Monochrome (19 page)

She expected the memory to concentrate on certain parts of her body, and, while those were prominently remembered (or misremembered, Abigail thought), one of the most dominant features from Ishmael’s memory were her eyes, scared, tired but defiant and brilliantly green. Terence tried to be a gentleman, by not looking at Abigail after putting the cap on the jar, but she saw surprise in his deep brown eyes.

Abigail didn’t know whether to feel more embarrassed, angry or sad. She was embarrassed for obvious reasons. It took her a second, however, to realize why she was angry. “Ishmael, how could that be a good memory for you?”

He seemed confused, and it took Abigail a minute to understand why. He no longer remembered the memory he gave. She huffed. “You gave the memory of me, naked, on the bathroom floor of the Hotel we stayed at on the first night. You realize I was just attacked, right?”

He blushed. “Abby, if it was a memory of you naked, I’m sure the only reason it was a blue memory instead of a gold is because of the circumstances leading up to it.”

Her mouth hung open for a second before she said, “Then why’d you give it up?”

He scoffed at her. “You
want
me to keep it? How in the world is that going to help me?”

She felt stupid for even asking, or for caring. Of course he didn’t want to keep it. She’d made it clear she was going home, so remembering her, the way he remembered her (no matter how inaccurate), served to upset him.

Accusing him of not wanting to remember the memory was an empty accusation at best. Still, she was angry with him for another reason.
How could he give someone else a memory of me naked!
Terence broke her reverie. “You are a true gentleman, Ishmael.”

Abigail harrumphed, but they ignored her, a dismissal of her pain
. Silent mansplaining
, Abigail sulked.

“That’s not why I gave it up, but thank you.”

Terence spoke up, tentatively. “Don’t worry, lady, I won’t look at it again.”

She blushed but didn’t say anything. Ishmael looked at her sheepishly, but she pretended not to notice.

“What do I owe you, Terence?”

The process seemed to pain him; his voice was apologetic but serious. “You have moons?”

She searched her pocket and brought out a moon. She hadn’t spent all the money Ishmael got from the black-haired woman.

Terence took it and put it in his clean apron. “Good. Only a pink memory, then. Just a nice one, nothin’ too special.”

Abigail nodded and closed her eyes. She thought about giving up a memory of Ishmael to show him how it felt to be thrown into a jar, but she stifled the urge. Really, she found it to be too difficult. If he didn’t agree to go with her home, she would treasure the memories of him, no matter how painful. While it was easy for him to give up memories of her, it seemed she wasn’t as strong as him in that respect. She concentrated on the task at hand. Again, images flew past the back of her eyelids. This time, the memories were tinged in pink, like the first time she gave. One passed Abigail’s eyes, and she concentrated on it:

Abigail sat on a cushy bench seat, leaning her head against the cool window of the ferry. She was going to the town across the water for her first day at the local community college. For weeks, she’d only spent time with her dad and step-mother and was very homesick for home, her mom, step-dad and her old friends.

She loved her time with her dad and step-mom, but she still longed for the familiar. Washington was beautiful, the ferry ride to school was relaxing and sported a perfect view of the mountains on a sunny day, but she was still very lonely.

She was thinking about home and staring at the spray rolling from under the ferry when a young man cleared his throat next to her. She looked up and noticed the blond guy in a knit beanie who was in front of her in the ferry line. He was her age, about nineteen, and his pretty blue eyes shone when he smiled. “Can I sit here with you? This ferry is always so busy in the morning. Commuters.”

She motioned to the soft bench seat across from her. The young man sat across from her and extended his hand. “I’m Nick. You going to the college?” He motioned to the backpack lying next to her.

She shook his hand. “Yeah. I’m Abigail. I just moved here.”

Nick nodded like he knew everything about her. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Abigail frowned at him.

He shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t recognize you, and you’re my age, so I just figured…It’s not a big town.”

“Bigger than where I come from.”

