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They weren't someone memorable.
They think they were against that thought, once upon a time ago. All living things had
something
to give, did they not? Surely they had something too then.
They think they're fine with not remembering (ha) that feeling.
Deep down they can't help but blame their mother for it all. They know that she isn't the one who made their fate (no, that was another three still) but it wasn't undeniable that she had an influence on it, however indirect and unintentional.
But parents couldn't choose their children's lives in the end.
They suppose they should be grateful that out of everyone their father was left unaffected. Otherwise how would they have been able to survive this long? A baby itself is already something hard to take care of when you're all alone but even more troublesome would be one that's gone from your mind when you even so much look away, as if a gentle but demanding stream of cool water had washed it from your mind.
(Still a voice in them murmurs of what may have been, of times they felt their heart stop when their father's eyes seemed a bit too distant and glossy for even the briefest of seconds before he smiled down at them)
As fortunate as they were when it came to family- (except for all the unfamiliar faces of aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents they once glimpsed on yellowing pages of a once unstained white velvet book, surrounding two young smiling blushing pair who even while looking at the camera seemed wholly focused on each other with gleaming rings on each finger. their father had quickly hidden it away when they appeared a strained smile with him. they never saw the book again) - the topic of schooling was… out of the question.
Their father had tried before of course, children should be able to know others their age as they develop, but in the end it was decided that homeschooling was more preferable to confused calls from distressed teachers about a wailing child who knew their names but was unfamiliar, crying over nervous children who didn't know this stranger trying to approach them with too knowing words. Their father was in no way a teacher or a man with infinite free time but he did his best anyways, finding (or sometimes creating) online curriculum for them to follow along with accompanied by their very first phone to keep in contact with him no matter the time before quizzing them on what they had learned when he returned home.
Sometimes, if work demanded it, their mother would come to see them instead.
She would look down at them always with somehow perfectly imperfect smile and speak only their name when they'd open the door to find her. It was confusing at first when they were young but soon enough it became comforting to hear from her. It was like a quiet promise forever kept reaffirmed time after time when she spoke it, a soft comfort that washed over them like the tide coming in to pull them away from even the most fiery of lands.
She'd never forget.
When she came, the curriculum would always take a turn in a few places. Alongside the math and sciences they had to learn, she'd tell them stories about their family.
About her many siblings, some of whom she loved and others she tolerated, her mother and their aunts and uncles (but never a father), and the weaving ties between them all that came in a beautiful intricate tapestry that could never break.
They remember the days of listening to her speak almost unending, gentle hands streaming through their hair as they listened to her rippling voice that had become a comfort, curled against each other in the corner of a grey couch and shielded from the daunting outside world by soft warm covers that reminded them of golden sheep.
Sometimes she spoke of them, to them. Of how much they'd changed and grown over the years, of little things they thought she'd never know of even when she'd prove them wrong about that again and again over the years gone by.
She spoke of what they are with such love and fondness, sometimes it even made them appreciate what they were. But it wasn't a mercy, not to the living. The dead had requirements those still breathing wouldn't need for many, many years.
Still it had it's benefits at times. They knew their father would never approve of her stories so they kept it within the dark, something only for them and their all-knowing mother to share.
Father of course was a busy man, having to take care of both a growing child that would never be able to take a job and a job that believed it was owed more and more of his time. While he would never forget them (
or would he
, asked the ever present demon in their mind), with all the constant deadlines it was easy to have small things slip from his mind. A replacement of too small clothing, a need for more toothpaste.
Simple things.
Uneventful things.
When he'd leave for the day in his always existing rush, they'd postpone school for the day to travel down the street down the now memorized route of familiar brick walls and metallic numbers in the strangely quiet and unyielding winding back roads that had life and laughter only a few feet away. Another benefit, they thought, was that they didn't have to worry too much about danger to themselves when others forgot them by the time they looked away.
They'd travel down their marked passage through the labyrinth into the open lot of an abandoned car repair and wash that's dull and subdued colors contrasted the bright and self-assertive glowing neon of the grocery store right next to it. They were a frequent customer but the fact was unknown to the employees surrounding them, who's memorized faces smiled without any acknowledgement behind their eyes. Which was a good thing, in the end.
