Strangers

Had Erin Ansel called over the phone to arrange a meeting, I most certainly would have declined in a heartbeat for lack of a better reason but my own insecurity. You see, I am still in the midst of solving this existential crisis on my own and I'd rather have the time alone to figuring out who Jaylen Harper really is.

"Sure," I said, uncertainty marring my voice. I repeated, with a much more dignified tone, "Sure, I don't mind."

Now that I've taken the time to truly think about it, this whole situation is so absurd; how someone (such as myself) could just downright forget the fundamentals that defined them as a person, abandoning the natural process of actually being themselves. Maybe that's why I've been referring to the part of me that died along with the car crash as a separate entity. Like how someone would address a complete stranger, to someone he just so happened to meet after losing all their memories in a f*****g car crash.

Who are you?

I close my eyes as I hear Dr. Will shutting the door behind him. I anxiously start to drum my fingers on the rigid cast on my leg. Perhaps I'm not wrong, Erin Ansel fell in love with the Jaylen whose memories were still intact, not this apathetic slob confined to a hospital bed.

---

Fragment 2: April 16, 2008

I steadied the rubber wheel as the blonde boy hopped on the swing.

"So," he said. "Mom told me you were gonna move. In a few days."

I started pushing on the swing.

"Nope, why would we even move?" I asked.

"Your dad's work, I guess," he said. He wrapped his hands on the rope. "But that's good. It's movie night this Friday."

In the gleam of the sun, underneath the shining sky, his swishing hair was no longer blonde but luminous and white.

"Yeah, and I want to see your new death trooper," I said.

I see him nod. "It kinda sucks, I'm not allowed to bring any of my figures outside."

The swing was slowly gaining momentum. Josh's skinny legs dangled out in the open air. I looked down from the small hill and to the sprawling town below.

"You sure you're not gonna move?" he asked.

"Yep."

"You're really sure?"

I looked up to see where the rope was tied around the tree. I said, "I don't know." And I knew that was a lie- he probably knew, too- but at that instant, it was a lie that assumed the slightest hint of truth; I really didn't know what's going to happen from here.

After a pause, he got off the swing and landed on the ground with a thud.

"Your turn," he said.

The wind blew and filled my shirt, the warm summer air circled inside.

"I don't feel like it." I sat down on the dirt where the sunlight was filtered from the leaves and rested my back on the tree. I lightly brushed my legs against the ground, admiring the sensation of the blades of grass on my skin. The yellow-haired boy walked over and sat next to me. He brought his legs to his chest and hugged his knees.

"Do you like sunny days?" I asked.

"Uh huh, they're great for picnics and watching the sky and all that."

I looked up the sky to see a puffy cloud lazily rolling over itself. I squinted and craned my neck to see it in different angles. It didn't resemble any sort of object, animal or vehicle, not even one of dad's weird ceramic models in the kitchen. It didn't look like anything.

"What does that one look like?" I asked, pointing over to the anomalous cloud.

"Wait a minute," he said, blowing the inside of his cheeks. "It kinda looks like a tank, but without the cannon. How about you?"

"Same," I said.

We sat in silence, underneath the shapeless clouds and the shade of the oak tree, with only the sound of rustling leaves and grass and billowing wind, content with each other's presence.

"Jaylen," he said. "I'm gonna miss you."

Somehow, someway, he saw right through me. I wasn't going to watch the Star Wars trilogy that Friday with him. Hearing my name catch in his throat left a pang of pain in my heart. Or was it loneliness?

"Yeah," I said, eyes welling up. "Me too, Josh."

---

I sulked back in bed. The blankets draped over me grew heavier and heavier, entombing me to the edge of slumber. I realized I haven't had a wink of sleep since I came to.

I jolted upright as the hospital door creaked open. I turned to see the shadow showing itself from the door.

The first thing I noticed was her face; she had short dark hair just reaching the top of her shoulders and big bright eyes behind the pair of eyeglasses resting atop her pert nose. She wore a plain white blouse and faded blue jeans which hugged her hips. She smiled warmly at me, tilting her head, probably wondering why I was staring at her so intensely.

