Her

A Story by Dawn_Jardine

She's in my head, she never leaves. Not anymore, at least. Not since that day, the day that she won't let me remember, won't let me forget. They told me that I was crazy, that I didn't have a place in this world. They told me that they'd take me away, away to where it was okay to be crazy. Where everyone was the same. That's what they told me; before that day. I thought that they meant that they would take her away. Quiet her voice in my head. But they didn't. No. Instead they made her angry. Now, she will never go away. Or, at least that's what she tells me.

Today, I am going home. I don't know where that is, just that that is where I am going. Where they told me I was going. And I go, no reason not to. I don't have anywhere else to be. They load me up into a small green Austin Mini. The car smells like my grandmothers perfume. I don't remember my grandmother, I just know that that is what it smells like. I stay in the car, quietly like always. They don't like it when I talk. They say that I don't sound right. So the only one that I have to talk to is her. Not that I have a choice. You never have a choice, with me. She says that a lot.

When I get home, the car is parked straight into the garage. I look over to the driver, but do not recognize her. She cannot be my grandmother, for she is younger that me. The door is opened for me. I hadn't seen the man before he opened it, but I had not jumped. Nothing surprised me anymore. He looks at me, and his eyes look... hopeful? I can't be sure. I have never seen those eyes before. At least, I don't think so. After a moment, he steps away so that I can get out of the small vehicle. By the time I am standing on the cold cement, he has my bags in his hands and I follow him through a door that leads to the house. You know him! I flinch this time. It hurt, when she spoke. Remember his eyes, you know him! As I shake my head aggressively, the man looks at me with wonder. I offer no smile, no encouragement, just the blank stare that I have been living with since that day.

I stood briefly in a room with about ten people. After only a few moments of silence though, I am led away from the room. When I am led up the stairs, I can hear crying. Could practically feel them seeping from the air, tunneling into my thoughts, clouding my vision. They are not my tears, but I have a feeling that they're because of me. Now, being in the room that I was led to, I sit on a fluffy soft pink blanket staring at the door. I know that door. I have dreamed of it before. I saw that door that day. It was closed, it was always closed. Forget about the door! Think about his eyes, we know those eyes. I like the door. I do not like the eyes. Well, it should be the opposite. What? But she was silent. Not gone; only silent. Why could she remember? Why not me? I am you. Ignoring her, I stand and walk to the door. Running my fingers along it, it feels smooth. Sanded to perfection. The knob is brass with small swirls winding around the face, a small key draped over it on a purple ribbon. I hold the key momentarily, and it confuses me. The key was silver, it wouldn't likely go to a lock on a door in this room. Everything in here was brass.

After I slip the key off the knob, I loop the ribbon around my wrist twice and place my hand on the knob. Suddenly, I am filled with anxiety. Would the door ever open, do I really dare try? Shocked by the anxiety, I quickly open the door. It opens quietly and quickly, nothing to be afraid of. My heart though, thinks differently. It is thumping wildly in my chest, and I am forced to take a few deep breaths.

Opening the door a little more, I notice something odd. The edge of the door, the part that would never be seen if the door were closed, was burnt. Not all of it though, it was burnt in designs. There was no pattern, just many interwoven lines and sprawled words in a slanted script. I peer closer, and my heart stops. As I collapse to the ground the door thuds open. It's not very loud, but loud enough. The man, that man with the unsettling eyes, he comes to me. Kneeling down on the floor with me, he tries to help me. His arms are around me, and I am not sure why, but they felt familiar. Remember the eyes, she said again. As I look into them again, I realize why I knew them. I knew them like my own, because they were my own.

My face is suddenly wet; tears streaming from my eyes, though I had no expression. I look to the words scrawled on the door, the words that were done with my hand. The words, 'remember his eyes,' written over and over again. Over top of each other multiple times so that they appeared as only swirls and blur. And sprawled at the top, untouched by a single comment, “Sara Rae.” My name; the name that I had forgotten that day. The day that I had died.