I’ve forgotten something. Something important.
It’s not a foreign feeling to me, but it’s not something I’ve ever gotten used to. I desperately want to remember.
My room is littered with half-finished projects and open books. I don’t recognize half of the titles, but the pages are dog-eared and underlined. I’ll finish them someday, the notes in the margin will trigger my memory.
Sticky notes frame my mirror, covered in phone numbers and dates and a grocery list from two years ago. Flour, bananas, chocolate chips… I’d planned on making banana bread. I’m not sure I ever got around to it. Banana bread sure sounds good to me about now.
I reach for one of the many notebooks on my desk, flipping through the pages with the hope I will remember whatever it is that’s so important. A half-finished poem, some notes from a conference, and a list of random words that look pretty. I pick up a different notebook, and flip through pages of doodles and sketches. Every page holds a glimmer of memory, a rough look at moments I wanted to remember.
Photos hang on my walls, barely giving room for me to see the faded wallpaper behind them. I can’t forget them, not one, so I keep them where they hang to remind myself.
Perhaps it’s an important date. I look at my calendar, hanging near my door. It’s two months behind, despite keeping it where I walk by every day. I flip it to the correct month, looking at all the boxes filled with my handwriting, marking events and birthday reminders I usually forget to read. Today is blank, and so is tomorrow. I can’t figure out what I’ve forgotten.
But it’s on the tip of my tongue.
I run my hands through my hair as I turn in place, hoping my eye catches on something that triggers my memory. It feels important, it feels obvious, it feels . . .
The cat! I turn around to see my gray tabby peek around the door frame. She stares at me with question marks in her yellow eyes, and I wonder if they’re just reflecting the look in my own. I’d fed the cat, hadn’t I?
She follows me with her tail up as I go to the kitchen and check her bowls.
I did feed her. Sighing, I sit down on the floor and let her walk all over my lap. I thought I’d figured it out. Tabby rubs her face against mine and purrs as I absently scratch her head. Whatever it is I’ve forgotten, I suppose it will have to wait.
I can’t remember.
I wish I could.