denial in a memory

“Hey, are you still awake?”

“What?”

“Are you still awake?”

Her voice sneaked through the silent room and caught me right at the edge before dipping deeper in and falling asleep. I slightly regret the decision to react, giving up the feeling of my body disconnecting from the world, which is thoroughly enjoyable.

“Yes, I am,” now staring at the ceiling, I listen to the quiet room. Many people are sleeping around, and the sound of their breaths gives the room a sense of life. It is alive thanks to the minds that rest within it and the soft, warm light of a single lightbulb in the corner.

“It was a good day. I enjoyed everything we did” she is closer to me.

“I liked it too. Especially the team sports. I think our team is great.” Slightly confused by my response, I turn on my belly. A movement accompanied by the uncomfortably loud rustling of the sleeping bag. Finally resting on my elbows, I look at her. Her face is hidden despite being turned in my direction. The yellow light plays with her features; the sharp shadows make her dark eyes even deeper and define already pronounced cheekbones. She’s beautiful. Unattainable. A picture of a perfect woman – the sister of my best friend. Person competing in a completely different game.

Some of the kids around react to our whispering, and their bodies start searching for other positions like I just did. We stay quiet and look around, always returning to each other. I am speechless. Caught off-guard in a situation I have only imagined until now. The thought of rejection blocked all of the scenarios I played in my head earlier that day. Suddenly clueless, sliding on the surface of fear.

The structure of the wooden cabin quietly complains about the irregular wind blows. The roof obediently deals with the drops of rain that just started. In the middle of the forest, submerged in the night that should be scary. Yet the only thing I am worried about is how to impress the girl near me. The silence feeds my nervousness, and I start avoiding her look, pretending to study the room - acting upon my concern of waking up other people. I know she is watching. When there is no other corner to examine, I return to her eyes. Perhaps she bought into my act. Her expression, however, is still illegible, and I again melt under her stare. Nobody prepared me for being the sole object of her attention.

The room settles entirely after a while, and she silently crawls closer. Barely breathing, I watch as she fills my view unsure, whether it was supposed to be me making this step. Ending what felt like a satisfying eternity, she speaks again:

“What are you thinking about?”

Silence. I cannot create an answer that makes sense and protects from the possible consequences. She swallowed my entire being, and I can hardly recall my name. But she doesn’t need to know what her presence does to me. Although her eyes, from up close like this, suggest differently. Does she know what is going through my head? Is this a painful game she’s playing with me? What would she like to hear?

“My family.” What a thoughtful response I will now have to back up. Her face changes just a little as if a smile crossed its surface but vanished before leaving a lasting imprint.

“Your family? Why?” Even though the whispering, I can hear something between disappointment and entertainment. Did I destroy my only chance to be closer to her? I wish to tell her everything. I would love to share how beautiful she is and how honoured I am to share this moment with her. I feel on top of the world while digging my own grave. But I bailed because I must. I now realise it is not merely the fear of her laughing in my face. There is another reason pushing me away from words that are painful to take back.

“My father is alone at home. For the first time, it is just him and my baby sister. I hope they are alright.” The smile is gone. Slowly, she retracts her recent step back to the empty mate further away. The light changes slightly too. It is not as warm anymore. With my words, I am affecting the atmosphere of the whole room. I look around for help, but who could save me?

“What about you - what are you thinking about?” I send a question in her direction, but my voice sounds too urgent, breaking the precious lines between us even further. “Wait, what happened? What did I do?” She’s still quiet, and her body turns into a silhouette blending with the rest of the scenery in front of me. Things are going darker while the lightbulb is fighting against a cold shine that seems to be taking over.

I give up. Looking for her in the shadow play - between the furniture and other bodies - appears pointless. Disappointed in myself and saddened by the outcome, I lay on my back again. I feel the pressure surrounding my eyes, surprised by how much water is there ready to be poured. Something is wrong. The ceiling is gone, and the colours shifted away from the warm tones. My head is heavy, and I am too old to be sleeping on the floor amongst children.

“Hey, are you there?” Even her voice is different. Deeper and coming from another direction. Why is she asking me again? I am less cautious moving this time.

“Careful, we aren’t supposed to be talking!” Just a few hints survived in the voice telling me to remain quiet. A few indicators that it belongs to that girl I thought I loved. But my reaction is almost identical when hearing it.

“Yes, I am awake - you know I am.” With confusion transforming into irritation, I search for the source. Then I spot the face. Disarmed with one look, I say nothing. He reciprocates my stare with a semi-smile on his lips. It is him what I thought I wanted from the little girl. But I was too young to understand. I see all that. I realise what I was seeking and see how wrong I was. Yet, I am unable to comprehend what the emotions mean and where are they coming from.

“You need to be quiet. Otherwise, they’ll hear us, and we’ll get in trouble.” What does he mean? I am an adult. Why would I get in trouble for speaking my mind? Where even are we? How did I get here?

Again, swallowed by panic, desperate for answers, I start getting up when he leaps in my direction and drags me on the floor again.

“What are you doing?! We aren’t allowed to move past the curfew. Stay down!” He whispers in my ear while I stare at the single green light in the upper corner of the room.

Right. There is no lightbulb or rain flirting with the atmosphere. The girl, the children and all that was a memory I chose to participate in instead of reality. But I am too confused. Too scared to stay on the floor. I want to go home.

“Get off! Don’t touch me!” ditching the quiet talking, I channel my frustration into a fight with the men on top of me. “Stop it. I want to go!” Other people are waking up, and I notice a buzz spreading across the room as well as distant steps. He is still refusing to loosen his grip, and his lips are by my ear, trying to remain calm and keep me under control. But I hear the desperation. The same frustration that I am feeling.

“Why don’t you recognise me? You don’t know who I am?” Trying to re-examine his face, I end up pressed against his cheeks. He’s still talking, but I lost the meaning of his words. It is too much.

The door slammed open, and a bright light flooded everything around immediately after. Another pair of hands is grabbing me and pulling away. I appreciate their support against the man who still keeps trying to hold me. I can see his face now, and the tears streaming from his eyes puzzle me.

“It’s me! Remember?!” He is crying amid the other man shouting at us. His words are stabbing the air around me, but I am yet to understand the meaning. I see the face and feel the pain. But at the very moment, the fact that I am allowed to stand up, although restrained by two other people, overshadows any message he may be trying to convey. Finding myself trapped in his eyes of his again, I know I may be close to breaking through the walls somebody else built in my mind. I know there is something more to the lips that are way too gentle. But I don’t get a chance.

“What have they done to you?” A hurtful sentence pushed under his breath while they are pulling him away from the room. The door closes shut, and I crumble to the floor as the darkness fails to support my weak knees. Nobody says anything. Nobody helps or tells me what it all meant. How am I supposed to feel. I hear him scream, but my focus has shifted. Frustrated by the riddle of being, I devote my attention to the dot in the corner. The corner by the ceiling from where a faint green light keeps an eye on our every movement.