forgotten-mem0ries

[forgotten-mem0ries]

They’ve stopped showing up as much. I don’t know if it was because I started praying every morning and night, knees pressing into the past now gray stains from the one that would stand by my bed. They would just stand there. Either plotting my demise or protecting. I’m not totally sure. They’ve started showing up outside, slowly going towards the shed in my neighbors yard. I’m not sure whats happening anymore.

[forgotten-mem0ries]

I want a place where I can be safe. I want a place where I don’t have someone lurking at all times. I want a place where I don’t have to look behind me in fear of someone being there. I want a place where I don’t have to wake up and clean up black footprints off the wood floor throughout the house. The carpeted stairs are the hardest to get out. I want them gone, I need them gone.

[forgotten-mem0ries]

Is it crazy to keep looking at his obituary?

I swear, if I could look at my most visited site on my laptop, it would be that.

Even the most visited place in my brother's car.

It’s like I’ve been waiting for something to change.

For the status to change to alive and healthy and breathing instead of deceased.

For the granite headstone of his grave to disappear and for the dirt to not look semi-fresh.

For the date to change.

November 1, 1975--still alive.

The blue flowers continue to wilt as they're propped up against the granite.

I keep having dreams about it.

Finding him dead in different ways.

Car accident.

Self inflicted.

Falling from a height.

Drowning.

Seizure.

I can’t sleep in peace.

And those goddamn kids.

The fucking kids with the ink colored eyes.

They just stand there now and stare at me like they’re waiting for me to do something.

To say something.

To help them.

To get them out of whatever is going on in my mind.

I hate it.

I hate it so much.

[forgotten-mem0ries]

July 31st, 2024. 10:32 pm.

As Charlie from Perks of Being a Wallflower said, "I'm sorry I haven't written for a while, but I've been trying hard not to be a loser."

Life has been…I don't know how to describe it, to be completely honest. It's felt surreal. I feel like I'm still--coping. I mean, it's only been a month since his death but it still doesn't feel exactly real, in a sense. I've surrounded myself with people recently, friends, and family, and got a job to help myself stay distracted.

I've had a few of the nightmares about the kids. I push it aside as per usual, don't want to burden anyone with these stupid problems.

I pick up extra shifts here and there, it's just cashiering but at least it makes me talk to people. It makes me realize how much help people need. I scan their groceries and make small talk as I ask the questions I'm required to. 'Paper or plastic?' 'Do you want this in a bag?' 'Do you want this drink left out?' 'Do you need help carrying out?' 'Would you like your receipt?'

It just repeats every day. The same customers come in, buy the same thing, and walk right out like this is just part of their daily routine. I can't blame them, routines are great, but coming to the store and seeing the same people every day? Jesus, do they have anything better to do?

But some people are just used to it. They do it because they like it. Or need it. It could be the comfort of faces you know or being asked how you're doing daily. Usually either get a 'I'm good!' or a mournful groan because of the heat. Nebraska weather. It's great. Hope no one finds comfort in the blinding lights that fill the store, the squeaking of the north and south automatic sliding doors, or people pushing carts back where they belong.

But back to the real stuff that you guys want to hear about instead of this job. Frankie. I've talked to her more recently. We've texted, and called, I've crawled out of my window to sneak over to her house in the middle of the night. Thankfully, her living just right across the street comes in handy at times. We would just lay there on her bed, on our backs, and laugh about stupid shit that has happened. I told her about telling off Grant at the funeral and him throwing pebbles at my window. I mentioned sending him a voice message about it.

She didn't seem too enthused. She didn't necessarily believe that he was the one throwing pebbles at the window. I still haven't confirmed it was him either. I'll talk to her about it again soon and maybe get in contact with Shaun as well, and Grant.

[forgotten-mem0ries]

Got a call from Dr. Monroe last night, we talked for a bit before she hit me with the ‘put yourself out there, meet new people that aren’t friends you have known for years’. Guess I gotta put myself out there now somehow. If anyone wants to talk or knows where to find people, let me know.

[forgotten-mem0ries]

5:23 PM July 4, 2024 The Therapy Session

I went to the first one Tuesday. It got pushed back by my therapist, Dr. Monroe. My anxiety shot through the roof as soon as I even approached her office. I brushed it off and continued on in.

She was waiting for me by the door. She looked at me like I was a photo ripped in half. I trudged into her office before she could say anything, welcoming myself to a chair in front of her desk. I leaned back in the chair and waited for her to come in. Her office looked the exact same as the last time I was here, multiple years ago when she told me 'you're starting to remember more'. Wish I hadn't.

She still had the same photo of her and my dad on the desk in front of her flower pot on the window sill. Them graduating college in their red caps and gowns. The same one I plan on going to. My mom also asked me about that recently, but that'll be for a separate entry.

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"Can you turn the photo around?" I asked, giving a lazy point to the photo of her and my father.

