Page 64 of Forgotten
“It was fine. Ford and I are fine.”
Chapter 21
2024 - Ashford
A memory hits me one morning. It’s been over six weeks since I’ve woken up in a hospital bed, two since I have been sent home. Winnie and I are sitting at the round breakfast table, and Ash is in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher.
“Da, sing!” Winnie demands, her excited little hands banging on the surface.
And something I don’t quite recognise escapes my lips, a slow melody that just makes sense.
Busy with her cereal, Winnie hums along.
“Win… honey?” I call for the child’s attention.
Her dark eyes are immediately on me.
“Is this my song?”
Winnie smiles at me and it’s just another person in this family with a breath-taking, white-teethed grin, isn’t it? “My son!” The toddler yelps and then, she’s busy throwing cereal again.
I think for a blink and when nothing comes to mind I shout, “Ash!”
Ash rushes to the dining-room. “You good?”
I clear my throat a couple of times before I manage the words out. “Did I write songs?”
The confused look on Ash’s face makes me smile. “Like, in your life? Ever?”
“No, I mean, recently. About… this.” I know I’ve been writing melodies since I was in uni, but it was never serious. And this music is nothing I’m familiar with.
Pulling a chair out, Ash sits with Winnie and me at the table. Propping a foot up, he hugs his leg to his chest and rests his chin on top of his knee. He looks exhausted, somewhat younger and older at the same time. The Ash from the photos on my phone, the man before the accident, he’s all smiles and laughter. This Ash, on the other hand, is moody. One day he’s dark bags under his eyes, long sighs, deep frowns. The next day he’s horny, endearing, an affectionate father.
I hate that I’m the cause of his chaos. I hate that I am the one driving him insane.
“Yes, yeah you did,” he admits eventually.
I’m quiet while Ash helps Winnie finish her breakfast and I’m quiet when ten minutes later, Ash picks the child up and walks out of the room. Winnie fits perfectly around his hip, her little hands grasping Ash’s shoulder.
“Your laptop’s in the study downstairs. You should have music stuff there. Your password is Gotham City or something.”
Indeed, my laptop is in the study. Indeed, my password is Gotham City, followed by a combination ofnumbers that matches Ash’s birthday. I’m not sure where the memory comes from, but my fingers type out the code before I can question it.
And indeed, my laptop is filled with music, song lyrics, half-finished sets and naturally, more photos, more videos.
It adds another layer.
I study the contents the entire day, stopping only for a quick nap with Winnie, scared of getting too overwhelmed. But the panic doesn’t come. Maybe I’m in total shock—the thought does cross my mind.
Or maybe, it just makes sense. It makes so much sense that when in the evening Winnie begs me shyly, “Song for bed,” I nod promptly.
I tuck her in with her bear, and it’s probably a sick twisted joke that it’s the Pooh bear. But hey, karma, right? Staring at the bear and its silly red crop-top, I sing to Winnie. I’m surprised when she hums along to all the songs I pick but then again, I’m not. This is my daughter. It makes sense.
“My song, Da,” she demands and then, the same melody as that morning comes out of my mouth. Within minutes, she’s asleep.
I sit by her bed for a long time, catching my breath, wiping my tears.
???
