(Recollections) {A story of nightmares and memories}-Chap. 1

Holy. Crap. Oh, dear Lord in Heaven. What in the name of sanity?

I see him as soon as he walks in, of course. He stands at least a half-head taller than everybody else in the class. It’s the hair that catches my attention, of course. That unique shade just between honey and dark brown that’s both trademark and generic at the same time. I’m so busy trying to place that hair that I don’t even see his face until he sits down. When I do, my entire body reacts.

My heart does an Emeril and kicks it up a notch, and I can’t breathe. I struggle with my lungs for a few seconds, and when I finally get them working again, it sounds weird--like I’m gasping and then trying to get rid of it all as fast as I can. The people near me look at me weirdly. I calm myself down enough to be quiet and notice that my teeth are clenched together. Ouch. It feels like they’re about to snap into a million pieces.

“Are you okay?” the person in front of me asks, looking worried.

“Yeah,” I gasp. “Great. Why?”

“Um…no reason.” I nod as they turn back around. Right. Act normal. No reason to freak out. He doesn’t even know you, remember? You just have dreams about him even though you’ve never met him. No reason to panic.

Mrs. Chatham calls him up to the front of the class to introduce himself. He looks bored, like he’s already done this one too many times, so the words come out sounding sarcastic, and he looks around the class when he talks.

Before I even know what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed my notebook and a pencil and I’m scribbling something down as fast as I can. The only thing that’s going through my head is don’t look up, don’t let him see you, just don’t look up. So I sit there, my pencil scratching something I don’t recognize furiously, and listen to him.

His name is Tanner Abbot. He’s from Arlington, just outside Dallas. His mom moved here to paint a big mural for a company. He stops there and I pause too, my pencil picking up from the page. Is he done? Has he sat back down, so quietly I didn’t notice? Is it safe to look up? I decide to risk it.

Big mistake. His eyes are boring right into mine the minute I glance up, and I can’t look away. Oh, my God. What do I do? I can’t look away, even though I want to, because there’s something about the way he’s looking at me. It’s almost like…like he knows me too. But that’s impossible. Completely impossible. We’ve never met, not once in my life. Unless…

I don’t hear what he says after that, don’t hear anything else, because my brain is reeling from the idea that just popped into my head. Two of them, really, both of them startling and completely wonderful. Is it possible? I’m thinking. Can it be possible? Really? Or am I just being overly hopeful?

Because there’s only two possibilities if he knows me. The first is that he knows me from before my amnesia started, and I just don’t remember him. That’s a wonderful discovery in itself, but not really an explanation for why he would look at me like he did--completely shocked and blown out of his mind. But maybe the last time he saw me, I was covered in cuts and bruises in a parking lot. Maybe he knows what happened to me, knows what made me forget everything. Maybe he can help me. Maybe.

The other possibility is more far-out. I don’t know if I can believe it. It seems more like wishful thinking than a real scenario. But…could he…possibly…know me from a dream? It doesn’t even have to be The Dream. It could just be a dream. That’s not so outlandish, is it? Really? It would mean so much if he did. And if he did have The Dream…

No. Too much wishing. Not enough reality. Think, I tell myself. Think about what you’re thinking. That’s not possible, not even remotely possible. Besides, if I do hope that he has The Dream and then find out that he doesn’t, I’ll feel weirder and worse than I do already. Just let it go.

It’s only then that I realize I’ve been staring at him since he sat down. He’s staring straight ahead, not looking at me, but he’s so unnaturally focused that I know he’s seen me. I break the gaze I’ve had on him and turn back to the front of the class, instinctively grabbing my pencil to finish the thing I had half-scribbled while Tanner was talking.

I don’t hear anything the rest of the lecture. I don’t hear anything at all. I’m too busy trying to figure out what I’m going to do. By the time the bell rings, I still don’t know.

~*~*~*~*~

It’s one of my secret pleasures in life, watching the mad scramble after the bell. It’s almost like a shaken soda can. There’s a bunch of pressure, tension building, a feeling of needing to escape, and then--ring! It’s all released and everyone rushes out the doors. Me? I sit back, relax, take my sweet time repacking my books. I enjoy watching everyone else’s complete joy in freedom, if only for five minutes. There’s only one or two people who stay after class, and most of those are people asleep or stuck to see the teacher. Only very rarely does someone stay voluntarily.

Tanner was one of the very few who did. I don’t exactly know why that fact made me happy, but it did. I watched him as he got ready to leave. Slowly, very slowly, he picked his bag up and put it on his desk, placing each book in one at a time. When that was done, he stood slowly, sliding the bag onto his shoulders, shifted his weight, and walked towards the door at the same maddeningly slow pace. He probably would have escaped to the cafeteria if I hadn’t been standing there.

“Uh, hi,” I say hesitantly. I have to look up at him, and I can’t decide if I am too short or he is too tall. “Your name’s Tanner, right? I’m Kass.”

“Hi?” he says as a question. I flush. I had only thought to “hi.” Anything else was guesswork.

“So…Tanner…um. You want to eat lunch with me?” Whoa. Whoa, back up. Where had that come from? Had that really come from me?

“Okay, sure,” he says hesitantly. “Which way’s the cafeteria?”

It takes all of five minutes for us to get our food and find a free table. There are a few people staring at us, probably wondering if Tanner and I are dating. It makes me want to laugh, to just throw my head back and laugh at the ceiling. Only in high school.

The conversation starts out awkwardly, neither of us quite knowing what to say, but that soon changes. Tanner has a little brother who does some hilarious things, so we’re laughing about that and trying not to spit food all over the table. I am listening to every word he’s saying, but I’m also watching him. He talks with his hands and his face more than he does with his words. The entire conversation is held in those gestures and expressions. He leans forward when he gets excited and closes his eyes when he laughs. When he eats, he hunches over his food like he’s protecting it or something. I notice these, I notice a dozen other things that tell me only a little bit of who he is.

At one point in the conversation, while he’s telling a story, he reaches over to grab my hand and demonstrate something. He does what he needs to and finishes and we both laugh because it was really funny. But I can’t shake that feeling I got when he touched me. I liked it. Probably more than I should have. But I did. I can’t decide if that’s right or wrong.

The bell rings, we dump our lunches, he goes off to Chem and I head to History. I learn about Aristotle and Sophocles and the Greek era and Pompeii. And during the entire class period, I try to ignore the good feeling left over in my hand, from when he grabbed it. I really do try. I try and I fail.