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of sad brown grass
struggling to grow in it. The soccer fields were just as I
remembered from when I used to play back in middle school. I had a
lot of holes in my memory, but one fall afternoon was shining
clear. I remembered running across that field, heart pumping, legs
burning, ball flying in front of me as if directed by my very will.
Racing toward the net, kicking, scoring—the memory was a small
treasure.
    I headed toward the concession stand,
thinking I’d make the trip last as long as possible to avoid more
twenty questions from my parents. I was waiting in line to buy a
soda when someone called my name.
    “Jason Reitmiller?”
    I turned toward the woman standing there,
looking expectantly at me. She was young, pretty, and
unfamiliar.
    She came toward me. “Lisa Brightman, from
high school. I was Chrissy’s best friend.”
    Chrissy. Suddenly a whole slew of
recovered memories whirled through my mind like bits of confetti. Chrissy. Yes. I remembered a girl smiling at me, laughing,
yelling, kissing, crying. Seemed we’d always been in the middle of
breaking up or making up, and I’d completely forgotten about her
until now.
    “It’s all right if you don’t remember.”
Lisa’s tone was gentle, as if I were a child. “I’m sorry about your
accident.”
    “No. I remember,” I assured her. “Chrissy
and…you.”
    I sort of did remember Lisa, constantly
attached to Joe Somebody like an extra appendage that chattered a
lot.
    Reassured that I wasn’t a slobbering idiot,
Lisa perked up. “How have you been? It looks like you’ve recovered
well.”
    “A little gimpy, but I’m okay. What are you
up to?”
    “Going to school at Barry. I’m home for the
weekend, visiting my folks. How about you?”
    “I’m working now. Custodial services.”
    “Oh.” She glanced at the sign in the
refreshment stand that listed prices. “I’m here watching my little
brother play.” She indicated one of the other fields.
    “My sister,” I said, jerking a thumb toward
the other side of the parking lot.
    That seemed to scrape the bottom of what we
had in common. I willed Lisa to flit off to wherever she’d come
from. “Nice seeing you again.”
    “Good to see you too, Jason.” She started to
turn away, then stopped. “Chrissy wanted to come and see you at the
hospital, you know. She talked to me about it. She wasn’t over you,
even after everything that happened between you guys. But she
couldn’t bring herself to go, especially after how things
ended.”
    How had things ended? What had we been
through?
    “You were a real jerk,” Lisa added, her sweet
voice laced with glass shards.
    “I’m sorry?”
    She studied my face so intently I felt like
flinching. “You don’t remember.”
    “Not really. I remember Chrissy. And you,
sort of, but…my memory’s hazy. What happened?”
    “Never mind. It’s ancient history. You were a
different guy back then.”
    Apparently an asshole.
    Lisa pulled a pen and a scrap of paper from
her purse, jotted down her phone number, and handed it to me. “If
you ever want to talk about old times or whatever.”
    I accepted the number on the back of an old
receipt. “Thanks.”
    I wanted to ask more questions right then to
learn why I’d been a jerk, but Lisa was already walking away. She
vanished as quickly as she’d come into the crowd of people waiting
to buy salty popcorn and soggy pretzels.
    I felt a little nauseated as if I’d just
gotten off a Tilt-o-Whirl. Memories of Chrissy, Joe, Tyrone, even
Lisa tumbled through my mind. Suddenly it was my turn at the
concession counter, and I couldn’t remember why I was there. I
mumbled an apology to the pimple-faced kid taking orders and
hurried away.
    I barely made it into a stall of the restroom
before I threw up. This might sound like an extreme reaction to
meeting an old friend, but when a barrage of images and emotions
hits you like a semitruck, trust me, it has that effect.
    I splashed water on my face from the tap