Forget-me-not

Cynthia

The faint scent of smoky bacon crept beneath Cynthia's bedroom door and tickled her nose. It scrunched up while she slept and she rolled over onto her side. While she slept, the scent began to get stronger and stronger until it woke her up. 

She pushed herself up into a sitting position. Still on her bed, faint sunlight streamed in through the blinds. This time it was softer than the harsh light from the previous day. Outside, the wintered gray clouds parted to let the morning sun greet the earth. 

Grease sat in the middle parting of her hair. She raked a hand through her hair to shove it out of her face. The strands of hair tangled in the middle of the night which caused her fingers to get tangled in a knot. She winced as it tugged and began the tedious process of unwinding her finger from the messy waves. 

She got up and made her way out of her room. The second her door opened, the scent was overpowering. Humming came from the direction of the kitchen. It didn't take long before she stared at the back of Flora. 

The sound of footsteps caused Flora to spin around. Her eyes went from Cynthia's head to her feet. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I'm making us breakfast this morning." She turned and went back to flipping bacon in a skillet. "You still like bacon, right?" 

"I don't know," Cynthia admitted. 

"Oh, right. Sorry, that was a dumb question on my end. I've forgotten how much you've forgotten. You used to like bacon, but it's been a while since you've had any. At least, to my knowledge. 

"It smells good." 

"Hopefully, that means you'll still enjoy it. You can sit at the counter and it'll be done shortly. I want to make sure I get this fully cooked." 

Cynthia slipped onto one of the wooden stools that was tucked beside a counter. The bottom of it was painted white, but the top counter was made of some kind of wood. A sheer finish had been placed over it. 

Flora's kitchen was relatively simple. Similar white cabinets lined the floor and sat topped with sheer wooden finishes. Black handles were hooked onto them. A white fridge sat tucked into a corner. Flora stood over a white stove with an electric glass top. 

Off to the side, a metal basin sink sat with a brass spout. The spout curved up and over the sink with an attached sprayer beside it. Two rectangular windows took up space above the sink. Their tall and narrow shape allowed plenty of light to light up the kitchen. 

The kitchen began turning darker than usual. The sheer white curtains allowed light to come inside, but the clouds were starting to drift and cover the sun again. The sunlight pouring through Cynthia's bedroom was gone too. In its place, a dreary darkened gray light. 

Cynthia observed Flora move throughout the kitchen in silence. She was still uneasy in Flora's space. She reassured Cynthia that she had been there plenty of times in the past, but Cynthia couldn't remember. The pads of her fingers silently tapped the counter top. 

"You're pretty quiet this morning," Flora finally broke the silence after a while. "How'd you sleep?" 

"It was okay, I guess. How'd you sleep?" 

"I slept a lot better knowing that you were here and not in the hospital anymore. The hospital is good for recovering, but it gets pretty boring after a while." Flora grabbed two plates and began putting food on them. 

"You could say that again." 

A laugh came from Flora. She walked the two plates over to Cynthia. She placed one in front of her and the other on the opposite side of the counter. Cynthia glanced down to find scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon, and toast. 

"What would you like to drink?" 

"Um..." A frown filled Cynthia's face. Her eyebrows began to pinch together. "I don't know." 

Guilt began to stir inside Flora. She internally cursed for asking so many questions that Cynthia couldn't remember the answer to. "You like orange juice and I have some of that." She walked over to pour her a glass. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"You can ask me anything." 

"What was I like?" 

"What?" Flora glanced over from the open fridge. 

"What was I like as a person?" 

Flora paused for a moment. "For starters, you were never this quiet. You loved to laugh and you always talked a lot. You had a lot of love for a lot of things. You romanticized everything in your life." 

"What does that mean?" 

"It means you looked at the smallest things and found joy in them. You got up and no matter what struggles life threw at you, you could always find the good. You love people and plants and animals. Knowing someone like you is a blessing." 

Flora nodded and glanced back down at her plate. She picked up a piece of toast. The bread was smeared with some liquid glaze. Flora buttered the bread while it was still warm which caused the butter to melt. She took a bite of the bread and chewed it. 

"How is it?" 

"It's good," Cynthia forced out the words before she swallowed the bread. It scratched the sides of her throat as it trailed down. When a clear glass of orange juice was placed in front of her, she took a sip. 

Flora planted herself on a stool at the other end of the counter. The only thing separating the two women was an empty stool between them. Flora picked up her fork and shoved it into the steaming pile of eggs. It scraped along the porcelain plate and caused Cynthia to wince. 

The two ate their food in silence until Cynthia spoke up again. "What was the thing the doctor said I had yesterday? I can't remember what it's called." 

"It's called post-traumatic-amnesia. Due to the injury your brain received, it might take a while for your memory to come back." She left out the part where the doctor admitted that Cynthia might never remember the past. 

"Do you think my memories will come back?" Cynthia turned her head to face Flora. Flora had her eyes averted down onto her plate of food. 

Her shoulders shrugged, "I'm not sure. I hope they come back soon. I hope you remember everything." 

"Yeah, me too." 

Flora swallowed another sip of orange juice and kept her eyes on her plate. Her fork stabbed into the pile of fluffy eggs. That was the first lie of many she'd tell Cynthia. She'd do anything to keep her safe. 

In Flora's world, post-traumatic-amnesia was the best thing that ever happened to Cynthia.