"Hello," she said. Her voice matched her figure, ethereal and angelic.

"Hello," I replied.

She pulled a chair from the far corner of the room and sat down.

"How are you?"

I put on a tense smile. "I'm doing alright, I guess."

"That's great. I'm Erin Ansel. I'm a classmate from Dolores Science High, your school." The way she said each word was consistently monotone, like she wrote that down somewhere and was now reciting it.

"I- uh, hi. I'm Jaylen Harper." I nodded to myself.

Erin lightly laughed, bringing a hand up to cover herself. I didn't know what it was but the gesture was so cute and innocent. I had an irrational urge to make her laugh again.

"I know who you are, dummy."

"Right," I said.

My eyes wandered over to the black shoebox of sorts that she was holding, cradled between her palms. Erin pulled it close to her lap.

"But the question is, do you know who I am?" she asked.

"You're Erin."

"Yes, yes, but who am I to you, really?"

I glossed over her eyes looking expectantly at me. I stared directly at her but at the same time not really. Erin Ansel is Jaylen Harper's girlfriend. I am Jaylen Harper. Erin is my girlfriend. "You're my girlfriend," I said, sinking further down the bed.

I might be imagining things, but for a second I thought I saw her face droop a little and her eyes momentarily fill with dejection. She maintained her smile.

Erin pursed her lips and said, "I'm your girlfriend, alright." Her teal eyes looked distantly over the ceiling I've been staring at for a couple hours now.

"Mrs. Jennie is currently at a business trip but she'll be coming home in a few days. She called me that you just woke up and I came the soonest I could," she said. "You don't understand how incredibly happy I am that you did. I had a nagging thought at the back of my mind that you'd never-"

"Jennie?" I asked.

"Your mom."

"Oh."

Erin brought her lips together and formed a tight smile. "Mrs. Jennie didn't say this during our call so I actually found out some time just now that you have this sort of amnesia involved with trauma. Your doctor told me that you forgot everything. I actually didn't believe it. I wanted to visit you today mainly because I wanted to see how you're doing but I hoped to eventually talk to you about the incident in regards to that night. I thought that if you were here, then everything should fix itself and go back to the way it used to be."

Erin places the black shoebox on top of the desk adjacent from bed before adding, "But what I want doesn't really dictate reality."

"Look, I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"That the Jaylen you know isn't here with us right now."

Erin's eyes searched the floor. "I- I know I'm being selfish," she said. "But if there's any chance that you still remember me, remember us, then…"

Erin pulls herself so that she was only at arms' length. She was so close that I could smell the minute trace of her shampoo. I only now noticed the faint circles underneath her eyes.

"I know that Jaylen must mean a lot to you, but I'm sorry. Dr. Will told me that I was expected to make a full recovery but I'm really not quite sure if I'll be the person I used to be."

"Please stop apologizing. If anything, I'm at fault here. I've overwhelmed you before, I've overwhelmed you that night, hell, I'm overwhelming you right now. I'm sorry that things had to turn out this way. But if there's any chance that the Jaylen I know is still in there, and he needs some help getting out, I'll always be here."

"Thanks," I said flatly, and to a certain degree I meant it.

"Jeez, look at us being so dramatic," she said with that same laugh, somewhat lightening the dour atmosphere. Erin takes the shoebox on top of the table and displays it to me. "Moving on," she said. "I've been going around school collecting letters and messages from your friends and classmates."

I wanted to talk to her about "that night" and how apparently everything has gone to s**t. But I felt an inexplicable force telling me that now wasn't the time. Trusting my instincts, I attempted to deter the conversation from the heavy topics.

"Dolores High?" I asked.

"Yes, Dolores High. And I've compiled these into this box right here," she said, tapping a finger on the lid. "Maybe if you read enough you'll remember bits and pieces of yourself, maybe."

