"I agree with Charlie," I say. "Let's go see her father."
Landon sighs heavily. "I can't wait until this is over," he says, making a sharp right out of the driveway of the police station. "Ridiculous," he mutters. He reaches for the radio and turns up the volume, drowning us out.
We begin pulling items out of the backpack. There are two separate stacks I remember making a couple of days ago when I first began going through these items. One of them is useful to us, one is not. I hand Charlie the journals and I begin sorting through letters, hoping she doesn't notice I'm skipping some of the ones I know I've already read.
"All these journals are full," she says, flipping through them. "If I wrote this much and this often, wouldn't I have one that's current? I can't find one from this year."
She makes a good point. When I was in her attic taking all of this stuff, I didn't notice anything that looked like she was actively using it. I shrug. "Maybe we missed it when we grabbed all of these."
She leans forward and talks over the music. "I want to go to my house," she says to Landon. She falls back against the seat, clutching the backpack to her chest. She doesn't continue going through the letters or journals. She just quietly stares out the window while we approach her neighborhood.
When we arrive at her house, she hesitates before opening the car door. "This is where I live?" she asks.
I'm sure she wasn't expecting this, yet I can't reassure her or warn her about what she'll find inside because she still believes I lost my memories, too.
"Do you want me to go inside with you?"
She shakes her head. "That's probably not a good idea. Our notes said you should stay away from my mother."
"True," I say. "Well, the notes said we found all this stuff in your attic. Maybe check your bedroom this time. If you had a journal you actively wrote in, it's probably near where you sleep."
She nods and then exits the car and begins walking toward her house. I watch until she disappears inside.
I can see Landon watching me suspiciously in the rearview mirror. I avoid eye contact with him. I know he already doesn't believe us, but if he finds out I have any memory of the last forty-eight hours, he'll definitely think I'm lying. And then he'll stop helping us.
I find a letter I haven't read yet and begin to open it when the back door opens. Charlie tosses a box inside the car and I'm relieved to see she found more stuff, including another journal. She slides into the car when the front door opens. I glance in the front seat to see Janette joining the party.
Charlie leans over until our shoulders are touching. "I think she's my sister," she whispers. "She doesn't seem to like me very much."
Janette's car door slams shut and she immediately turns around in her seat and glares at me. "Thanks for letting me know my sister is alive, asshole." She faces the front again and I catch Charlie suppressing a laugh.
"Are you serious?" Landon says, staring across the front seat at Janette. He doesn't seem at all pleased that Janette is tagging along.
She rolls her head and groans. "Oh, come on," she says to Landon. "It's been a year since we broke up. It's not going to kill you to sit in the same car with me. Besides, I'm not staying home all day with Loco Laura."
"Holy shit," Charlie mutters. She leans forward. "You two used to date?"
Landon nods. "Yeah. But it was a loooong time ago. And it lasted like a week." He throws the car in reverse and begins backing out.
"Two weeks," Janette specifies.
Charlie looks at me and raises an eyebrow. "And the plot thickens..." she says.
I personally think Janette's presence will be more intrusive than helpful. At least Landon knows what's going on with us. Janette doesn't seem like she would take something like this very well.
She pulls a tube of lip-gloss out of her purse and begins applying it in the passenger mirror. "So where are we going?"
"To see Brett," Charlie replies nonchalantly as she rifles through the box in the backseat.
Janette spins around in her seat. "Brett? As in Dad? We're going to see Dad?"
Charlie nods as she pulls out her journal. "Yes," she says. She looks up at Janette. "If you have a problem with that, we can take you back home."
Janette clamps her mouth shut and slowly turns back around. "I don't have a problem with it," she says. "But I'm not getting out of the car. I don't want to see him."
Charlie raises an eyebrow at me and then settles back in her seat, opening the journal. A folded letter falls out and she begins to open that one first. She inhales a breath and then looks at me and says, "Well. Here we go, Silas Baby. Let's get to know each other." She opens the letter and begins to read.
I open a letter I've yet to read and settle into my seat as well. "Here we go, Charlie Baby."
Charlie Baby,
My mom saw my tattoo. I thought I'd be able to hide it for a couple of years, but dammit if I wasn't taking off the bandage this morning when she walked into my room without knocking.
She hasn't walked into my room without knocking in three years! I think she assumed I wasn't home. You should have seen her face when she realized what I had done. The tattoo alone was bad enough. I can't imagine what would have happened had she realized it was a representation of you.
Thank you for that, by the way. Hidden meanings of our names was a much better suggestion than actually tattooing each other's names. I told her the strand of pearls was a symbol of the pearly gates of heaven, or some shit like that. After that explanation, she couldn't argue much, being as though she's in Church every time the doors are open.
She wanted to know who did my tattoo since I'm only sixteen, but I refused to tell her. I'm surprised she didn't guess because I'm pretty sure it was just last month that I mentioned Andrew's older brother was a tattoo artist.
Anyway. She was upset, but I swore to her I wouldn't get another one. She told me to make sure I never take off my shirt in front of Dad.