As blurry as the photo hung up behind the counter was, it was still their own face all the same.
In the beginning they used to smile back and talk to strangers who were almost friends but they had stopped seeing the point after a time. Instead they then simply kept walking forward, calm in the knowledge that any who thought them rude would soon forget anyways.
It still did make them feel uneasy though when they had finally found what they needed and swiftly breezed past the security, able to pin the blame of the wailing sirens on another unfortunate soul that'd be ultimately found innocent as they made their unhurried escape. The store had gone through dozens of security measures trying to fix the apparent error but were never able to find the cause.
As little as the place held for them in their heart, they still considered the town their home. It was strange at times, with one eyed too-tall men who'd sometimes approach but forget what they wanted when they looked away and burning black dogs that left burns in the grass they stepped on that'd only growl if they'd get to close, but it was nothing their mother couldn't explain during her trips.
So they were confused when one day they came home from shopping to see their mother waiting for them on the couch with their father beside her.
They couldn't recall the last time they'd all been in one room.
She turned to them and smiled that secret holding smile to speak their name.
And told them it was time to go.
In the end they didn't have too much to bring with them, besides clothes and their essentials, all they really kept were stories and journals and things they'd find among the labyrinth behind the house. They had hugged their dad goodbye with a promise to keep in contact and visit whenever possible, mindful of the tears they felt on their back as they held him.
They weren't sure why they felt sad when they waved goodbye before their mother took their hand to lead them away.
Their mother's home was a lot like her.
It was unique in its own fashion that seemed impossible to replicate yet somehow still blended in and melded with its surroundings when it felt fit. A silent river flowed by that never made a sound, gentle in its nature with a current that was unyielding and demanding of submission.
Alongside the bank grew long tall winding trees and beautiful red poppies that seemed to call their name. Their mother only lead them away when they got too close.
Her neighbor, apparently, didn't enjoy it when others took them. But they hadn't really had much interaction other than his almost constant napping so they didn't really think much on that threat other than their mother's distress.
At least his brother seemed nice enough whenever he had the time to visit.
Their other neighbors were very happy folk who were constantly laughing or playing or having some sort of party that was thankfully not disruptive to their sleep but still. Constant partying got boring to watch after some time when you couldn't go over to talk.
At their mother's home, she became a more present figure in their life and taught them more of things she'd only glide over when they were with their father. They learned more about their new if temporary home for the time being and those who owned it.
And they learned more of those who could remember.
Family on her side, however distant, were able to keep onto the memories of them that were made. Unfortunately they had learnt this after trying a do over with their neighbor's brother when he had asked what their business was and they were too busy staring at his wings to answer.
And family connected a different way.
They weren't sure if they were related or not but they worked with their mother nevertheless, figures they had only seen in the distance for brief periods or leaving their mother's home from their window after discussing a work matter.
For some reason it had never connected that they could have children.
They stood, silent, waiting as a trio of too colorful to be from there teens around their age spoke amongst themselves. Sooner or later they'd see them standing there.
And if not, who'd care.
Soon after the thought had passed through their mind one of the younger (not young
est
) turned towards them, a mild look of surprise upon her features. A moment later she sent them a careful smile.
“So.. we have a whole set, huh?”
They simply stayed silent.
Listening.
Waiting.
They shifted uncomfortably just barely noticeable to one who wasn't observing closely. Unfortunately for her they were.
“What's your name? … I'm Carmen,” she supplied when they didn't answer, still staring them down from across the field they all were in. She held out her hand to them as if it’d convince them closer.
They felt a small flicker of annoyance.
The silence was only filled by the sounds of the rivers flowing by.
Carmen looked away in obvious discomfort and they resigned themself. Well, they could tell mother they tried-
“You.. do have a name right?”
She smiled at them, still attempting to hide her discomfort but they saw it. Along with something else.
Familiarity.
… oh.
oh.
with shaking hands hidden in warm jacket pockets, they nodded curtly. “Then can we know it…?”
…. well.. they might as well…… right…?
Slowly they opened their mouth.
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LETHE: 1) a river in Hades whose waters cause drinkers to forget their past. 2 : oblivion, forgetfulness.