Impossible Knife of Memory

Until then we’re going to keep making memories like this, moments when we’re the only two people in the whole world. And when we get scared or lonely or confused, we’ll pull out these memories and wrap them around us and they’ll make us feel safe.” He kissed me again. “And strong.”

I had shut the door on my memories because they hurt. Without my memories, I’d turned into one of the living dead.

“I might be a little scared.”

“That’s awesome.”

“No, it’s not,” I said.

“Yes, it is, because you can only be brave if you’re scared.

Can’t escape pain, kiddo. Battle through it and you get stronger. Cry all you want, but you’re going to bend that knee five more times. And then we will celebrate with pie.”

With so many people loving you, I know we’ll figure it out.”

I closed my eyes, pretended I was twenty thousand feet in the air, high enough to be able to see where we came from and where we were headed. Borders didn’t come painted with lines, but it felt like we’d crossed one. This was a new place with no signs or landmarks. In a land with a million questions, I only had one answer.

The smoke that slipped out of his mouth was the colour of his skin, like he was a miserable old dragon slowly disintegrating into ash.

I try to ignore Death, but she’s got her arm around my waist, waiting to poison everything I touch.

It was also possible that we’d finally stayed in one place long enough for our yesterdays to catch up with us.

There were more than two bodies buried here. Pieces of me that I didn’t even know were under the ground. Pieces of Dad, too.