He kicked his feet up and put his hands behind his head. He liked the way he looked and was showing off for her. She decided not to notice him, which annoyed him a little bit. He sat back up, “You don’t mind my company on school mornings? I mean, I know a lot of the other people our age who are going to the college. I went to high school with them, but I don’t really like them much. They’re stuck up.”

She wanted to laugh. Nick seemed pretty cocky and a little stuck up to her, but she didn’t say so. She wasn’t sure why, but she liked this self-assured, brazen young man. She grinned. “Sure. I’d like that.”

Nick smiled back flirtatiously. “I knew it.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Can you turn down the charm a notch? It’s early.”

He laughed. “Not a chance. You’re just gonna have to keep up.”

She shrugged. “I think I’ll manage.”

With that, Nick arranged his backpack behind him, laid his head down on it, and closed his eyes. “Don’t let me sleep through the ferry arrival call. I do sometimes and the workers don’t check well to see if everyone is off.”

She grinned. “Alright.”

Nick peeked at her with one sleepy eye. “I’ll show you which bus to get on, too, so you don’t look like a rookie.”

She rolled her eyes again. “I hope that doesn’t mean I have to share my bus ride with you, too.” He snickered, closed his eyes and went almost immediately to sleep. She read her book and, once in a while, watched the rise and fall of Nick’s chest.

Abigail lifted her hand and watched as the remainder of the pink stream memory left her body. She immediately felt a little worn, but the pink memory didn’t leave her feeling as tired as the blue memory she gave Geoff. It made her wonder if Ishmael, too, felt more tired after having given up the memory of her, or if his body was used to it by now.

She knew who she picked to give up. Nick. He was an old friend she no longer talked to, but she liked to remember his funny attitude, his self-assurance and his easy repartee. She tried, for a second, to remember the memory she just gave. She searched her recollections of him and found their first encounter missing.
That must be it. I gave up the memory of meeting him.

Thinking of Nick, now, felt incomplete. She wasn’t even sure why she chose to hang out with him. He was obnoxious in most of her memories, and she wasn’t fond of cocky men. Suddenly, she felt so tired, and, for a second, lonely, though she couldn’t say why.

Terence put a reassuring hand on hers, his large palm dwarfing even her long fingers. “Thank you for your payment. Take care of my friend here.”

Ishmael shook Terence’s outstretched hand as they got up to leave.

“What do you do with the memories you get?” She asked Terence, as they were leaving.

She was thinking, of course, of the one Ishmael gave up, but also of the ones she’d given. He glanced at her. “I trade them for goods and alcohol.”
Of course.
Her spirits dropped.

“Don’t fret. I won’t trade Ishmael’s memory lightly or at all, if I can help it.” She’d forced herself to be content, nodding in thanks and walking quickly out of the bar. Ishmael followed her.

The soup revived Abigail’s energy a little. She kept up with Ishmael’s quick strides. They walked side-by-side, avoiding conversation. She couldn’t help but think that he hadn’t given her an answer about returning with her. She wanted to bring it up again, but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer. Plus, she was still annoyed with him about giving the memory of her. She understood why he did it, but that didn’t mean she was okay with a stranger having it.

It reminded her of the Traders and their filthy job. The thought made her shiver. She rubbed her arms to ward off goosebumps and to shake the memories clouding her mind. “You’re cold?” She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Ishmael’s voice. He hadn’t spoken since they left the bar.

She shook her head. “No. Just thinking unpleasant things.”

Ishmael slowed his pace. “Like what?”

She thought about not bringing it up. She didn’t want to upset him, but she also didn’t want to lie to him. “I’m uncomfortable with someone getting that memory of me, and it made me think of the type of person who deals in that sort of memory, which made me think of Traders, and I just…” A visible tremor racked her body.

He slowed his pace even more, and a frown settled on his face. “I didn’t think it out well, did I? God, I’m an asshole. I just thought, well, it might alleviate some of the,” he paused and rubbed his face, “tension between us.”

She shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t worry about it. I won’t be here to see it misused, but it just feels like being in a dirty magazine you didn’t pose for. It’s weird.” His face contorted into a self-loathing frustration, and it made Abigail wish she didn’t bring it up.

