Looking For A Lost Memory

Brazilian Skies

12th April - Painting in the same monotone colours. This is how it feels.

We shut out the noise so we can forget, that doesn't mean the sound is gone. I've tried to forget about the words of my Uncle, but they ring in my ear like a plague.

Every day is the same. Any stranger to this and they would think they were brainwashing us.

Wake up at 4 am,

take a 30 min walk,

come back,

doing the same routines on repeat.

Then they throw us out in 38°c and expect us to survive, and stay up all night on guard on rotations.

Sleep at 10 pm.

People have noticed my eyes are constantly bloodshot, the bags under my eyes are defined and heavy, followed by a series of yawns. I've been warned multiple times in the past to go straight to sleep, to stop staying up to write, or else they'd have no choice but to confiscate everything I have. They don't know that I have to write. I never actually understood why I started. Healing.

That is how all my documents were destroyed.

Everything I've ever written about this place over the last 3 years tossed into a fire. It started when I panicked in the evening when I came back early and I couldn't find the book anywhere. I presumed someone probably found it on duty or just messing around. Although I was panicking, at this point, I was grateful for the fact no-one could read my handwriting. People used to complain about it all the time, writing in Japanese was fine, but writing in English was a whole different story. My teachers constantly complained and told me to write so they could read it easier, but I never listened. It's my security.

I ran as if my life depended on it and found the fire my so-called teammates were sitting around and laughing so loud, I wouldn't be surprised if maybe the next checkpoint could hear from 5 miles away. Once they saw me approaching they went silent immediately knowing I figured everything out. I didn't care if I injured myself, my writing was the only thing keeping me going, and letting me know that I'm not dead being in this place yet. I reached inside the fire, feeling the flames hug against both sides of my hands and snatched out the book. Everyone got up instantly in shock, wondering what was going through my mind that could make me do something like sticking my hand in n***d flames. The pages were crisp, the ink washed away. Everything. Gone.

I write about all of them here, soon curiosity would get the better of them just to know what I was writing. They know I don't trust them as must as I normally trust others. Luckily, I knew something like this may happen so I write in two books. Now I should've stayed calm since I knew I had a second copy. But I couldn't help it. Is this what they really thought of me? I looked down at my limp pages feeling sudden emotion weigh on my mind. I needed to know who did this.

"Who did it?" I demanded calmly. Noah came closer to me.

"Look, Water was asking questions. He was always asking why you were constantly exhausted, why you were you acting more sloppier on Tuesday mornings after duty and training, than Thursdays? If you had sleeping difficulties? He said you needed to keep focused, and not letting anything distract you, or make you extremely homesick because of any reminders of home."

I was within breathing space now, if I'm honest, I didn't care if I considered him my friend.

"So you... did what?!"

"Not me... I think it's better if you didn't know." He says cautiously. But it's too late, I already knew exactly who was responsible. Every inch of sickness had been replaced with anger, it boiled through my veins, creeping up into my fists expelling throughout my mind. I knew that any second now it may crawl into my mouth and release through a shout of frustration. Max.

He isn't someone I mention a lot, and that's by choice. I'd rather keep my memories free of bad people like him, but I have no control over the people I meet from time to time. I never hated or had anything against him, but I'm afraid that can't be said for how he feels towards me. I never understood his problem with me. Although there's not much said between us, I could already tell and sense everything. unless a miracle happened, we weren't going to get along with each other anytime soon.

From sly glances hinting something much more than hate and petty remarks I knew I needed to avoid him from the future and onwards. But being in this cramped environment, talking to each other is unavoidable.

I've never my stomach drop and a sick feeling start as much as that. I never want to lose my writing. I'm considering stopping altogether to make sure my words are safe.

Learning from this I don't write around others with a torchlight that makes everyone complain anymore or trying to compose my anger in 0.7cm wide ruled lines of my notebook.

I write when I'm on guard, which is even more dangerous. But at least it's less daunting, healthy for my eyes and I don't have someone looking over my shoulder every second of my life. I have the company of the wind gently breezing past my ears, throwing dust in my eyes, the horizon of the sun closing in replaced by the stage of stars dotted across in every perfect way. I remember when I was younger and how the stars eluded me. Countless in number, randomly scattered by managing to look perfect.

