Forgotten

I want my dad.

Before bed, I trudge in slipper-clad feet to my desk to power down my laptop. Just as I reach for the mouse, a message box pops up.

LJH6678: Hi. Are you awake?

I recognize Luke’s screen name immediately; he’ll have it for as long as I know him.

LondonLane: Yep, just getting ready to go to bed.

LJH6678: I won’t bug you. Just wanted to say good night.

LondonLane: You’re not bugging me!

I stand in front of my desk, staring at the screen, waiting. After a few seconds, he types back.

LJH6678: I’m glad you told me.

LondonLane: Are you? I’m still not so sure about it.

LJH6678: It was the right thing to do.

LondonLane: If you say so!

The tiny screen is blank for a bit. I check the clock and shift from one foot to the other before leaning over to type.

LondonLane: I should sleep….

LJH6678: Okay.

LJH6678: Wait London? I have a question.

LondonLane: Okay?

LJH6678: I’ve been thinking about all of this today, about you remembering our whole relationship.

I slide down into the chair so I can read easier and type faster.

LondonLane: And?

A little butterfly pokes me under the rib as I hit enter and wait for Luke’s response.

LJH6678: And I’ve been wondering whether you remember everything.

I ponder the question for a moment, then type.

LondonLane: I’m sure I don’t remember everything. I remember the future the way you remember the past. You remember the really good and bad and forget some of the middle, right?

LJH6678: Sure.

LondonLane: Same with me. Why?

LJH6678: Do you remember us having sex?

My hand flies to my mouth, and I look around my room for eavesdroppers, even though I know I’m alone. My stomach won’t stop doing somersaults.

Luke learned that he’s going to die young today and all he wants to ask me about is sex?

LJH6678: Well?