I will be forgotten.
“I will be forgotten”, she repeats. I sit in silence, eyes closed, letting the words I hear her speak echo through my body. She is noticing my body as I sit there and comments on how my feet are moving. She asks me if the words bring up any memories where I have felt this before. I sit in silence. Yes. Wayne (father) of all people is instantly invading my mind. “Tell me about it” she asks. Slowly I start speaking the words that have never been spoken, not because it’s bad but because I just haven’t.
He would be getting ready to go into town. We lived in an isolated area with no way for us kids to get to town ourselves. He would ask me if I wanted anything. I would ask him for a pair of jeans or some such thing. He would leave and I would wait in great anticipation for his arrival back home. Excited to be getting something new. Sometimes I wouldn’t see him again for a year. If he came home that night or after a few days he would be drunk. But no matter when he came home he would be empty-handed.
She asks me how that made me feel with his forgetting. I sit in silence with my eyes closed reliving those times, feeling what I was sure I had never felt before. “I don’t matter”, “I’ve never mattered”. “He didn’t think of me” “He forgot”.
She asks me to sit with this. I sit in silence. Becoming lost in the feeling of the hurt of being forgotten. Always. Forgotten.
“I will think of you”. I’m being pulled back from my lost-ness. “I will think of you” I hear her say again. I sit in silence. This time I notice my feet have stilled.
I open my eyes and look at my t. “You will think of me?” “Yes”, she says “I will think of you”.
She asks me what I felt when she spoke the words to me. I told her my first reaction was “oh, really” in a surprised or wonderment sort of way. Then I told her I felt guarded. Wayne would also say something and then forget. But I sat there and looked at her. Two things make what you say different. You are not Wayne and you have, I believe, been straight forward and honest with me. I will trust that you are telling me the truth.
But still I ask her once again, “you will think of me?” “Yes” she says, “I will think of you”. She reminded me that there was something in the room that also won’t let her forget me.
The rock that I gave her in exchange for the one she gave me.