She held out her arms to hug me, but I knew this wasn’t my house — and she definitely wasn’t my wife.
Or was she?
I searched my mind for a memory of her face, and I felt … something. Like a name on the tip of my tongue or a tune that I could hum but the words were not quite right. She smiled and, again, I felt … something. Like a dog’s cold nose on a sunny summer day or the smell of coffee in the morning. Familiar. Safe.
But no! The room was wrong. Where were my things? Why was everything so shiny and white? It was all wrong! She was all wrong!
I wasn’t married. I was only 20. But why did she keep saying she was my wife? Why was her face so familiar? Maybe she was my mom’s friend. Why was that song stuck in my head?
Panicked, I turned to run and stopped dead in my tracks. Stunned by my reflection. I touched my face and felt the deep scar across my forehead. Ran my fingers through my hair. Why was it so white? That’s not me. That’s definitely not me.
Or was it?
I searched my mind for a memory of that face and felt … something. I watched the tears run down that face as I softly hummed the song stuck in head.
Unforgettable, she said.
Fandango’s Story Starter #148
Tina Stewart Brakebill 