I'm relieved to find all the lockers have names on them, so it isn't hard to locate my gear. What is hard is trying to figure out how to put it on. I struggle with the pants, all the while trying to look like I know what I'm doing. The locker room slowly empties out as all the guys make their way to the field until I'm the only one left.
When I think I've got everything situated, I grab my jersey off the top shelf of the locker to pull it on over my head. A box catches my eye, located in the back of the top shelf of my locker. I pull it toward me and take a seat on the bench. It's a red box, much larger than a box that would just contain a piece of jewelry. I pull the lid off and find a few pictures at the very top.
There aren't any people in the pictures. They seem to be of places. I flip through them and come to a picture of a swing set. It's raining, and the ground beneath the swing is covered in water. I flip it over, and written on the back, it says, Our first kiss.
The next picture is of a backseat, but the view is from the floorboard, looking up. I flip it over. Our first fight.
Third is a picture of what looks like a church, but it's only the picture of the doors. Where we met.
I flip through all the pictures until finally I get to a letter, folded at the bottom of the box. I pick it up and unfold it. It's a short letter in my handwriting, addressed to Charlie. I begin to read it, but my phone buzzes, so I reach over and unlock it.
Charlie: What time is your practice over?
Me: Not sure. I found a box of stuff in the locker room. Don't know if it'll help, but there's a letter in it.
Charlie: What does it say?
"Silas!" someone yells from behind me. I spin around and drop two of the pictures in my hands. There's a man standing at the door with an angry look on his face. "Get on the field!"
I nod and he continues on down the hall. I put the pictures back in the box and set it back inside my locker. I take a deep, calming breath and make my way out to the practice field.
Two lines are formed on the field, both rows of guys hunched forward and staring at the guy in front of them. There's an obvious opening, so I jog toward the empty spot and copy what the other players are doing.
"For shit's sake, Nash! Why are you not wearing your shoulder pads?" Someone yells.
Shoulder pads. Crap.
I skip out of line and run back to the locker room. This is going to be the longest hour of my life. It's odd I can't remember the rules of football. Can't be that hard, though. Just run back and forth a few times and practice will be over.
I locate pads behind the row of lockers. Luckily, they're easy to put on. I rush back out onto the field and everyone is scattering, running around like ants. I hesitate before walking onto the field. When a whistle blows, someone shoves me from behind. "Go!" he yells, frustrated.
The lines, the numbers, the goal posts. They mean nothing to me as I stand on the field amongst the other guys. One of the coaches shouts an order and before I know it, the ball is being thrown in my direction. I catch it.
What now?
Run. I should probably run.
I make it three feet before my face meets the astroturf. A whistle blows. A man yells.
I stand up, just as one of the coaches stalks in my direction. "What the hell was that? Get your damn head in the play!"
I look around me, the sweat beginning to trickle down my forehead. Landon's voice rings out behind me. "Dude. What the hell is wrong with you?"
I turn and look at him, just as everyone huddles around me. I follow their motions and lay my arms over the backs of the guys to my left and right. No one speaks for several seconds, and then I realize they're all looking at me. Waiting. I think they want me to say something? I get the feeling it's not a prayer circle.
"You gonna call a play or what?" The guy to my left says.
"Uh...," I stutter. "You...," I point to Landon. "Do that...thing." Before they can question me, I pull apart and the huddle breaks.
"Coach is gonna bench him," I hear someone mumble behind me. A whistle blows and before the sound even leaves my ears, a freight train crashes into my chest.
Or at least it feels that way.
The sky is above me, my ears are ringing, I can't pull in a breath.
Landon is hovering over me. He grabs my helmet and shakes it. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He looks around and then back down at me. His eyes narrow. "Stay on the ground. Act sick."
I do what he says and he jumps up to a stand. "I told him not to come to practice, Coach," Landon says. "He's had strep all week. I think he's dehydrated."