I'm still a little shocked we both went through with it. I was half-kidding when I said we should do it, but when you seemed excited, I realized how serious I was. I know people say to never get a tattoo in honor of someone you're in a relationship with, and I know we're only sixteen, but I just don't see anything ever happening in this life that could make me not want you all over my skin.
I'll never love anyone like I love you. And if the worst is to ever happen and we do grow apart, I'll never regret this tattoo. You've been a huge part of my life for the sixteen years I've been alive, and whether we end up together in the end or not, I want to remember this part of my life. And maybe these tattoos were more of a commemorative thing than an assumption that we'll spend the rest of our lives together. Either way, I'd hope that fifteen years from now, we will look at these tattoos and be grateful for this chapter in our lives, and there won't be an ounce of regret. Whether we're together or not.
I will say, I think you're much tougher than me. I was expecting to have to be the one to calm you down and reassure you that the pain was only temporary, but it turned out to be the other way around. Maybe mine hurt more than yours. ;)
Okay, it's late. I'm about to call you and tell you goodnight, but true to form, I had to get all my thoughts out to you in a letter first. I know I've said it before, but I love that we still write letters to each other. Texts get deleted and conversations fade, but I swear I'll have every single letter you've ever written me until the day I die. #SnailMailForever
I love you. Enough to camouflage you into my skin.
Never stop. Never forget.
~Silas
I glance across the seat at Silas, but he's engrossed in his own reading. I would like to see this tattoo in person, but I don't feel comfortable enough yet to ask him to take off his shirt.
I flip through more letters until I find one I've written to him. I'm curious to see if I'm half as in love as he seems to be.
Silas,
I can't stop thinking about the other night when we kissed. Or your letter explai
ning how you felt about it.
I'd never kissed anyone before. I didn't close my eyes. I was too scared. In movies they close their eyes, but I couldn't make myself do it. I wanted to know if your eyes were closed, and what your lips looked like when they pressed against mine. And I wanted to know what time it was so I could always remember the exact moment we had our first kiss (it was 11:00 o'clock, by the way). And you kept your eyes closed the entire time.
After I left, I went home and I just stared at the wall for an hour. I could still feel your mouth on mine even if you weren't there anymore. It was crazy and I don't know if that's supposed to happen. And I'm sorry I ignored all your phone calls after that. I didn't mean to worry you, I just needed time. You know that about me. I have to process everything, and I have to do it alone. And you kissing me was something that definitely needed processing. I've wanted this to happen for a long time, but I know our parents are going to think we're crazy. I've heard my mother say people can't really be in love when you're our age, but I don't think that's true. Adults like to pretend that our feelings aren't as big and important as theirs--that we're too young to really know what we want. But I think what we want is similar to what they want. We want to find someone who believes in us. Who will take our side and make us feel less lonely.
I'm so scared that something will happen and it will change the fact that you're my best friend. We both know there are a lot of people who call themselves your friends and then don't act like it, but you've never been that way. I'm totally like rambling. I really like you, Silas. Like so much. Maybe more than green apple cotton candy, and the pink NERDS, and even SPRITE! Yeah, you heard me.
Charlie
It's sweet. I was sweet--a girl falling for a guy for the first time. I wish I could remember what the first kiss felt like. I wonder if we did more than just kiss? I flip through more letters, scanning over each of them. I come to one with a word in it that catches my eye.
Dear Silas,
I've been trying to write this letter for like thirty minutes and I don't know how to say any of it. I guess I just have to find a way, huh? You always say things so well and I'm always the tongue-tied one.
I can't stop thinking about what we did the other night. That thing you do with your tongue...it makes me want to pass out just thinking about it. Am I being too honest? Showing my cards? That's what my dad always says to me. "Don't show people all of your cards, Charlie."
I don't have any cards that I want to hide from you. I feel like I can trust you with all of my secrets. Silas, I can't wait for you to kiss me like that again. Last night after you left I had all of these irrational, angry feelings toward every girl on the planet. I know that's stupid, but I don't want you to ever do that thing with your tongue to anyone else. I don't feel like I'm a jealous person, but I'm jealous of anyone you've wanted before me. I don't want you to think I'm crazy, Silas, but if you ever look at another girl like you look at me, I'm going to gouge out your eyes with a spoon. I'd also possibly murder her and frame it on you. So, unless you want to be a blind prison mate, I'd suggest you keep your eyes on me. See you at lunch!
Love you!
Charlie
I blush at that one and sneak a glance at Silas. So we've...I've had...
I stick the note under my leg so he can't read that one. How embarrassing. Doing that with someone and not remembering it. Especially since he's apparently so good at that thing with his tongue. What thing? I sneak another look at him, and this time he's looking at me too. I immediately feel hot all over.
"What? Why do you have that look on your face?"
"What look?" I ask, looking away. It's then I realize that I don't know what my face looks like. Am I even nice to look at? I dig through the backpack until I find my wallet. I take out my ID and stare at it. I'm...okay. I notice my eyes first, because they look just like Janette's. But I feel like Janette might actually be a little prettier than me. "Do you think we look more like Mom or Dad?" I ask Janette.
