I Think About it More Than I Forget (Short Story)

I lay down on the bed with the book once again in my hands. Staring but not reading. Page number 26. The bookmark's been on this page for 21 years now.

 Exactly 21 years.

And she wonders but never asks. Too ridden by my retreating into my shell so frequently. Only staying with me for the sake of little Jake.

Memories are merely instances that fade over the passage of time.

 That is the reason why I agreed. She thought she could heal me. I ought to have forgotten by now.

I try to, but cannot. The time I shared with Amelie was and still is too perfect to be forgotten.

I do not know whether she knows what's on page 26. She still thinks I need time to heal.

I met Amelie at Camp Smith-Bird (go ahead and laugh at the name, but just so you know, the people there were more queer than the name)  when I was 17. She was 16.

She was nothing special. Average looking, but a guy like me was mighty lucky to have someone as unlucky as her.

The only way I can describe her is that she was someone you would keep growing closer as time passed. Like parallel lines; it never ended. 

There was a new thing to discover, a new adventure everyday. Our love growing lovelier as we grew fonder each day.

It wasn't like how rabid young couples get married and grow wearier of each other's very presence by the day.

I still remember how my life diminished to ruins.

We snuck out of our house in the midnight, a bottle of my father's whiskey and our hearts overflowing with love for the world. Two teenagers full of hope and envisioning a bright and happy future for themselves.

We hiked up the hill to our spot, we could see the unhappy town, everyone in the grips of sleep. How we couldn't wait to run away and start a life of our own. 

The stars were twinkling brightly and the pale moon shined bright (for it was the time when pollutants in the air were quite less). Alcohol and adrenaline pulsating through our arteries instead of blood.

Amelie and I were lying on the grass naked, holding hands. We'd just made love and my heart was still racing. She turned to look at me with her eyes blazing with passion and a hint of sadness.

Her family was moving to America in less than a quarter of a year. No one mentioned it in the fear of ruining the Moment.

The Moment was perfect. It was out of a soapy romance film, a heart-breakingly beautiful book, a picture which makes you get jealous and go search for true love. It was what the kids of today would've called infinite. I could not let the Moment get away. I had to memorise it and imprint it into the back of my eyelids.

I had to stay in that time for ever. 

It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't seen the hint of sadness. I wouldn't have remembered. I couldn't let her go away from me. 

Love was for two and I was nothing without her.

She could NOT leave me. I will never let her.

She had to stay in the Moment forever. It was enchanting, exquisite and excitable.

I remember the time. 0026.

I killed her at 0026.

A silver thread of a tear travels from my eyes, down the curves of my face, into page number 26 of Wuthering Heights.