Cemetery Street

I turned and watched the freight's blinking tail light slink into the falling darkness, its presence as fleeting as my experience of freedom. I gimped towards the awaiting Shannie. The color had yet to return to her face. "Never thought I meet you on the wrong side of the tracks," I said opening the passenger door.

"Are you insane? What the fuck is your problem?" Shannie cried.

She may as well of been a stranger sitting next to me in a taxicab. She was no longer my best friend or the only person I'd ever fall in love with. She had forgotten. The sacred memories that even I remembered were lost to her.

"Thanks for trusting me Shannie," I grumbled.

Shannie burst into tears. She bawled and bawled. When she pulled it back together, she slipped the GTI into gear and we rode wordlessly into darkness.

***

I was surprised to see Shannie at the rehab the following evening. "Wanna go for a walk?" she asked.

"Sure."

"I got bad news," Shannie said when we were alone in the elevator.

Distracted by her fragrance, she smelled so clean and fresh with the slightest hint of coffee. "Really?" I nuzzled up to her.

"James, stop it," she said pushing me away. "Do you remember Jerome?" Shannie asked.

"Who?"

"Jerome, you know, the kid from Atlantic City."

"Atlantic City," I aped. "The only thing I remember is that bitch. Denise - the devil incarnate - Beelzebub."

"Genise."

"Whatever."

"No it's not whatever. I'm not going to let you sleaze James. Say it. Ga-niece. Ga-niece."

The elevator slid open and a nervous man and woman stepped in to hear me say: "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not a sped?" Before we exited I continued: "Repeat after me, James is not a sped. James has a Brain Injury."

Dispelling the notion that blondes can't walk and chew gum, Shannie shook her head and rolled her eyes. When the elevator's doors swooshed shut Shannie said, "Jerome is dead. He was killed, shot to death."

I paused for a second. A faceless image gathered in my brain before dissipating. I resumed my gait toward the front door. Outside the brisk November air embraced us.

"Do you remember him?" Shannie's breath dissipated into the starlit night.

I shook my head.

"Try James."

"What do you think I'm doing? You think I like not remembering? I'm sure I knew him. I'm sure I should be upset. I'm sure I should be a lot of things. I just can't remember. Okay? Jesus Christ cut me a break."