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.

One thought on “Scattered

  1. Just lovely. The details seem exactly right to me (as one who struggles to remember…) So do the collections of things full of intention to complete.

    Liked by 1 person

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