I close my eyes, relieved for my brother. I kind of like this kid.
"What the hell are you even doing here, Nash?" The coach is kneeling now. "Go to the locker room and get hydrated. We've got a game tomorrow night." He stands and motions for one of the assistant coaches. "Get him a Z-pack and make sure he's ready for the field tomorrow."
Landon pulls me up. My ears are still ringing, but I'm able to breathe now. I make my way toward the locker rooms, relieved to be off the field. I should have never walked on in the first place. Not smart, Silas.
I make it back to the locker room and change out of my gear. As soon as I get my shoes on, I hear footsteps nearing the locker room from down the hall. I glance around and spot an exit on the far wall, so I rush to it and push it open. Luckily, it leads right out to the parking lot.
I'm immediately relieved to see my car. I rush over to it just as Charlie climbs out of the driver side, hopping onto her feet as I approach. I'm so relieved to see her--to just have someone to relate to--that I don't even think about what I do next.
I grab her wrist and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug. My face is buried in her hair and I let out a sigh. She feels familiar. Safe. Makes me forget that I can't even remember...
"What are you doing?"
She's stiff against me. Her cold reaction reminds me that we don't do things like this. Silas and Charlie did things like this.
Shit.
I clear my throat and release her, taking a quick step back. "Sorry," I mutter. "Force of habit."
"We have no habits." She pushes past me and walks around my car.
"Do you think you've always been this mean to me?" I ask her.
She looks at me from over the hood and nods. "My money's on yes. You're probably a glutton for punishment."
"More like a masochist," I mutter.
We both climb into my car, and I have two places I plan on going tonight. The first being my house to shower, but I'm sure if I asked her if she wanted to come along, she'd say no just to spite me. Instead, I head in the direction of my house and don't give her a choice.
"Why are you smiling?" she asks, three miles into our drive.
I didn't realize I was. I shrug. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
I glance at her and she's waiting for my answer with an impatient frown.
"I was wondering how the old Silas ever broke through your hard exterior."
She laughs. "What makes you think he did?"
I would smile again, but I don't think I've stopped. "You saw the video, Charlie. You loved him." I pause for a second, then rephrase. "Me. You loved me."
"She loved you," Charlie says, and then smiles. "I'm not even sure if I like you yet."
I shake my head with a soft laugh. "I don't know myself very well, but I must have been extremely competitive. Because I just took that as a challenge."
"Took what as a challenge? You think you can make me like you again?"
I look over at her and give my head the slightest shake. "No. I'm gonna make you fall in love with me again."
I can see the gentle roll of her throat as she swallows, but just as fast as she let her guard down, it flies back up. "Good luck with that," she says, facing forward again. "I'm pretty sure you'll be the first guy to ever compete with himself over the affection of a girl."
"Maybe so," I say as we pull into my driveway. "But my money's on m
e."
I turn the car off and get out. She doesn't unbuckle. "You coming? I need to take a quick shower."
She doesn't even look at me. "I'll wait in the car."
I don't argue. I close the door and head inside to shower, thinking about the small smile I could swear was playing in the corner of her mouth.
And while winning her over again isn't my main priority, it's definitely the new back-up plan in case neither of us can figure out how to revert back to who we were before yesterday. Because even through all the bullshit--her cheating on me with Brian, me cheating on her with the counselor, our families in turmoil--we still obviously tried to make it work. There had to be something there, something deeper than attraction or a simple childhood bond, that made me fight to keep her.
I want to feel that again. I want to remember what it feels like to love someone like that. And not just anyone. I want to know what it feels like to love Charlie.
I'm standing on the edge of the lawn, looking down his street when he walks up behind me. I don't hear him approach, but I smell him. I don't know how, since he smells just like the outdoors.
"What are you looking at?" he asks.
