Page 30 of Forgotten
When I finally find Vicky’s contact at the bottom of the list, I’m incredibly relieved. Vicky was my roommate during my last year at university and she has been my closest friend since then. With the exclusion of Ash, naturally, but now that Ash is my boyfriend I assume Vicky is my closest friend.
My thoughts are suddenly too complicated and I realise I have no idea where Vicky and I stand in 2024. I don’t know where she is, or why she hasn’t come to visit me at all since I’ve woken up in the hospital. The last thought hurts. Opening our conversation, I send her atext.
(Me) Are we still friends in 2024?
(Vicky) Believe me I have tried ridding myself of you.
The answer is just quintessentially Vicky, ominous and never comforting. She asks no questions and either has Ash been talking to her, or Vicky has assumed this is just me being me again.
Leaning back on the bed, I consider ringing her and asking her all the questions that have been swirling in my head like a crazy tornado.
I imagine how our conversation would go. Me, desperate. Vicky, a little impatient, a little mean, and very direct.
Yeah, that’s not what I need right now. Right now, I need comfort. I need my family. So, instead, I find the contact of my dad and I ring him. He picks up instantly.
“Dad?”
“Hello Fordy, how are you? Got your mobile back?”
Hearing his voice almost brings tears to my eyes. The worst part about moving to Sheffield was being away from my dad and not seeing him every day. In uni, I used to call him every evening to make up for how little I visited.
“Yes, Ash had it restored for me.” Just mentioning Ash’s name reminds me of how dry my lips are.
“Smart kid,” my dad comments. I know that he has always considered Ash as part of the family, but now Ash actually is part of the family. The thought makes me flush and I forget I’m supposed to be speaking with my dad. He’s asking me question after question and I only catch the last one, “…You remember anything?”
I fill in the blanks and deliver the sentence I have rehearsed. “Not quite, but the doctors are confident I will recover in no time.”
“It’s been four weeks, though,” my dad points out. He was never the kind of dad who lies to protect his children but right now, I wish he was.
“I know, Dad. I don’t know why this is happening.”
My dad sighs into the phone and I’m tempted to ask where he is, what he’s doing, just to get him talking about something that isn’t my fucked up brain.
“How have you been otherwise?” Dad asks me to change the topic and I’m relieved.
I tell him about my progress, about my trip to the bathroom and my appointment with Dr. Bakari. Dad listens to me and I can picture him sitting by a window stroking his long blonde beard. We have been told many times how similar we look, the only difference being the red curly hair I take after my mother. Down to our voices, I’m my father’s son through and through.
When I’m done talking, Dad says, “I’m so glad to hear you are doing better, Ford. You were in very bad shape.”
“Perhaps you could visit again when I’m discharged?” I suggest.
My dad pauses before replying. “That would be nice,” he says.
I’m not sure why it sounds insincere but dad never lies to me. Talking to my dad is like a balm and I almost don’t want to say goodbye. He makes me promise to ring him again tomorrow and of course I will.
Before I hang up, my dad stops me. “Call your mother too, will you?”
I assure him I will, after I have therapy. The comment makes my dad laugh but I know he cannot blame me. Lily Hale is no easy woman. I need preparation.
The rest of the afternoon goes by quickly and before I know it, it is time for my therapy appointment.
I don’t know if I’m ready but I take a deep breath, finding the link to my online session. I connect to the call, adjusting the camera until it shows a decent angle of my shoulders and face. I look tired with deep bags under my eyes and low eyelids but this is exactly how I’m feeling.
Dr. Bakari’s face comes into view. “It’s good to see you, Ashford. How have you been?”
“Been a while,” I tell Dr. Bakari and then I pause to reflect on his question. Speaking with Dr. Bakari, I learned to bypass small talk and go for honesty. How have I been? “I’ve been better” I admit without shame.
Dr. Bakari smiles at me and the background of his studio is a soothing image, something I know, something normal. There are two pictures at either side of his head, two perspectives of the same leafy forest. The trees are tall and the sun is reflecting on each branch. Underneath it there is the same collection of books and I recognise some titles from our previous meetings.
