and listen, steadily nodding in agreement, and listen some more. After thirty minutes or so, Iâd tap on the window and beckon for Nigel or pretend he had an important call by waving the phone in the air. Professor Childers and Nigel hadnât hung out in over a month. I guess thatâs why the professor spent the afternoon standing in his driveway waving at motorists speeding by on Circle Drive.
----
Iâm surrounded by boundless and untouchable shores that arose outside the windows, doors, and walls of 207 Circle Drive.
----
I hated not being able to share the few memories that I did have with Nigel, especially the ones of Mom and Dad. Heâs already told me the reason he wonât acknowledge reading my blog. Although the blogs were about conjectured memories, they were still mostly about Mom and Dad. What I recalled about Mom and Dad werenât real memories, but I felt deep down that they couldnât all be things I made up. Sometimes, what I remembered was a smile, laughter, or a touch. And sometimes, itâs the feeling there was really a Mom and Dad and not hazy images of the faces in the portraits hanging on our walls. If I could really share my thoughts with Nigel, he could fill in the blanks. I didnât know why Nigel hid from his memories of Mom and Dad. The last time I heard him mentionMom or Dad was eleven years ago when he told me I was alive and they were dead. He never said how they died, and I never asked. I still didnât know what happened to Mom and Dad or to me because I was too afraid to ask.
----
A long time ago, before this life, before I evolved, I left footprints in the sands of the world outside.
----
My brother was essential to my existence. Without him, and without memories of my own, who would I be? Who? Nigel gave me a past and a future. His life was my life. He and I wereâ¦me.
----
We are each otherâs barber. One day, while Nigel was giving me an edge, he asked me if I dreamed when I was asleep, and if so, was I inside this house in my dreams. I didnât know what made him ask, but his tone begged for confirmation. So I told him, âOf course, I dream. Doesnât everybody? And no, Iâm not hanging out inside this house.â Then I pointed out the window. âIâm out there.â I think it gave Nigel solace with the knowledge that I get to live a life outside these walls even if itâs only in my dreams. I loved my brother too much to tell him the truth. Fear dwelled inside my dreams. I hated my fear.
----
I knew why whales beached themselves. They were irresistibly drawn to the shore by inborn memories and abetting dreams of whales that once trudged across dry land.
AUTUMN
CHAPTER 7
She was his first. And she was there when time stopped.
Nigel wasnât sure of the duration, but he was certain time stopped the night he spent with her. He felt the earth when it wobbled and ceased spinning. He watched as the past, present, and future embraced each other with overt skepticism. No one would believe him if he tried to explain how time stood still, so he never told anyone about the night he drank too many Kamikazes during a homecoming weekend party at his fraternity house and bedded a beautiful woman who drank almost as many. There were large chunks missing from his recollection of that night. He remembered dancing on the frat house lawn and bumping into her as she gyrated to the infectious beat of songstress Billie Lawrenceâs âHappiness.â But he didnât remember reaching for her hand, then following her up the stairs. He recalled pointing to his room and her opening the door, but he didnât remember her unbuckling his belt, taking off his pants, or the awe-struck look on his face when he saw her naked. The moment he gave himself to her was unforgettable. Even now, fourteen years later, he still shuddered when the unsolicited memory of that night forced him to feel the dizzying sensation of sempiternity
----
Iâm surrounded by boundless and untouchable shores that arose outside the windows, doors, and walls of 207 Circle Drive.
----
I hated not being able to share the few memories that I did have with Nigel, especially the ones of Mom and Dad. Heâs already told me the reason he wonât acknowledge reading my blog. Although the blogs were about conjectured memories, they were still mostly about Mom and Dad. What I recalled about Mom and Dad werenât real memories, but I felt deep down that they couldnât all be things I made up. Sometimes, what I remembered was a smile, laughter, or a touch. And sometimes, itâs the feeling there was really a Mom and Dad and not hazy images of the faces in the portraits hanging on our walls. If I could really share my thoughts with Nigel, he could fill in the blanks. I didnât know why Nigel hid from his memories of Mom and Dad. The last time I heard him mentionMom or Dad was eleven years ago when he told me I was alive and they were dead. He never said how they died, and I never asked. I still didnât know what happened to Mom and Dad or to me because I was too afraid to ask.
----
A long time ago, before this life, before I evolved, I left footprints in the sands of the world outside.
----
My brother was essential to my existence. Without him, and without memories of my own, who would I be? Who? Nigel gave me a past and a future. His life was my life. He and I wereâ¦me.
----
We are each otherâs barber. One day, while Nigel was giving me an edge, he asked me if I dreamed when I was asleep, and if so, was I inside this house in my dreams. I didnât know what made him ask, but his tone begged for confirmation. So I told him, âOf course, I dream. Doesnât everybody? And no, Iâm not hanging out inside this house.â Then I pointed out the window. âIâm out there.â I think it gave Nigel solace with the knowledge that I get to live a life outside these walls even if itâs only in my dreams. I loved my brother too much to tell him the truth. Fear dwelled inside my dreams. I hated my fear.
----
I knew why whales beached themselves. They were irresistibly drawn to the shore by inborn memories and abetting dreams of whales that once trudged across dry land.
AUTUMN
CHAPTER 7
She was his first. And she was there when time stopped.
Nigel wasnât sure of the duration, but he was certain time stopped the night he spent with her. He felt the earth when it wobbled and ceased spinning. He watched as the past, present, and future embraced each other with overt skepticism. No one would believe him if he tried to explain how time stood still, so he never told anyone about the night he drank too many Kamikazes during a homecoming weekend party at his fraternity house and bedded a beautiful woman who drank almost as many. There were large chunks missing from his recollection of that night. He remembered dancing on the frat house lawn and bumping into her as she gyrated to the infectious beat of songstress Billie Lawrenceâs âHappiness.â But he didnât remember reaching for her hand, then following her up the stairs. He recalled pointing to his room and her opening the door, but he didnât remember her unbuckling his belt, taking off his pants, or the awe-struck look on his face when he saw her naked. The moment he gave himself to her was unforgettable. Even now, fourteen years later, he still shuddered when the unsolicited memory of that night forced him to feel the dizzying sensation of sempiternity
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