It's strange how I was talking about my American friends and now I'm talking about stars.

I keep thinking about Maria. I can't help it. I don't think I've stopped thinking about her since our trip to Brazil where I first met her.

She was unexpected. Just like finding forgotten sweets at the bottom of your bag.

Her poisonous green eyes. Sweet smile. Infectious laugh.

Firstly, I thought she hated me, I don't remember as clearly as I'd like to but maybe when she was younger I was afriad to talk to her, I didn't strongly feel attraction to her. All I knew is she was popular in her area. Maybe it was the second time I came, when I was 16, that's when I really saw her and took notice. I couldn't wait to see her again. I thought she didn't notice me all those days, I thought maybe she didn't know how to speak English.

I know how it feels. When I was younger I was anxious most of the time because I didn't know a word in English. People, my classmates, even some of my closest family members knew it was stupid since I came from such a rich, affluent family. It was embarrassing when someone talked to me in English and I couldn't reply.

I just smiled nervously hoping they could leave as soon as possible. But inside it stung, hard.

We talked sometimes, then we talked more, more than I had altogether being in Arabia. She was my first real friend that had nothing to do with training. All the things that were in my mind, all the things I wrote to myself... I finally had someone to spill my thoughts too. And she had deep thoughts as well. I thought she would laugh if she heard all the crazy deep things I wrote and thought about but she loved it more. My heart starved for that kind of friendship, and now, I finally had it.

It's shocking how similar we are in character; arrogant, stubborn, but we're both aware of the world around us. I suddenly feel sick remembering how I left her last year. Half broke, half fixed, half reassured, half hopeful. Although it annoyed me massively that when I really found her true self, it was the same night I had to leave, I felt hopeful and excited to see her again

The night I really got to know her, even if it through a few song lyrics of two crazy drunk-like teenagers screaming into Brazilian skies, we talked long. Longer than I would have ever dared. I'm not afraid anymore, not anymore. I can say that with joy and no fear.

I made a promise to her, that I'd see her one more time, 11 pm, before I left for Arabia, at our meeting place, only to prove to her I wasn't lying about how I felt towards her. I never wanted to lie - but even I knew I was lying to myself. I and no idea what I was feeling, never mind telling her. At the start of all of this, I told myself I was going to forget about her, but it played on my conscience like a table tennis game. It was like I could hear the ball bouncing back and forth along the table. It made me mad that I cared about her. When I signed up to this thing I promised myself I wouldn't bond with people. So far it was Ricky, Emily, Water, Frankie, even Max.

So I left her there, alone in the rain, as she waited there for hours waiting. But I hid away. I never left. My feet stayed planted into the ground, watching her. I was standing in a corner debating with myself. The rain was skidding off my coat, just listening to it sink into the gutters, thunder rumbling overhead, watching her wait. I was left in disbelief that she actually waited.

When 11 pm passed I was sure she was going to leave. I wanted to test her, see how much she would break if she thought I lied. It sounds harsh, but it was the only thing that proved if she really cared. She got up multiple times, walking up and down the street then coming back to sit down. There are no buses after 12 am, I hoped she knew the risk she was taking. 5 minutes, 10, 20, 30, 40, now it's 1am. Finally giving up, she rose slowly, I'm sure I could see her shaking with somewhat anger or fear. She clenched her fists and cried out on top of her voice into the rain and the houses down below. She swallows hard and breaks into tears. I can't take it anymore so I step forward to block her path as she tries to walk away.

Her eyes were bloodshot, tears blended in by the rain, neon lights of shops and flickering lamp posts stinging my eyes, her green eyes searching mine for reasons. At once, she knows it's me by my curls caused by rain, her hand reaches out and slaps my face. I wince at the impact taking the force then turning back at her, my expression apologetic. She's horrified by hitting me, so she puts her arms around me. I don't care about the rain. The feeling is so alien to me, but I still embrace her.

"How could you do that?! What took you so long?" She exclaims, punching me in the arm.

"I got caught up," I say. She doesn't look persuaded and laughs sarcastically. Still crying, "You believe me that much? You care that much to stay?" I stutter in disbelief.

Confused she answers: "Yes of course! Stupid, why would I lie?"

"Right."