I reached for the box. Small slips of paper poked from its edges. I shook it once, taking note of the lack of sound it emitted.

"Yeah, that's pretty full," she said.

"I must be popular," I joked, instantly regretting my lame attempt at being charismatic.

She nodded. "You've been the talk of the whole school. They even made a tribute for you and everything."

I could sense the unease still lingering in the air, the ambivalent motionlessness of everything as Erin, the girlfriend whom I harbor no feelings for, anxiously looked at me. I was forced to resume my attention on the shoebox. I picked it up and slowly opened it. Carefully maneuvering it so that the contents of which wouldn't spill out on the bed. I reached behind the cover and randomly pulled out a pink envelope.

"Erin," I said as I peeled out the tape that sealed it in. 'What's Jaylen like?' I wanted to ask. But I'm not sure if I'm ready, or if I even want to know. "What are you like?" I asked instead.

"Oh!" she said. I expect that anyone being asked what kind of person they are would also be taken by surprise. Erin clicked her tongue and hesitated for a moment. "Well, as you're already very aware of, I'm your girlfriend," she began, "I don't really have much remarkable achievements but I'm the school newspaper's chief editor. I like camping, long walks at the beach, and commuting on my own- all that boring stuff."

She cleared her throat. "Anyways, I spoke with Peter," she said. "He sends you his best. As does everyone else. We're praying for you, if that's any consolation."

"I don't mind a little prayer," I said. I had no idea who Peter was.

Erin and I talked for some time after that. Or more accurately, she was mostly the one who did all the talking and I just zoned in, making sure to nod at times. We talked about mundane things, and the conversation didn't really stray too much from that. I only realized that an hour has already passed when a nurse entered the room and began brushing the floor.

"I'd love to spend the whole day talking," she said, and as much as it was an enlightening experience for me, I hoped that that never really happens. "But it's getting late and I have classes in an hour. I'll make sure to call the others and maybe we'll visit sometime this weekend. Sound like a plan?"

I nodded as she began picking up her things. We said our goodbyes with the promise of the next time. She left me the shoebox so that I could read the letters and pass the time.

I finished reading the first letter I pulled and felt nothing. Then the second one. The third and fourth. I felt nothing. I was the person they had in mind when writing these but make no mistake; I was not who these letters are for.

Feeling particularly impulsive, I motioned for a nurse and grabbed a pair of crutches and positioned one under each arm. I left the room and headed for the washroom.

---

Fragment 3: November 4, 2016

The kitchen clock read 6:15 but the sky above showed no hint of morning; the slate horizon was bruised with thick and dense clouds. The putrid colors, the silence of birds, the heavy air, the distant rolling of mist. I hoped that the day would start with the storm, then clear. But the longer the rain withheld itself, the more I worried.

The humid air stuck to my skin as I tugged at the long sleeves I wore. I pushed my hands inside the pockets of my tattered jeans, which had splotches of fake blood splattered throughout.

I rode the bus to school. I held the ghoul mask in one hand, forever frozen in an ear-piercing shriek, and my face rested on the other. The first raindrops fell, slick and colorless, splattering on the window and trailing a cold path down the glass. The blustery sky outside lightened to a dull gray, perhaps signifying that it would clear soon; yet massive clouds still loomed over Dawsbury.

I sighed and crinkled my eyes. I've grown to distrust weather forecasts.

I stepped out of the bus and on to the damp pavement. Icy gusts of wind cut through the air and I wished I brought my hoodie. I waved back to the students lounging outside the school, most likely waiting for their parents to bring a prop or costume they left behind. I passed them and the school gate. Inside the school I could see students frantically covering up the stalls and bazaars with thin plastic tarps. Some hauled off equipment to the nearby auditorium.

Semester break was quickly coming to a close and the annual school fair was now in full swing.

"Jaylen!" I heard someone shout. I turned around to see Peter rushing towards me.

"Hey," I said.

"That costume's terrible."

"Good morning to you, too."