"Yeah of course, sorry." She turned it around so it was facing out of the window at the street behind the building. It wasn't a busy one. She sat down and gave a small sigh.

"Surprised you haven't asked about anything yet, thought I was gonna be bombarded by questions as soon as I walked into the building."

"I have more respect for you than that."

"I appreciate it, I really do, wish I wasn't here on the occasion of him dying but it is what it is."

"Yeah...your mom mentioned you were the one that found him."

"Of course I did, it's always the youngest that goes through the most apparently, thought it was bad when I found the dog dead, boy oh boy it got so much worse."

"Dog?"

"Yeah, Molly, when she was in the yard playing with the neighbor kid--"

"Melanie."

That shut me up for a few moments. Fucking hell. It's like every problem that happened the last times I had been in this office was coming back.

"Right, yeah, yeah, Melanie."

"Has your memory been bad recently? Or is this the first mess up from last time you were here?"

"This is the first time of what I remember, ha...sorry, not something to joke about--yeah, first time since."

We both went silent for a few moments as she flipped through her notebook and pulled out a pen. She looked at me again.

"Do you wanna talk about your dad today? Or use this as a catch up session?"

"Catch up, please, I don't really wanna talk about him right now."

She gave a small nod and set down her notebook, flipping it so the cover was closed again.

"Tell me anything." She muttered.

"I graduated high school, uhm...I kissed someone, a girl, Frankie, but that was a couple months ago, I did just see her at a party recently, Shaun dragged me there so I wouldn't isolate myself again, Leo was there too and I caught up with them, Remy got a new job, Grant's back in town from college--I'm not on speaking terms with him."

"What happened between you two?"

"He wouldn't answer my messages for days at a time and would reply like nothing happened--just pissed me off and then he came to the funeral, like what right does he have to even show up there?"

"Are you more mad at the fact that he showed up? Or that he didn't tell you he would."

"...Both, I guess, I didn't expect him to, he doesn't care about anyone else but himself, doesn't try to reach out to me, hell, he didn't even respond to the text when I told him he died."

"But he looked at it?"

"He looked at it, and didn't say a single word. I yelled at him at the funeral and was throwing rocks at my window trying to get my attention but every time I go to look it stops."

"Maybe he just gets scared you might see him, yell at him again, or fight him--"

"Me? Fight him? I wouldn't do that."

"With everything you're going through right now, I don't think anyone would be surprised if you fought someone."

"I still wouldn't do--"

"Dakota, what I'm trying but failing at saying, is that you need to just give him a chance, text him or next time he throws a pebble at your window, just talk to him, hear him out on his bullshit or whatever."

"I need more time to deal with this, he's just one of them that pities me."

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I left soon after that, driving back home in silence. My mother asked how it went and I just shrugged with a simple "caught up" and went upstairs. Remy checked up on me and we watched a movie, Sinister.

I actually fell asleep and had a nightmare about some kids chasing after me. They weren't normal kids--or didn't look normal at least, they had black eyes. It hasn't been the first time I've dreamt it, I used to when I was a kid, I would tell my father I saw them around the house out of the corner of my eye. But every time I turned my head to look, they would be gone. He never believed me.

[forgotten-mem0ries]

9:15 June 26th, 2024: An Update

Just a small update so I can get something out. We started going through his things two days ago. I went through his study, which none of us had stepped a foot into in years. The first drawer I had opened had his watch that he had worn since I was a kid.

I didn’t understand it when he got it when I was born but something I had noticed when I picked it up; it had DW engraved on the back. Could be for him, or could be for me.

I took the watch and the journal that he had written the entries in from Remy and I being kids and put them in my room. Safekeeping, right?

We ate dinner as a family today to celebrate my mother’s birthday. The first time we’ve eaten together without him. Of course Remy had to crack a joke about putting a photo of our dad to make it whole.

He got a glare back from our mother.

I haven’t talked to Grant since the funeral, more like scolded but yknow. I’ve texted Shaun but nothing besides that. Might start seeing my therapist again starting next week.

I guess I’ll update with anything else soon.

[forgotten-mem0ries]

2:43 PM June 19, 2024 The Day of the Funeral

I read the first entry that I had written. I stood at the front of the church, casket behind and over to the left of me. It was closed. My mother didn’t want anyone to see him. Didn’t want his shame of death to be public or known by the funeral guests. ‘He can be known as dead but not seen’ my mother repeated.

I kept my eyes on my best friend, Shaun, who sat in the front row. My eyes kept darting down to my hands that trembled slightly as I turned the page. I read excerpts from the journal that he kept when Remy and I were kids. He would write down the most random shit like ‘Remy walked home from school today’ and ‘Dakota didn’t hang out with that kid Avery from school’.

It was like he was documenting every single movement that we made. I shrugged it off, but explained it to the guests as something that was just one of his quirks. I didn’t want to make him seem like a bad person or a father in front of people. That was the last thing I wanted to do at the funeral. Besides what happened after.