We stop in silence to take in each other one more time as friends. I feel glad I have someone like her. I'm sure she's feeling the same.

"Walk?" I ask, giving her my arm to lock on to. So we could be one of those good friends walking down the street.

"Walk." She confirms locking arms.

"Dramatic, Miss Independent, Queenie Maria, crying over me?"

"What? No, I wasn't." She denies.

We sang down the streets knowing the time was around 1-3am, running down the steep terrain, singing on the top of our lungs until she got home. That was goodbye. And now I won't see her again until August.

***

22nd May 1968

As much as I hate to admit, sometimes I feel jealous of some people here. Take Ricky and Emily for example. They have something there but I can't exactly tell what it is. I'm jealous of the bond they share, a secret bond maybe they don't even know exists. The way they laugh and then silently look into each other's eyes taking one another in. It's the first time I've seen a connection like that between anyone. It's so hard not to stare or notice. It's making me think about myself. I've never stopped to know someone, all the work, research and avoiding people who knew the popularity and the 'wrongdoings' of my father.

I know I can't risk it, having friends while Chaser is watching my every move.

I wish I could. I want to have the same feeling that people have.

'I've known him for 8 years,'

'I've known them since we were 3 years of age.'

'We grew up together'

I wish I could know someone for that long. Meeting new people every 2 years, and leaving them after, is routine for me now.

Some nights I wondered if I should run away. Some nights I wanted to run away because I didn't know if I was going to make it the next day. People and the decisions they made, the options they took. To live a certain lifestyle or a certain way, when somewhere in the world there's a lot of people left without a choice.

Everything fazed me. I didn't understand why people had possession of weapons.

Humans. We are our own destroyers of what we create.

It's a wonder how it doesn't happen anymore.

***

LEON - Outside daylight is absorbed by our mustard curtains which causes the room to reflect a nice colour. Fresh air seems locked away and the muffled melodies of birds starting singsong echo outside. Combined with the hectic noise of the city waking up and trucks making morning deliveries. The sounds wake me up immediately. I wonder how mad Kaiden would get if I told him I went ahead and read the first chapters of the memoirs. I already feel connected with My Grandfather in some way. For someone who's from a totally different generation, he sounds so much like us. Young, naive, outspoken. It surprises me.

When was the last time I went to school at 6 am? I swiftly grab my rucksack and leave in the early hours and make my way to school. Chances are I'll get distracted, but just as long as I've escaped Kaiden, that's all that matters.

KAIDEN

Last day before the day we leave for New York. Apparently, Leon's got it under control. I know I can trust him when he says that I know he never lets anyone down. Just as long as he keeps focused and keeps that girl out of his head. He'll come around, or he can act like he doesn't feel anything, but inside I know he's hurting. So far he's doing a good job at hiding everything. As soon as I get to school I catch him in the corridors and tell him what's on my mind.

"You still haven't told me how we're doing this without Aunt Cassidy finding out."

"We're faking a trip." He says flatly keeping his eyes focused ahead and groaning when he sees me. He tries to find a way to get away from me but I persist and stay glued by his side.

I stop in the middle of my tracks completely taken aback by his statement. Which is practically the quickest way to injure yourself in the school corridors, eventually I get shoved out the way. It's highly unlikely for my older brother to come up with such reckless ideas like this.

"You mean, we lie to her?" He avoids eye contact with me and looks around hesitantly knowing the issue I just arose.

"How?" I demand.

"Just let me handle it. A few years back we did something similar, it's not as hard as it

sounds."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah..." His voice trails off as his eyes are focused on something ahead of him. I follow his gaze as he freezes in his footsteps. Roselyn. His eyes flicker growing cold and go a shade darker full of remorse. As if on cue he finally speaks, his voice comes out harsh:

"Look, I've got to go. Stop worrying so much, get home early and get everything together. Make sure Aunt Cassidy doesn't suspect anything. Try not to make it so obvious. Leave the rest to me." He whispers without taking his eyes off her and slips into the crowd going the opposite direction. Her eyes are filled with sadness and pleas for him to turn around to say something. For the first time in a long time, I feel for her. I'm pretty sure I won't care in a few hours.

I never really understood what went on between them but I can understand my brothers' anger. Both of their angers.