Peter was wearing a suit: a black jacket, with straight lines from the cuffs to shoulders, buttoned up to his chest and a pair of matching trousers. He wore a white polo underneath and a pain inducing blue tie which was bunched up under his neck.

"Why are you wearing a blue tie?"

"Couldn't find a black one." He pulled up the sleeves and scratched the underside of his wrist. He reached down to his pockets and pulled out a USB drive.

"A copy of all your favorite movies and music. Happy birthday man," he said.

"You flatter me too much." I said, taking the hard drive.

We meandered around the school grounds and headed for my room. "Wedding booth, right?" I asked.

"Nah, we're changing a yearly tradition and ended up doing a funeral," he said. "I'm supposed to be the dead body."

Peter's snarky attitude infuriates me sometimes. He once got called to the principal's office back in sixth grade when he talked back to the Science teacher who scolded him for breaking the mortar by hammering the chalk too hard. "I guess I should've used my fists then if I want to get this goddamn chalk into its dust form without breaking anything except my knuckles." I actually sympathized with him then; I treated him with fries and everything after the ordeal. And then the b*****d goes out of his way to say, "Stupidity requires,"-munch- "some sort of implicit force,"-munch- "for one to realize and be aware,"-munch- "of said stupidity.

Since then we've been thriving on this unpredictable friendship that is borderline unhealthy yet very codependent. It somehow works.

We climbed up a fleet of stairs and turned down the corridor.

"Have you seen Cinelli?" I asked. Aside from an awkward exchange (mostly on my end) and her handing me a couple of graphic shirts for my birthday, I haven't really heard or seen much from Cinelli.

Peter shrugs. "Late, I guess," he said.

My room was located on the very end of the hall. A booth was erected where students would normally pass through to get to class. The inscriptions "MAZE BOOTH $1.00 GET IN OR GET LOST" in blood-red was coarsely painted on the black sheet stapled over the wooden box. Behind it sat the class president dressed in murky white clothing that was so long it touched the tiled floor. She also fashioned a wig: long black locks that hid her face except for a small portion of her blood-red contact lenses on her eyes.

"Hey, is that Sarah?" Peter asked. "Oh my God this is rich. Stone-faced person takes stone-faced persona. I need to get a picture."

He walked over to the booth and immediately began snapping pictures with the more than pissed off White Lady. He exclaimed, "Looks like the real thing!"

I set my bag down and straightened my shirt. "Take one more and you'll get cursed."

Peter began feigning fright as he slowly steps back. He turns to me. "I'm going to bounce man, see you around lunch."

"Okay."

Just as quickly as he came, Peter turned down a corner at the next corridor. His loafers echoed after him even after he already disappeared.

"Good morning," I said to Sarah, who just stared at me.

I walked over to the railing overlooking the whole school and looked down at the madness below. Dolores Science High was divided into six main wings; two three-story buildings (where the juniors' and seniors' classes are separated respectively) flanked the school grounds; the domed auditorium where events are usually held (but could also sometimes surmise for a gym or basketball court) was tucked away at the far corner, just after a small row of buildings where the school offices and faculty rooms are located; the sizeable cafeteria with peeling yellow paint and the fairly obscure library behind it, the latter of which I've probably visited only once or twice in the three years I've been studying here.

My eyes dart back up the sky as the grueling storm rumbles in anticipation. The coldness of the metal seeps itself into my hands. A few moments pass. The wind was whistling, the rain was trickling, and somebody was tapping my shoulder.

Her faint yet unmistakable fragrance wafted through my nose. My gaze unknowingly gravitated towards her pointy cone-shaped hat that sat on her auburn hair.

"Good morning," she deadpanned before briskly walking inside the room.

I picked my bag up and followed after her. "Cinelli," I said.

"Hi," she replied.

I thought it was a passing joke between us, but Cinelli actually followed through on her witch get-up. She wore a dark silk dress, like the sky above but not quite as violent nor dismal, which was then accompanied by high-cut boots and elbow-length gloves.