I stare at the houses, each of them immaculate and manicured to the point of irritation. It makes me want to shoot a gun into the air, just to see all the quiet people inside scramble out. This neighborhood needs a little life breathed into it. "It's strange how money seems to silence a neighborhood," I say quietly. "On my street, where no one has money, it's so loud. Sirens blaring, people shouting, car doors slamming, stereos thumping. There's always someone, somewhere, making noise." I turn and look up at him, not expecting the reaction I have to seeing his damp hair and smooth jaw. I focus on his eyes, but that isn't much better. I clear my throat and look away. "I think I prefer the noise."
He takes a step until we're shoulder to shoulder, both staring at the taciturn street. "No you don't. You don't prefer either." He says this like he knows me and I want to remind him he doesn't know me at all, but he puts his hand on my elbow. "Let's get out of here," he says. "Go do something that doesn't belong to Charlie and Silas. Something that's ours."
"You're talking about us like we're body invaders."
Silas closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "You have no idea how many times a day I think about invading your body."
I don't intend to laugh as hard as I do, but I trip over my own feet and Silas reaches down to catch me. We're both laughing as he rights me on my feet and rubs his hands up and down my arms.
I look away. I'm tired of liking him. I only have a day and a half worth of memories, but they're all filled with me not hating Silas. And now he's made it his personal mission to make me love him again. It's annoying that I like it.
"Go away," I say.
He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step back. "This far?"
"Farther."
Another step. "Better?"
"Yes," I smart.
Silas grins. "I don't know myself well, but I can tell I have a lot of game."
"Oh, please," I say. "If you were a game, Silas, you'd be Monopoly. You just go on and on and everyone ends up cheating just to be over with it."
He's quiet for a minute. I feel bad for saying something so awkward even if it was a joke.
"You're probably right," he laughs. "That's why you cheated on me with that asshat, Brian. Lucky for you, I'm not Monopoly Silas anymore. I'm Tetris Silas. All my pieces and parts are going to fit into all of your pieces and parts."
I snort. "And the guidance counselor's, apparently."
"Low blow, Charlie," he says, shaking his head.
I wait a few seconds, chewing on my lip. Then I say, "I don't think I want you to call me that."
Silas turns to look at me. "Charlie?"
"Yeah," I look over at him. "Is that weird? I don't feel like I'm her. I don't even know her. It just doesn't feel like my name."
He nods as we walk toward his car. "So, I get to rename you?"
"Until we figure all this out...yeah."
"Poppy," he says.
"No."
"Lucy."
"Hell no, what's wrong with you?"
He opens the passenger side door to his Rover and I climb in.
"Okay...okay. I can see you don't like traditionally cute names. We can try for something tougher." He walks around to the driver side and climbs in. "Xena..."
"No."
"Rogue."
"Ugh. No."
We go back and forth like this until Silas's GPS tells us that we've arrived. I look around, surprised that I was too engaged with him to notice the drive here. When I look down at my phone I see that Brian has texted me six times. I don't want to deal with him right now. I shove my phone and wallet under the seat, out of view.
"Where are we?"
"Bourbon Street," he says. "Most happening place in New Orleans."
"How do you know that?" I ask suspiciously.
"I Googled it." We stare at each other over the hood, and then both shut our doors at the same time.
"How did you know what Google was?"
"I thought that's what we're supposed to be figuring out together." We meet at the front of the car.
"I think we're aliens," I say. "That's why we don't have any of Charlie and Silas's memories. But we remember things like Google and Tetris because of the computer chips in our brains."
"So, can I rename you Alien?"
Before I can think about what I'm doing, I send the back of my hand into his chest. "Focus, Silas!"
He uumphs, and then I'm pointing straight ahead. "What's that?" I walk ahead of him.
It's a building, castle-like in structure, and white. There are three spires jutting up toward the sky.
"Looks like a church," he says, taking out his phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking a picture...in case we forget again. I figure we should document what's happening and where we go."
I'm quiet as I think about what he said. It's a really good idea. "That's where we should go, right? Churches help people...," my voice trails off.
