How to Forget

baby's first day of high school!

I have many challenges in store for me today on my first day back at school. I'll be the talk of the town, as they say. I'll be the anomaly they're all infatuated with.

When I walk down the hall, regular tones are mitigated to whispers, much in the way that dominoes fall. As I walk past them, the students grow quieter at the same time. It's like a superpower that I'd rather not have.

When the teachers regard me, all I see is pity. I'm legitimately surprised that more of them haven't come up to me, patted me on the shoulder, and told me it would be okay with their eyebrows upturned in the front. The students sometimes have that same vibe, but not as publicly as the teachers do.

All these people are like extras in a movie. I know nothing about their lives. All I see is what they present to me now. They have to reintroduce themselves through the actions they make when I meet them again in my renewed state. There are so many possibilities for second chances but so many possibilities to be played over and over without my mental handbook of these people's personalities. I'm an easy target.

I wonder how long all of this will last.

~~~~~

"Link, would you mind staying after class for a quick second?" my third period teacher asks as we students are shuffling out of the room to enjoy the freedom of five minute passing time. The good thing about amnesia is that I never cease to be pleasantly surprised by things I would've normally accepted as common.

I look towards the crowd of my peers and back towards my teacher and languidly drag myself back inside the classroom. I know what this is going to be about, and I'd much rather just skip it all, but I am cognizant that this is an integral part of healing for my teachers, a method to soothe their guilt and affirm to themselves that they are good people for checking in with the amnesiac kid.

The teacher perches himself on the edge of his desk, much like a counselor would, as that's the position he's attempting to take. "I heard about what happened. We get reports on this kind of thing, not to mention gossip as well."

I nod, with nothing to say and nothing to do but wish to be free from his conversation. This nod signals that I am listening and that he can continue but that I don't have something to add.

Hoping to spark an emotional connection between us, his dark eyes fill with caring and meet my own. "How are you feeling?"

My composure remains tight as I discuss what would regularly be a heavy topic. I can't be bothered to care too much about this, considering my amnesia reality is the only reality I know. There's nothing to miss about my past life. "I'm kind of disoriented, but it's mostly okay. I'm not an emotional wreck or anything. I guess it's all just...dissociative."

"Have you talked to anyone about this?"

My knee bounces up and down, and I'm not sure if this is left over from my pre-amnesia days or if this is something I picked up right now. "I'm just trying to sort through the pieces on my own, you know? This is more of a personal journey for me. I need to let myself help myself."

My teacher processes this for a few seconds so as to seem like he's contemplating, as if he were a certified high school counselor. "Okay, well if you need any outside help, you know who to ask."

"Thanks," -- I quickly glance towards the whiteboard where he's written his name -- "Mr. Ambrose."

"No problem, Link. I hope you achieve all that you're searching for."

And with that weirdly motivational phrase, I decide it's time to depart.

~~~~~

When lunchtime rolls around, I am surprised that, despite all the conversations centered around me, no one actually sits down at my table. Surely my old friends should be trying to bring me back into their friend group, right? Surely there should be some students trying to social climb through my condition. Who was I before the crash? Was I so repulsive that these other kids still cannot trust me? I ponder these questions as I pick at my low quality cafeteria food. What would we do without you, George Bush?

Just as I'm about to give up on eating this prison gruel of a meal, a boy my age gets up from his table of jocks, walks straight over to me like he's on a mission, slams his tray down on the spot next to me, and sits down. He seems like the charming sort of boy that you should never trust, and maybe he's just here to mess with me for the entertainment of his fuckboy friends over there, but he's the only one with enough guts to come and talk to me, so I let him stay. I don't even know anything about him yet. Face value, as I say. He extends a hand to me, and, once I've lowered my eyes to it hesitantly, I shake it. "Hi, I'm Nat Kingsley."

"Link Jeffreys." I test out my name, a name that I'm just supposed to accept as my own, even though I have no connection to it whatsoever. Everything has just been predetermined for me from the time I woke up in the hospital bed.

"Everyone already knows who you are. This high school is pretty big, so some people knew you before, and the rest learned your name through the gossip. Not a good way to make a first impression." He winces but then turns his wincing into a perfectly straight smile and starts on his lunch. "So what did Mr. Ambrose want after class?"

Confused, I tilt my brow upward.

"I'm in your history class, but I sit in the back, where you wouldn't be able to see me," Nat tells me, ushering a quiet "oh" from my lungs.

"He wanted to ask me how I'm handling this whole shitstorm and if there's anything he can do to help, et cetera. It's classic teacher stuff." I dismiss it all with a wave of my hand.

"How are you handling it, though?" Nat questions with the same concern in his eyes that Mr. Ambrose maintained.

"I've just opted to live life like there was never a life before the crash. Just restart."

Solemnity washes over him, as well as a hint of something I don't know. "That's a smart idea."

My brows move together. "Are there things I would be better off not remembering?"

He laughs nervously. "Well I think that's the case for everyone, isn't it?"

"I suppose you're right," I draw out.

We're lost in eerie silence until all of the sudden Nat scoops up his tray and rises from his chair. "I have to go, um" -- his eyes scan the cafeteria -- "talk to my coach. I'll see you later, Link." With that, he hurries away from my table, leaving me more bewildered than I was before.

~~~~~

A/N: o shit lmao

but i love nat already asdfhgljslg

~Dickota