I walked down the small entryway of the funeral home and saw our mutual friend Grant standing there. Why did this strike a problem? They weren’t on talking terms with each other after Grant went off to college without him, leaving both of us back in our hometown of Valentine, Nebraska.

I kept up with Grant during his freshman year, him being a year older than Shaun and I since he skipped that extra year of preschool. Fucking loser. I would text him the occasional ‘How are you?’, then he wouldn’t answer for days. He would eventually respond after four business days with ‘Alright, you?’ and I would respond back with ‘Peachy’. It was my go-to response to the god forbidden question that I hated answering since I was a kid.

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Grant walked up to me in his button up white shirt and his nice black slacks. He had a few inches on me to say the least. I stared at him with some type of grudge, knowing he hadn’t answered the message from three days ago. ‘My dad died.’ Read at 4:43 PM. Shaun stood behind me, also looking at Grant the same way but for his own reason.

“Fuck you.” I said simply before walking away. I could hear both their footsteps following close behind me. I reached for the door and walked out of the room. Grant mumbled something but I didn’t care to listen. The only part that I paid attention to was listening to Shaun telling him to stay back and holding him against the wall as I walked out of the building.

Grant got out of Shaun’s hold, chasing me down the steps and grabbing my wrist. He turned me around and I pushed him away.

“Get the fuck away from me!” I yelled. He looked slightly shocked that I had said it. “You didn’t care to fucking answer because you never do! When have you ever fucking cared about someone other than yourself?”

He looked hurt.

When will I stop hurting people?

I don’t mean to.

I don’t mean to hurt him.

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I went home after that. I haven’t left my room since. My mom knocked on my door. Remy knocked on my door to try and get me out. Hell, even Shaun tried to get me out. He started throwing pebbles at my window from the front lawn. I ignored the clicks of it against the glass.

I can’t. I can’t leave the room. I can’t go back down the hallway that my father put our heights on the doorframe of my parents bedroom. I can’t walk past his now locked office that I haven’t seen the inside of in a decade. I only saw the inside when I was 8 because I picked the lock. The one thing I learned from him. How to pick a damn lock. He also taught me how to hold back my feelings. But now that he’s gone, I can let them out freely like a flock of doves being let out of a bird cage.

I feel bad for yelling at Grant. Especially after the funeral. But I had to let it out. I had to tell him something that had been bugging me for a year. The person that had changed so much over that year. The person I considered a best friend who had quickly turned into a peer.

[forgotten-mem0ries]

Entry #1

4:56 PM June 16, 2024, Father's Day

Father’s Day has always been frowned upon by me. It felt like a chore. I would wake up, be nice to him no matter what look I got in return, and go to sleep. My dad would always have a series of questions that day, different year by year. But always the same one stuck: What's my birthday?

And every year since the age of five when I could remember the date, I would answer confidently: November 1st, 1975. He would give me a civil nod and a pat on the back and walk away, preparing his next question that he would ask a couple of hours later at breakfast. 

This year, the question was: What's my job? 

Both Remy (older brother) and I (Dakota) looked at each other with confusion. After a few moments, Remy uttered the simple four words, ‘To be our father’. 

My parents created a rule when we were younger that we couldn’t ask them about their jobs or anything relating to work. We never knew why, but we followed the rules. It was easy enough to do. 

I wouldn’t say I had the best relationship with my father. I would come home from third grade, having made a finger turkey on a piece of printer paper in homeroom, and give it to my dad with a smile plastered on my face. He would grunt at it, break a small smile, and tape it to the fridge. I would wake up the next morning and it would be in the trash. Guess he didn’t like the art. Too mundane for him.

But as time went on, everything was too mundane for him. The only thing he got excited about was family drama between his siblings. The last time I saw the whole family in the room was in 2014. Nine years old and the last time I saw every family member together. But hopefully, it’ll happen three days from now.

He died five hours ago, at approximately 11:43 am. I thought he was playing a stupid joke or something, but when I shook his shoulder, he didn’t move a single muscle. His body was limp but still slightly warm. I called for my mother and she came running from the backyard, weaving her way from the backdoor to the living room. 

I think it was the first time I had called him dad in years, repeating the words that hadn’t escaped my mouth in front of him since I was 13. My mother felt for a pulse, putting her fingers to the side of his neck. This was the first time I had cried in front of my mother in years as well. I had rested my forehead on the top of his right hand, begging for one more stupid turkey drawing to make it into the trash. One more moment with him, whether it was good or bad.

Remy had walked through the front door, rushing over to my side as the bags of groceries dropped by the stairs. He crouched down next to me, pulling me into his arms as I sobbed into his shirt, letting out all of the tears that I had held in. My dad hated it when I cried.

My mother had called the ambulance minutes prior as she felt for his pulse. He was pronounced dead as the EMTs came into the house and checked him out.

They took his body away on the stretcher, covering it with a thin white sheet, the straps holding him down. The man who was once known as my father, David Watson, was now a corpse.