"Yes," says Silas. "They help people, not aliens. And since we're--"
I hit him again. I wish he would take this seriously. "What if we're angels and we're supposed to help someone, and we were given these bodies to fulfill our mission?"
He sighs. "Are you listening to yourself?"
We've reached the doors to the church, which are ironically locked. "Okay," I say, spinning around. "What's your suggestion for what's happened to us? Did we boink our heads together and lose our memories? Or maybe we ate something that really messed us up!"I storm down the stairs.
"Hey! Hey!" he calls. "You're not allowed to get mad at me. This is not my fault." He runs down the stairs after me.
"How do we know that? We don't know anything, Silas! This could be all your fault!"
We're standing at the bottom of the stairs now, staring at each other. "Maybe it is," he says. "But whatever I did, you did it too. Because in case you haven't noticed, we're in the same boat."
I clench and unclench my fists, take deep breaths, concentrate on staring at the church until my eyes water.
"Look," Silas says, stepping closer. "I'm sorry for turning this into a joke. I want to figure it out as much as you do. What are some of your other ideas?"
I close my eyes. "Fairy tales," I say, looking back up at him. "Someone is always cursed. To break the spell they have to figure something out about themselves...then..."
"Then what?"
I can tell he's trying to take me seriously, but this somehow makes me angrier. "There's a kiss..."
He grins. "A kiss, huh? I've never kissed anyone before."
"Silas!"
"What? If I can't remember, it doesn't count!"
I fold my arms across my chest and watch a street musician pick up his violin. He remembers the first time he picked up a violin, the first notes he played, who gave it to him. I envy his memories.
"I'll be serious, Charlie. I'm sorry."
I look at Silas out of the corner of my eye. He looks genuinely sorry--hands shoved into his pockets, neck dropping like it's suddenly too heavy.
"So, what do you think we need to do? Kiss?"
I shrug. "It's worth a try, right?"
"You said in fairy tales they have to figure something out first..."
"Yeah. Like, Sleeping Beauty needed someone brave to kiss her and wake her from the sleeping curse. Snow White needed true love's kiss to bring her back to life. Ariel needed to get Eric to kiss her to break the spell the sea witch put on her."
He perks up. "Those are movies," he says. "Do you remember watching them?"
"I don't remember watching them, I just know I've seen them. Mr. Deetson spoke about fairy tales in English today. That's where I got the idea."
We start walking toward the street musician who is playing something slow and mournful.
"Sounds like the breaking of the curse is mostly up to the guy," Silas says. "He needs to mean something to her."
"Yeah..." My voice drops off as we stop to listen. I wish I knew the song he was playing. It sounds like something I've heard, but I have no name for it.
"There's a girl," I say softly. "I want to talk to her...I think maybe she knows something. A few people have referred to her as The Shrimp."
Silas's eyebrows draw together. "What do you mean? Who is she?"
"I don't know. She's in a couple of my classes. It's just a feeling."
We stand among a group of onlookers, and Silas reaches for my hand. For the first time, I don't pull away from him. I let his warm fingers intertwine with mine. With his free hand, he takes a picture of the violinist, then he looks down at me. "So I can remember the first time I held your hand."
We've walked two blocks and she hasn't let go of my hand yet. I don't know if it's because she likes holding it, or if it's because Bourbon Street is...well...
"Oh, God," she says, turning toward me. She fists my shirt in her hand and presses her forehead against my arm. "That guy just flashed me," she says, laughing into the sleeve of my shirt. "Silas, I just saw my first penis!"
I laugh as I continue steering her through the inebriated crowd of Bourbon Street. After walking a ways, she peeks up again. We're now approaching an even larger group of belligerent men, all without shirts. In the place of shirts are mounds of beads draped around their necks. They're all laughing and screaming at the people perched on the balconies above us. She squeezes my hand tighter until we've successfully navigated through them. She relaxes and puts more space between us.