RESTART-ch 5.pdf

Every time I see a little girl, it brings me back to the one from my memory— the blond girl with the blue dress trimmed with white lace. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe when you only remember one thing, it sticks with you. If only I could remember where I remember her from. I think of her ag...

Every time I see a little girl, it brings me back to the one from my memory— the blond girl with the blue dress trimmed with white lace. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe when you only remember one thing, it sticks with you. If only I could remember where I remember her from. I think of her again when I see the little kid on the monkey bars at the playground. It’s my first day without the sling in more than a month—and since forever, in a way, because I remember nothing from before the accident. I’m out walking, enjoying my freedom from the tight wrapping on my shoulder. It feels fine—normal—and I need that after two weeks of school that were anything but. Normal is the last word to describe a place where you’re a stranger in a strange land despite the fact that everybody knows you. That’s when I recognize the girl scrambling all over the jungle gym. It’s Helene, my half sister. She’s definitely high-energy, and really kind of cute, crawling through tunnels, whizzing down slides, and just as quickly climbing up again. She’s a little too wild, especially up top—I guess she’s too young to understand that falling on your head runs in our family. Just as the thought crosses my mind, she loses her grip and tumbles off the top of the twisty slide. I’m there like a shot, catching her and swinging her around like it’s part of the game. She squeals in exhilaration, spreading her arms, and I get into the spirit, making airplane noises. She’s loving it. I’m doubly thrilled because my shoulder is holding up fine. The two of us are having a great time—until she looks down and sees who’s got her. “Mommy!” Her scream carries all around the park. “It’s okay, Helene! It’s me! Chase—your brother!” “I want to go down!” Now she’s red in the face and crying. I set her on the ground and watch as she runs off to join Corinne, who’s hustling our way. Great. Dad’s family already has a problem with me, and now they’re going to think I’ve been terrorizing their daughter. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to scare her.” “I saw what happened. Thank you for catching her.” There’s nothing wrong with what she’s saying. It’s the way she says it— too polite, too distant, like I’m a stranger instead of her stepson. Helene has her face buried in her mother’s sweater and refuses to look at me. “I guess she doesn’t like me very much,” I comment. Corinne softens. “She’s just a little afraid of you.” “Afraid of me?” What could I have done that would make a four-year-old freak out every time I come near her? Before I can finish the thought, a loud horn honks. A panel truck pulls up to the curb. AMBROSE ELECTRIC is stenciled on the side. The driver’s side window rolls down and my dad sticks his head out. “Fire up the grill at five thirty, Cor! I’m bringing home the biggest steaks you’ve ever seen!” He catches sight of me. “Hey, Champ, what’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be at practice.” I wave. “Doctor’s orders, remember?” “Your arm’s fine!” “Yeah, pretty good.” I point to my head. “It’s the concussion.” He looks disgusted. “Doctors! They’ll keep you in bubble wrap the rest of your life if you let them. Well, how about dinner, then? I’ll bet you could use a good steak. You’re not going to get your strength back on the rabbit food Mom’s slinging at you.” “Thanks. Some other time.” I hesitate. “I saw your state championship picture on the principal’s wall. I didn’t know. I mean, I knew at some point, but—” He laughs with delight. “There are a lot of athletes out there. But only a few of us can make it rain. There’s something special about Ambrose men, Champ. Don’t let your mother coddle it out of you like she did with your brother.” He drives off, his truck backfiring as he pulls away from the curb. “Bye, Daddy!” calls Helene. “Bye, Helene,” I say to her. As soon as we make eye contact, she looks away. I’m definitely famous at Hiawassee Middle. The part I can’t figure out is whether I’m famous good or famous bad. The athletic program is my home here—or at least it was before I got hurt. All my friends seem to be jocks, mostly football players. I guess they were pretty worried when they heard about my accident. I pick up on the occasional grumbling that I have to miss the season. But mostly, people are just relieved that I’m okay. The Hiawassee Hurricanes are kind of the kings of the school. It’s a pretty good role to