Olivia’s memories were a heap of soggy brown leaves. Gone were the bright colors and sharp edges. Instead her mind wandered through decomposing mush.

Someone was looking at her. Olivia stared into those keen hazel eyes, groping for recognition, but the detritus of long years crumbled away in her grasp. My sister, she thought. “Maggie? Do you need something?”

The expression twisted into concern, and Olivia realized her mistake.“Joanna,” she said, correcting herself. “I’m sorry. Sometimes it all just gets a little . . .”

“I know, mom.”

Her daughter spoke compassionately, but with a pitying note that turned Olivia’s stomach. Or maybe that was actually something she ate. She had obviously eaten some of the turkey and potatoes that had been piled on her plate, though she couldn’t remember it. A child ran past. Whose kid? She had no idea. But they were at her house, so they must be related to her. There were people moving all around her, a cacophony of voices, a swirling current she couldn’t keep up with.

Life, vibrant and clear, and growing in the midst of it – love.

“Mom? Is something wrong?”

Olivia’s eyes were clear and shining when she answered, “I’m just so thankful.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Roar

Posted on by gmfx

I know this beach. The thought strikes suddenly, and I pause my steps to look about. Don’t I?

“Something wrong?” you ask.

The waves sweep in, tumble over themselves and slip away. I try to find a landmark. Sea-foam surges; pebbles scramble around our feet, then fall still. I can’t find anything I can recognize or latch onto.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just déjà vu.”

We keep moving.

The wind whistles, rumbles, howls. It dances, it dies, it whips and thrashes. You move close enough that we bump and jostle each other as we walk. Waves come and go. Rolling, churning, crashing. My hand finds yours.

Then I remember.

Sand shifts. Waves throw detritus at the land and drag away whatever they can grab. Wind blasts away stick and stone and piles up slow, lumbering hills of grit. People build, abandon, tear down, start again.

I have been here before, I realize, Just not with you.

It roars in my ears. The endless advance and retreat, the constant change, always and never the same.

Our footsteps have already vanished behind us, and I feel the waves pulling sand from beneath my feet.

I grip your hand as tightly as I can.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Lucky

Posted on by gmfx

I remember stars. I remember the world cracking open. I remember voices. “Come here . . . Did you see that? . . . Wake up . . .”

“You’re very lucky,” the doctor had said. Conscious, but still heavily medicated, I had struggled to comprehend why I felt like a fly in a spiderweb. Later I would understand about the hospital, the ambulance, and the collision. And while the doctors pieced me together, I tried to piece together my memories.

I remember a broken heel. I remember twisting, crunching, crashing, rending. I remember a tinkling rain of falling glass.

“The EMT’s said they found you alone on the sidewalk. Do you have any idea how you got there? Do you have any idea who might have placed the 911 call? Do you have any idea what happened?”

I remember a hand reaching out. I remember twisting shadows, glowing red eyes, claws, fangs, laughter. I remember a celestial light, trumpets sounding in the night, sheltering beneath wings.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Lucky . . .

“Hey beautiful, where you going? Stick around—this is your lucky night. What, you don’t want to talk to me? Come here, bitch. I said, come here.”

I try not to remember.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Rain

Posted on by gmfx

Don’t think I haven’t been faithful or even happy.  Because I have.  All I’m trying to say is that I’ve never been able to love my wife with my whole heart.

When I was eighteen, I went out into a field during the rain.  I danced, splashing in the mud.  There was a girl walking through the tall grass and singing a sad, slow song.  And she kissed me once before going on her way.  When the rain was gone, so was she.

I loved her.

But I never saw her again.  A month later I met the woman who would be my wife.  She came like a ray of sunshine and illuminated all of the dark recesses of my heart.  It was in her that I first knew myself, and her warmth helped me accept all of the wild shadows I had never realized were inside of me.  She was comfort and stability.

We were happy.  We have always been happy together.

But whenever it rains, I remember that kiss beneath the clouds.  I remember the taste and rhythm of untamed passion that fell into my life.  And for a moment, my wife does not have all my love.

     *     *     *

Story by Gregory M. Fox
from A Breath of Fiction’s archives
originally published November 4, 2010