"What are you supposed to be?" I asked, fully aware that she was supposed to be a witch.

"I'm a witch. What are you?"

"A spooky character wearing an equally spooky costume."

We entered the horror maze, or what was actually classroom 4-C but with rows and columns of stacked plastic chairs covered by black cloth. The makeshift walls were positioned in a way so as to mimic an intricate labyrinth. "The maze is actually pretty easy," Sarah told us. "But once the lights are out, there'll be confusion and panic and exhilaration and whatever, there's bound to be some stragglers. So that's another job of yours aside from, you know, scaring them. Make sure no one actually gets lost and spends too much time inside."

I slipped on my ghoul mask and made my way through the maze with Cinelli behind me. We stood next to a fog machine, white plumes of artificial smoke rolled from the vent and out unto the cold marble floor, slowly making its way across the room. I watched as the fog traveled from one end to another, colliding with the wall and momentarily rising. I imagined that it would rise and rise until it met the ceiling but it spewed back on the ground after a few feet of elevation.

As I was transfixed in this development, Cinelli the witch girl nudged my arm.

"What time is it?" she whispered.

I rolled up my sleeve and pressed the light on my wristwatch. "Around seven-twenty."

"When does our shift end?"

"Ten."

She groans, and as if on cue, someone shouted from the front, "Everyone in their places? A'ight, I'll be killing the lights now." Three seconds after he said that, the remaining lights were shut off and the room was plunged into sudden darkness. I blinked back a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the absence of light. After a few seconds, the vague silhouette of the fog machine showed itself through the tiny slits of my mask.

At first, complete silence fell on the room, followed by nervous chatter, then silence once again as Sarah cracks the door open and peeks into the room. "We're starting now."

I heard Cinelli's breaths, short and quick, heaving through the dense air.

"Shouldn't you be at your spot or something?"

I was stationed at the very back of the room, right behind where two "walls" opened up to a narrow hallway. I think Cinelli was supposed to be somewhere up front.

"I don't want to spend three hours of my life doing this," she said, waving a gloved hand in front of her. "But alas, I have but no other choice. Luckily you're here to help me bear the suffering."

"You think this is boring?" I asked.

"Not boring per se, maybe I just find it a tad bit stupid and pointless when we could be doing something much more meaningful. Want to sit down?"

"Okay."

We sat down the floor with our backs pressed against the wall and the gloomy expanse of the maze in front of us. Time slowly ticked by with the light pounding of raindrops on the covered windows. After a few minutes, the door opens and the shuffling of feet and frightened yelps and giddy laughter replaced Cinelli's breathing.

Suddenly and inexplicably, the events of that night flashed back in my mind. Her pounding on my door, the conversation in the living room, traveling back to her house with her wrapped around me. I wasn't able to talk to her properly then, and even a few days after that, maybe now was an appropriate time to confront her with the issue.

"Cinelli, can I ask something?"

"Go ahead."

"You won't take this the other way?"

"Just say it."

I turned to her, mentally tracing the silhouette of her head. In that moment, I was thankful we were in the dark. I couldn't see her and she couldn't possibly see me. In a way, I found security in ambiguity.

"Say, why were you drunk?"

There was an uncomfortable passage of time and I swear if this was a sitcom I'd hear crickets chirping. I was now doubting whether ambiguity was helping me out right now.

"What? When?" she finally asked.

"What? You went to my house and-"

"I went to your house?" she half-shouted. She promptly murmured an apology after realizing that her voice echoed off into the enclosed room. "I went to your house? What did I do?"

"It was sometime last week. You don't remember anything?" I said.

"No s**t. Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid," she said.

"I highly doubt that you forget things when you're drunk. Memory loss isn't that easy."

"I just know that I woke up the next day with a massive headache, the night before was a blur. Now just shut up and tell me everything I did."

"Well, see," I said. I paused and searched for the right words to approach the subject in a roundabout way. Discussing to Cinelli about her "drunken confession" was difficult. "You went to my house at around the middle of the night. Jesus, I thought you were a burglar or something. You said some weird things. But that doesn't matter, what 's important is why you were drunk in the first place."