come out of a coma and fall straight into. Since I’m the former captain, I’m almost like the king of kings. To be honest, though, it’s hard to picture how I got along with them so well. They’re loud, kind of obnoxious, and even though they’re really tight, they spend a lot of time shoving and punching each other. Insults constantly fly between them. They probably don’t mean it, but it can get pretty ugly. Was I like that too, when I was—you know—me? Did I greet my closest friends by pointing out imaginary stains on their shirts so I could slap their faces? Did I insult their moms, their grandmothers, and their grandmothers’ grandmothers? Probably. Even so, that was then and this is now. I’ve lost a step, maybe because of my concussion. I can’t keep up with those guys anymore. Aaron and Bear shield me from the worst of it. “Dudes,” they’ll say. “Dial it down. Our boy’s injured.” Or they’ll step in front of me to absorb a friendly punch or forearm smash. I appreciate their help. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not the Chase I used to be. I almost wish they’d stop trying to protect me. I hate being weak; the other guys are treating me like I’m strong. I’m not—I get that. But maybe I can fake it until my strength comes back. In the end, Aaron and Bear stress me out more than any of the others, because they ask me all these questions: What do you remember? Is your memory coming back yet? When does the doctor say that could happen? When will you be your old self again? Since I’ve got nothing else to offer them, I describe the one memory that I do have—the little girl in the blue dress. They listen with great concentration. “And?” Aaron prompts, eyes wide. “That’s it. That’s the only thing I remember.” “But who is she?” Bear persists. “Where did you see her?” I shrug. “I don’t know. That’s all I’ve got.” They stare at me for a long moment and then both burst out laughing. I’m annoyed. “It’s not funny! Don’t you think I’d tell you more if I had more to tell? Do you know what the word amnesia means?” “Relax.” Aaron puts an arm around my shoulders. “We’ve got your back. Boys to the end!” Aside from the football players, most of the kids act kind of odd around me. Conversations end when I enter a room. Faces turn toward lockers as I make my way down a hall. I get that the whole school’s heard the story of my amnesia and they’re a little weirded out by me. But that doesn’t explain everything. This one girl who’s pushing a rolling cart of textbooks—when she sees me walking next to her, her eyes just about pop out of her head. She spins away and slams into the wall of a doorway alcove. Books go flying in all directions. She trips on one and starts to go down, so I grab her arm just to steady her. Then she really loses it. “Don’t!” she squeals so loudly that we’re the instant center of attention. I’m mystified. “Let me help you pick up those—” “No!” And she’s gone, practically running along the corridor, dropping even more books as she escapes. What did I do? I ask Aaron and Bear about it after school, and they treat it like the stupidest question ever.  “What do you care if a bunch of random nobodies don’t like you?” Bear demands. “It’s not that,” I tell them. “She was—scared. Where did that come from?” The two exchange a glance. “Man, you really did lose your memory,” Aaron comments. “Come on, guys. Talk to me!” Bear is impatient. “We don’t have time.” “Why?” I query. “There’s no practice today.” “We’ve got to be at the Graybeard Motel by three thirty.” “What’s the Graybeard Motel?” “We’ve still got two months left on our community service,” Bear supplies. “At the assisted living place on Portland Street, helping out with the geezers and the grandmas. Not everybody’s lucky enough to fall off a roof and get excused.” “I’m on community service?” I may not remember much, but I know that community service isn’t like getting a detention at school. It’s something you get ordered to do. In court. By a judge. I struggle to sound casual. The last thing I want to do is come across like a wimp to my two best friends. “What did we do to get sentenced”—I nearly choke on the word—“to community service?” “It was no big deal,” Aaron scoffs. “We planted a couple of cherry bombs in the piano at open house. It was awesome! Cops are such sticklers about property damage. Like there’s a great piano shortage in the world.” “So we got”—I’m nonchalant, but it takes some doing—“arrested?” “We have to go,” Bear insists. “Yeah.” Aaron faces me. “Listen, man, I know it bugs you that you can’t remember anything about yourself before the accident. Let me fill in some of the details. Our boy Chase isn’t the kind of kid to get bent out of shape about a bunch of idiots overreacting to a few