She kicks her feet up on the dash and says, "Like Mom, thank God. I would die if I was born as pale as Dad."
I sink into my seat a little with that answer. I was hoping we looked more like our dad, so when I see him in a little while, he'll feel a tiny bit familiar. I pick up the journal, wanting to distract myself from the fact that I remember nothing about the people who gave life to me.
I flip to the very last day I wrote in my diary. It's probably the thing I should have read first, but I wanted some context. There are two entries for this day, so I start with the first one.
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 3RD.
Day your dog gets run over
Day father goes to prison
Day you have to move out of your childhood home and into a dump
Day your mother stops looking at you
Day your boyfriend punches someone's dad
All the shittiest days of my life. I don't even want to talk about it. By next week everyone else will be, though. Everything just keeps getting worse. I am trying so hard to fix things, make them right. Keep my family out of the gutter, even though that's exactly where we're heading. I feel like I'm swimming against this big wave and there's no way to win. People at school are looking at me differently. Silas says it's all in my head, but it's easier for him to believe that. He's the one with the father. His life is still intact. Maybe it's not fair of me to say this, but I get so mad when he tells me everything is going to be all right--because it's not. Clearly it's not. He thinks his father is innocent. I DO NOT! How can I be with someone whose family despises me? My dad isn't around for them to hate so they transferred it all on me. My family made their precious family look bad. My dad is rotting in prison while they walk around and carry on with their lives, like he doesn't even matter. What they did to my family matters and everything is not going to be all right. My dad hates Silas. How can I be with someone who is tied to the person who locked him up? It makes me feel so sick. Despite all of this, it's so hard for me to walk away from him. When I get angry he says all the right things. But I know deep in my heart that this isn't good for either of us. Silas is so stubborn though. Even if I tried to break up with him he wouldn't let me. It's like a challenge to him.
I act like I don't care? He acts like he doesn't care.
I start cheating on him with his mortal enemy?
He starts cheating on me with his mortal enemy's sister.
He hears I'm at the diner with friends? He shows up with his friends.
We're volatile together. We weren't always like this. It all started when everything came to a head with our fathers. Before that, if anyone would have told me I'd do everything I could to get rid of him one day, I would have laughed in their face. Who would have thought that our lives that fit so perfectly together would--almost overnight--become unrecognizable?
Silas and Charlie's lives don't fit together anymore. It's too hard now. It's taking more effort than either of us is capable of.
I don't want him to hate me. I just don't want him to love me anymore.
So... I've been acting different. It's not that hard to act different, because I actually am different after all of this. But I've been letting him see it instead of hiding it. I'm mean. I didn't know I was capable of being this mean. And I'm distant. And I'm letting him see me flirt with other guys. A few hours ago, he punched Brian's dad when he overheard him tell another customer that I was Brian's girlfriend. I'm not sure we've ever gotten in that big of a fight before. I wanted him to yell at me. I wanted him to see me for what I really am.
I wanted him to see that he can do so much better.
Instead, right before they threw him out of the diner, he took a step toward me. He bent until his mouth was at my ear and he whispered, "Why, Charlie? Why do you want me to hate you?"
My sob caught in my throat as he was pulled away from me. He held my gaze as he was escorted outside. The look in his eye--it was one I've never seen before. It was full of...indifference. As if he finally stopped having hope.
And based on the text I just received from him before I began this journal entry...I think he's finally done fighting for us. His text said, I'm on my way to your house. You owe me a proper break-up.
He's finally fed up with it all. And we are over. Really over. And I should be glad, because this was my plan all along, but instead I can't stop crying.
Charlie has been extremely quiet as she reads. She's not taking notes or telling me anything that might be of use to us. At one point, I saw her swipe her hand under her eye, but if it was a tear, she hid it well. It made me curious what she was reading, so I peeked over and tried to read from the journal.
It was our the night we broke up. What happened between us just a matter of a week or so ago. I want nothing more than to scoot over and read the rest of it with her, but instead, she tells Landon she has to pee.
He pulls over at a gas station about an hour from the prison. Janette remains in the car and Charlie sticks by my side as we enter the store. Or maybe it's me who sticks by her side. I'm not sure. The desire to protect her hasn't left me at all. If anything, I've become more involved. The fact that I remember everything from the last two--almost three--days has made it harder for me to forget that I'm not supposed to know her. Or love her. But all I can do is think about the kiss from this morning--when we thought we weren't going to remember each other when it was over. The way she allowed me to kiss her and hold her until she wasn't Charlie anymore.
It took all I had not to laugh when she pretended she knew her name. Delilah? Even without her memory, she's still the same, stubborn Charlie. It's amazing how a few pieces of her personality still shine through today just as they did last night. I wonder if I'm at all similar to who I was before all this started?
I wait for her until she emerges from the restroom. We walk to the refrigerated cases of drinks and I begin to reach for a water. She grabs at a Pepsi and I almost catch myself telling her that I know she prefers Coke based on something I read in one of the letters yesterday, but I'm not supposed to remember yesterday. We take our drinks to the register and set them down.