"What the hell? How could I- never mind. You need to tell me everything I said."

"Why?"

"It is very important that you do so."

I pursed my lips and adjusted my mask. If she really doesn't remember anything, then I have the advantage in knowledge here. I somewhat have an idea of why she was drunk. Anything she says here can and will be used against her.

"Well, you said you wanted to talk." I waited for a response, then continued. "You also asked for a sleepover."

"That was all?"

"You also said you liked me," I blurted out.

Nothing could've prepared me for the excruciating pain I had to endure for the next few seconds. Cinelli sat motionless as I hear the group of students chattering amongst themselves. I figured they were gradually getting used to the maze's fright tactics. I hear them coming ever so closer. I hummed to myself, making up a tune as I go. Maybe if I pretend like I've never said anything in the first place…

Cinelli burst out laughing. High and hysterical, if her laugh didn't sound so diabolical she'd be ruining the horror maze.

"I like you?" she wheezed.

"What are you doing?" I panicked and stood up. I heard a voice from the group of freshmen shout out, "Oi, what the bloody hell was that?"

Cinelli finally calmed down and realized the grave mistake she had made. She shot up from her seat and frantically paced around the small vicinity.

"They're coming," she said.

"Uh huh."

"What do we do?"

I rubbed my temples and said exasperatedly, "We scare them."

"How?!"

I paced around. We could hide behind the fog machine, but then what? We pop up. Boo. Scary. Thinking of a slightly better idea, I lay down flat on the floor and lifted my shirt up to the midriff of my torso.

"What are you doing?"

For the umpteenth time in my life, I had no idea what I was doing.

"You're a zombie witch and you want my human flesh." I realized the stupidity in that statement while saying it, but we were out of options and we'll have to make do with that.

Cinelli got down on her knees and placed a hand on my abdomen. The leather glove on my bare skin sent tiny jolts through my body.

"I think I heard it hear," another voice said.

The tiny hairs on my skin stood on edge as Cinelli's face got closer, her hot breath intermingling with the cold air. She placed both hands on my stomach with her lips only inches away from making direct contact.

"Now," I seethed.

Cinelli bared her teeth as she made smacking and grinding sounds with her mouth. Following her cue, I began to howl in agonizing pain. We enacted the scene, like dingo dog ripping apart jackrabbit, although I'm pretty sure neither existed anywhere near the country.

"Holy s**t," the same voice said right before frightened laughter as they quickly jogged past us.

The point when they saw us and to when they rushed past seemed to stretch on to infinity. Cinelli kept mimicking what I think is what a crazed barbarian would sound like. Growling and scarfing through hypothetical human flesh.

After someone from the front called out that the group had left, I stopped screaming. My throat hurts and my heart was beating through my chest, but otherwise we survived scratch-free.

I sat up and pulled my shirt down. I could see Cinelli through the dark making her way back to the wall.

I opened my mouth to speak but she interrupted, "What just happened will not be talked about or referenced to in any future discussions with our circle of friends. Clear?" she said.

I nodded. "Yes'sir."

After an amount of time that felt like it was finally okay to talk about it, I said, "You liking me is really that funny?"

I see her shrug. "Now that I think about it, not really."

"Then why'd you laugh?"

The light drizzle outside pounded against the covered windows. And I half-expected the familiar roaring that comes with great downpour.

"Dunno."

I chuckled. "You liking me isn't that impossible." I meant to say it as a passing comment, and that I'd never even expected a reply.

"True," she said.

"Oh," I said.

And we sat in silence.

---

I stared at Jaylen Harper. His ragged hair, his frail shoulders, his thin arms, his sunken cheeks. He looks so weak and fragile.

The running water echoed inside the restroom as I brought a wet hand to my face. I gently dabbed some moisture and then reached out to the reflection. Our hands touched, my chapped skin against his reflective surface.

"Cinelli," I said. "Who are you?"