firecrackers. We did what we did, and we got in trouble for it. End of story.” “End of story,” I echo. I’m speaking carefully, almost as if I’m trying it on for size. “I mean, nobody got hurt, so what’s the big deal?” Bear snickers. “Yeah, right. Nobody.” “The problem with Hiawassee,” Aaron goes on, “is that everybody’s jealous of us. I don’t blame them. We do what we want, and nobody messes with us. Even the adults are jealous, because when they were kids, they were probably losers too. So when Fitzwallace or some judge gets a chance to slap us down, they go hard, since it’s the only revenge they’re ever going to get. You can’t take it personally.” I nod in agreement. “It’s kind of not fair.” Bear grins. “Sometimes I cry myself to sleep at night just thinking of the injustice of it all.” I laugh. Aaron and Bear wouldn’t cry if you jammed flaming bamboo under their fingernails. They’re the toughest guys in the world. “Thanks for being straight with me,” I tell them—and mean it. “My own mother kept me in the dark about this. I don’t know what she’s thinking— maybe that if I can’t remember it, it never happened.” Aaron shrugs. “It’s a mom thing. They’re all the same. If it’s fun, it must be bad.” “My dad warned me about that,” I admit. “He said I shouldn’t let her coddle me.” “Your dad is the man!” Bear exclaims. “He was part of the best football team ever to come out of this place. Next to ours, I mean. When you come back, we’re going to wreck!” That pulls me up short. Bear knows as well as anybody that I’m out for the season. It makes me wonder: Should I be? Dad doesn’t think so. It’s Mom the coddler who took Dr. Cooperman’s word for it. How much should I put my trust in her? She’s the one who tried to hide a pretty major part of my past from me. If it wasn’t for Aaron and Bear, I might never have figured it out.  Who knows what else she’s holding back? When Mom gets home from work that day, I’m there at the front door to throw it in her face. “Where do you get off?” She looks totally bewildered. I forge on. “You were so devastated when I got amnesia—but not too devastated to pass up a little editing job on my life!” “Editing job?” “Don’t you think I have the right to know that Aaron, Bear, and I were arrested and sentenced to community service?” She doesn’t answer right away. She sets down her bag, shrugs out of her jacket, walks to the living room, and collapses wearily into a chair. At last, she says, “You’ve just been through an awful ordeal. How can it help your recovery if I tell you a lot of things that are just going to upset you?” “Things?” I echo. “You mean there are more? How many other nice little stories have you been keeping away from me?” She seems genuinely sad. “I’ll love you and support you through the end of the world—you know that. I’ve always seen the good in you, Chase, and I believe that’s the person you really are, deep down. But you’ve had your moments.” I have a sickening vision of faces turning away from me, of kids shrinking back at my approach, fear in their body language. I think of that crazy girl who was angry enough to dump a tub of frozen yogurt over my head. What if she wasn’t crazy at all? What if I deserved it? Then I think back to the conversation with Aaron and Bear. There are two sides to every story, and Mom is taking the opposite one. But that shouldn’t surprise me—her kid got in trouble. Major trouble, if the community service is any indication. “Okay, it wasn’t a very nice thing to do,” I admit. “But I don’t understand why the school had to make such a big deal out of it.” She stares at me. “How can you of all people say that after everything that’s happened?”  “Maybe because I don’t remember everything that’s happened!” I shoot back. “They were firecrackers, not grenades! It was a prank!” My mother’s expression becomes hard. “Never mind the poor musician you practically put into cardiac arrest. The problem was the auditorium of people that thought they were under attack. It was pure luck that nobody got injured in the panic. I’m sure that’s what Dr. Fitzwallace was thinking when he decided to bring in the police.” I hear Mom tell the story and feel ashamed. But if you go by Aaron and Bear, it was a nothing gag that the school blew out of proportion because they were out to get us. Who’s telling the truth? Is Mom making it sound worse to scare me straight, because—as Dad says—she’s coddling me? When I got amnesia, I lost thirteen years of myself. I have to replace those memories using what I can pick up from other people. But everyone has a slightly different version of me—Mom, Dad, my friends, the kids at school, even frozen yogurt girl. For all I know, the lunch ladies know me better than anyone else. Who should I believe?