How to Forget

give thanks for guy fieri

Thanksgiving, the second most wonderful time of the year, next to Christmas -- although not for me. Most kids my age see Thanksgiving as an opportunity to stuff themselves with food and get away with it for one day. What Thanksgiving means to me is a house full of relatives I once knew and have to come to know again. These people watched me grow up, and I have no doubt that they suffered deeply when they heard the news that I do not remember seeing them watch me grow up. This will not go down well. I am certain of it.

Nat is off visiting his relatives in the Ukraine, having a wonderful time, I assume. Ukrainians, of course, do not celebrate Thanksgiving, but he is using his break from school to see them regardless. He is also using his break to make sure that I have no one to talk to when things get rough in my own household. He's probably already asleep by now. That, or he's out on the town, drinking wine as teenagers are authorized to do in Europe.

Meanwhile, I'm stuck in a sweater vest and in Ohio, one of the most boring states in the U.S. yet the state everyone brags about being from, with a bunch of people I'm supposed to act close with. They observe me like I'm an injured animal in rehabilitation, just like everyone else who knew me before the crash does.

It is my grandmother who breaks before the rest (and I say "before the rest" because I know that more tears are inevitable as long as I can't remember the people who should mean a hell of a lot more to me than they do thanks to my amnesia). She crumbles enough to give herself a warning to exit the room. Even with her frail limbs, she persists, because this is what she feels is right to do. Everyone leaves to take care of my grandmother, but I rest a hand on my mother's arm so that she stays with me. Her motherly countenance drifts to her caring brown eyes, and she waits for me to voice my concern.

"My amnesia hurts other people, doesn't it?"

She takes my hand and pats it tenderly, sighing and focusing her gaze on it. "Yes, Link, honey, it does, but just know that it's not your fault."

"How close was I with my grandmother?" I murmur.

"Extremely."

I cover my hand with my mouth. "Oh god."

Despite not knowing this woman, I feel for her. Despite her seeming like a stranger to me now, I recognize that she meant a great deal to me before. And that's all gone now. I can empathize with her. Just as it's painful to not be remembered, it's painful to not remember, even if it's more difficult for the latter to be aware of and to care about what you lose with amnesia.

"She'll recover in time," my mother promises.

I hear the faintness of sobbing from the other room.

~~~~~

At night, sleep does not carry me away. All I can do is stare at my ceiling and think about how other people have been affected by my mental condition. I was so caught up in trying to fix my own life to consider the toll it took on the humans around me. In a way, losing someone to amnesia is like losing someone to the grave, and while I myself don't have the capacity to know what that feels like -- seeing as I am on the causing end of things -- it still troubles me to imagine.

~~~~~

A/N: oh wow more character complexity huehuehue

~Da[n]k[meme]ota