Ishmael stopped and lit a cigarette. “Terence is a good man. He’ll keep his word. But,” he faced her, “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought it through better.”

He sighed. “It didn’t help, anyway. I mean, I don’t know what you look like naked, but it doesn’t keep me from thinking about it. I’m attracted to you, and I’m a man, so I’m gonna think about it.” He grinned, unembarrassed.

“Yeah. Hey, if it helps you not give up other memories you want to save, I understand.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. Not at all. To tell you the truth, there are very few memories more…powerful than the ones I’ve recently gained. The memories with you are new and emotional and tangible in a way the others are not, perhaps because my other memories used to have companions I gave away a while ago. I don’t know. And that’s infuriating, you know? To not know what you’ve given up? To not even be able to second guess your choice because it’s just gone?”

He talked mostly to himself. Abigail understood what he was saying, but he didn’t need confirmation. She felt the same way about the people whose memories she’d given up and the memories attached to those she gave up.

Her recollection of them seemed incomplete, blurry, and touched with loss. She waited until she was sure he was done talking to ask, “Do you feel like you don’t know me as well now? I mean, if you think of me, can you tell there’s a hole?”

Ishmael’s hand brushed hers as they walked side-by-side. It was the first time he touched her since the morning, which seemed so long ago. “I know there’s something missing, but I gave up a memory that doesn’t mean ‘Abby’ to me.”

“What do you mean?”

He frowned, concentrating on his explanation. “Well, you kind of learn tricks when you’ve given as many memories as I have. For example, I don’t give a memory of a person I tie with a very important trait of that person until I absolutely have to.”

Ishmael continued, “Take the memory you gave of the young guy you gave up.”

Abigail interrupted. “Nick. I don’t remember the memory, but I tried to remember Nick and couldn’t think of how I met him. I must’ve given that up?”

He nodded. “Yes. And it’s something I’d caution you against. You gave up your first impression, and, as we all know, first impressions are everything.”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, for just a minute, then let go. “Like the first time I met you. I remember your confidence when you stood up and demanded I take you home. I remember the love and worry in your voice when you spoke of your daughter and husband, and I remember how beautiful your eyes were, close up, when you were threatening my life.”

She guffawed. “Oh, God. And when did you decide I was such a gem?”

He fiddled with his cigarettes in his pocket. “Right then. I saw your life, your resilience, and your fight. If I gave up that memory of you instead of the other, I wouldn’t truly know you. What I gave up is you, but it’s not
Abby.
I hope that make senses?”

She wanted to thank him for his sweet words, to hug him, to thank him for believing in her, but she just said, “Yes, it does.”

She walked next to him for a while before getting the courage up to ask what she’d been wondering since they left the bar. “I have one more question.”

Ishmael grabbed her hand again, as it brushed his, squeezing it. “Which is?”

“You’re planning to erase me.”

He dropped her hand and stopped walking. “What? How do you know?”

She motioned they keep walking. “You said the memory you gave up might ease the tension. Why keep any memories of me? How will they help you? Won’t they just hurt you when I leave?” He didn’t know how to answer. She knew she was right before asking, but she didn’t seem angry. She did sound depressed.

Ishmael ran his hands through the ends of his hair. “I was planning on it, yes. But now…”

Abigail tried to hide the eagerness in her voice. “You aren’t going to?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think I should. It was very” he paused, “tiring, giving that memory up and it hurt me more than most of the recent memories I’ve given. I don’t want to go back to the way I was just yet.” She tried not to appear pleased, but she was unsuccessful.

She was selfish for wanting him to keep her in his thoughts. She intended to return to her family, and patch things up with Jason. She shouldn’t wish Ishmael the discomfort of caring for her since he was bound to lose out. But she did. His attraction thrilled her, which made her feel worse about herself.
What kind of shit person wants a man to hopelessly cling to her
?

“You’re mad at me, right?” Ishmael said after a while, probably because she’d been silent after his confession.