Page 20 of Forgotten
“That’s actually the only thing I can do. Sports and the guitar.” Guitar. I didn’t know Ford started playing theguitar.
“Seems to be quite enough if you ask me. I can’t do music, so that’s two things you are smarter than me at.”
Ford sighs, lowering his feet to the floor and picking up the book I have to return. He traces his fingers over the title and I stare at the way they bend and hang over the cover.
“I could teach you how to read notes, play some songs. It’s not hard,” he offers.
I don’t know what to offer back to someone like Ford. “I could come round and help you study science?”
Drumming his fingers on the cover of the book, Ford looks at me with hopeful eyes. Without a word, he nods and grins so aggressively that his dimples appear on both cheeks at the same time.
“I wish I didn’t need school,” he whines but every trace of sadness is gone now.
“I know, this sucks,” I agree, because I haven’t learned how to disagree with Ford yet. I love school. I love the library. I love being in the library with Ford.
We sit in silence for a while, until Ford drops my book onto the table and turns to me. “Are you still my best friend, though?” he asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, Ash. You did Halloween with your new friends.” The way Ford says the word is strange. It’s almost as if he has a lemon in his mouth and he won’t spit it out.
I forgot about Halloween; about our tradition of watching Nightmare Before Christmas and going trick or treating with Gregory Hale and eating candies until we drop. I didn’t even think Ford would want to hang out with me anymore, and apparently, Ford was thinking exactly the same this entire time.
“I’m sorry I forgot. We went to the cinema with Sydney and Darshi. Those are my friends’ names.” Then, in a lower voice, I add, “Mom wanted me to take Martin and Edwin.”
“No fucking way. The twins? Not cool.” Raising his voice, Ford grows restless in the chair and I almost falloff.
“I know. It was not nice,” I say as the weekend comes back with the humiliation, the tears and the hours I spent missing my best friend.
Ford is about to add something when out of the corner, the librarian appears with a finger up and a shush on their lips. “Bergman! Hale! Quiet in the library.”
Chapter 9
2024 - Ashford
For the forty-eight hours after my panic attack, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m caught in a haze, drifting in and out of sleep. I’m barely aware of Ash’s presence; barely aware of myself. My thoughts keep slipping away.
When I wake up in the small hospital bed, the headache is back and so is Lindsey the nurse.
“Good morning, Ford.” She’s quick to take my pulse and then three sets of worried blue eyes are on me. Doctor Parker is in the room, as well.
This day sucks. It must be Monday already.
“Guess I’m not being discharged sooner, am I?” I ask and then look at the nurse, at Parker and finally, at Ash. 2024 isn’t that much different from 2022. People with bad news still have the same apologetic smile, the same fucking half-shrug lingering on their shoulders. “I guess I don’t know where I live anyway.”
The doctor’s face turns whiter at the comment and I have to give it up. If this is a prank, the acting is phenomenal.
And then, a cackle—a soft breathless cackle that turns into a laugh, a bark, a shriek. I see Ash’s puffy eyes. “You’re awful. When you see it you’ll-”
“Hum.” Clearing his voice, Parker interrupts Ash. “Let’s try to remember slowly. No more panic attacks.”
The laughter dies on Ash’s lips and fades into a promising smile.
“I’m told you have a longer history of these episodes, Ford,” the doctor continues.
“None in over a year,” Ash interjects and I catch his wink and proud eyes. It’s the look of someone who’s been there; someone who’s been supporting, helping, guiding—loving. Who is this person?
This Ash is terrifying. I thought I knew him inside out, like the back of my hand. I have seen him as a scared child; an insecure teenager; a young man finding his confidence. From a shy delicate chrysalis to a sparky, vibrant butterfly. I have known every aspect of Ashley’s personality since he was six years old. I don’t know what to do with the flirty tone, the sweet eyes and the overt yearning—the obvious pining.
