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

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