Memories from the Past

By Sarah Rodecker

This town is weird. Everywhere I go feels… familiar. The coffee house on Alexander Street. The library on Main. Even the dingy auto shop on the outskirts of town seems like I’ve lived here my whole life.

Only, that isn’t possible. Is it?

You see, I’m not sure where I came from.

I don’t even know who I am.

Which makes it even weirder when an elderly lady runs up to me as I trudge down Main Street. “Blue! I’m so relieved to see you! We all thought something terrible happened to you.”

That’s another weird thing: people keep calling me Blue. “Who’s Blue?”

“Why… you are.” The woman looks so puzzled, I could swear I saw a jigsaw course through her veins.

Who’d name their child Blue? While I might not know who my parents are, I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t have named me Blue. “Nope.” I push away.

As I slog back to the hovel I call home under Twisted River Bridge, discouraged I hadn’t found anything to explain my missing memories, I skid to a stop. Across the street sits an old antique store: Memories from the Past.

My eyes narrow.

My memories are gone.

So why am I certain I’ve been in that shop before?

Looking both ways to make sure I won’t be accosted by someone else screaming “Blue!” I cross the street and push open the door.

As far as I can tell, the shop is empty, but it isn’t quiet. Whispers flutter through the room. I strain to listen as they fly around my head, calling names like they’re searching for lost souls.

Confused but curious, I step farther inside.

In glass display cabinets, on wooden shelves, this place is stuffed with trinkets: some old, some new.

Brushing my fingers along one cabinet, I pause. There, inside the display perches a ceramic bird. A bluebird.

Suddenly, a memory comes back to me. A fuzzy image of this bird sitting on a dresser, watching over me.

“Did you find anything you like?”

I jump, startled to see a short woman peering at me over spectacles.

“I…” I look back at the bluebird. “Maybe.”

“Interesting. Most people only come in to sell things.” She walks around the cabinets coming to stand across from me. “What would you like?”

I point a trembling finger. “That bird. I think it used to be mine.”

“Are you sure, dear? Take a good look.”

As I study it, the whispers flowing through the room sharpen.

Blue, they call.

I straighten and nod. “It’s mine. I’d like to buy it back.” I reach for my pocket, then hesitate. I’d spent my last few dollars on breakfast this morning. My hand falls to my side. “Never mind. I can’t.”

“I don’t accept money as payment, dear.” The woman’s eyes glaze over like she’s seeing through me. Or maybe it’s just the light reflecting off her spectacles. “My fee is something much more… rare.”

Relief floods through me. I’m not sure why, but I want that bird. If there’s a chance to buy it back, I’m going to take it. “What’s your price?”

Opening the cabinet, she removes the figurine. Its azure coating shimmers in the sunlight. “You have to hold this in your hands, look me in the eye, and tell me you want it back.”

That’s it? Wary, I stretch my arms toward it. The moment my fingers wrap around its cool surface, I feel my stomach clench.

I double over, clutching the figurine tighter.

A barrage of images flood my mind. One phrase here. You’re not enough. One action there. Slap. Flickering lights and concerned faces. Hang in there, one of them—a nurse?—said.

“What’s happening?” A tear slips down my cheek.

“You’re remembering, dear.” Her hand stretches toward the bird, but I pull it close. I’m not done.

“How… is this… happening?” I ask through clenched teeth, the pain making it difficult to talk.

“I buy memories, dear. Didn’t you read the sign?”

Suddenly, I realize what all the whispers are: memories.

More images and emotions rush back to me. Me as a teenager, curling up on the couch with a woman. I love you, Blue. You’ll always be my baby girl. Back at the hospital, maybe a few months later, a man hunched in a cheap chair, his hands squeezing the same bird I held. I stirred, and he looked up, relief washing over his face. Blue, he sighs. Then back on the couch, sitting next to a teenager who looks nearly identical to me. We won’t let that jerk of an ex hurt you again, Blue, she promised.

I probably didn’t believe her because here I am, with no memory of who she is except what this little birdy told me.

But something nags at me. I want to remember who she is. Who all of them are.

Gathering my strength, I stand tall and glower at the lady. “I want to keep it.”

A ray of light flickers from her eyes to the figurine, as if her power is leaving the bird. Definitely not the sun playing tricks. “Are you sure, dear?”

I hold her gaze. “I’m sure.”

She gives a disappointed sigh, but shrugs. “Very well, dear. It’s yours. Do with it what you want. But remember: my deal is a one-time offer. You can’t forget again. If you take this bird, you have to live with everything it holds.”

I blink, considering her words, but she’s gone.

My head pounds as I stagger out of the shop. Stepping into the sunlight, I squeeze the bluebird tight, embracing the memories that continue to rush back to me: the good and the bad.

Tucking the figurine away, I walk home, remembering exactly where home is.

My family—my mom, dad, and sister—rush to me the moment I walk through the front door, tears streaming down their faces.

“Blue!” they exclaim, pulling me close. Suddenly, Blue seems to fit. I’m their bluebird, flying home.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sarah Rodecker is a Christian twenty-something author who loves all things cats, coffee, and checklists. She is the co-author of Ships, Secrets, and Survivors, the first book in a fantasy series called The Pirate Hunter Chronicles. When she’s not writing, you can find her dabbling in one of her many hobbies.

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