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Scout on Memories/In the Stars

 

I wanted to write a story about you. That’s why I ran down to Chan’s Grocery so late at night; I needed to get one of those stupid drinks you love to try and trigger a memory. It was something you had said on one of the days we sat outside of the little shop, with its blinding lights hitting our backs in the dark street. I was always in the light when I was with you, inside and out. Anyway, that day we were laughing so hard that people thought we were drunk. You had spit out your drink so far that it practically hit a moving car, which made us laugh harder and stumble back into the store to buy more, much to the amusement of the teenage cashier. Well, I forgot what had made us laugh so hard, so I thought that sitting here and drinking that terrible sugary concoction might bring it back into my mind. The cashier is different, much older and more tired, so I hope I don’t have to hysterically repurchase anything. I’m not sure if time is messing with my head, but sitting here, the lights feel a little dimmer, and the drink much more bitter. I remember you insisting that I try it, even though I hate fruity drinks, and of course, I hated it. I like it a little bit now; I guess I didn’t know how much I should’ve appreciated it back then. You used to always say that those things are better at night, that sugar tasted better the later the hour. I would throw my head back and look at the stars and say something stupid about a constellation. You would smirk as if it was your first time hearing it, even though I was sure that I repeated things like that all the time, and you never pointed it out for my sake. It only took you a few seconds to come up with a stupid joke about how I was like the stars, or that they drew out my name, or that our initials were somewhere up there. I’d push you, or call you dumb, or pretend that I had to go back inside to get something for my mother. And if I did go back, I’d watch you from inside for a little while, and wonder if you were thinking about me or about the stars. Now, I really do search for all those things that you said were there. Maybe you were right about that, like you were right about me, like you were right about us. Anyway, that day we sat quietly for a while, until the spilled soda had mostly dried up and a dozen people had filed in and out with beer and ice cream. I liked those little gaps in our time together, where the presence of the other was enough, where I could feel understood without even saying anything. Suddenly, you broke the silence with a softness I had never heard, with eyes never looking so apologetic. My salt and vinegar chips crumbled as I slipped under them, and the door’s bells shook as a couple walked in behind us. Not even the stars could save me, could give me what I wanted. Because all I wanted was to remember what you had said, and you were never there.


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