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“They’re not really your style”

He looks confused

“They’re not my style?”

I nod

“What exactly do you thinkat me and there is a hint of a smile around his mouth

I run aood at facial expressions, always the right one at the right time He looks placid and only remotely interested in my answer I feel safe so I say, “U” People change

“Classic rock?” he repeats, watchingatback to me Wasn’t that look how it all started?

“I’ his eyes to the floor “This is aard, but I…uhhh…don’t knohat my style is I have no memory of it”

I gape at hi back at me?

“You don’t remember? How could you not remember?”

Caleb runs his hand across the back of his neck, the muscles in his arms flex “I lost my memory in an accident Sounds corny I know But, the truth is—I have no idea what I like or liked, I guess I should say I’ you this”

He turns to leave, probably because my face is so full of shock it makes him uncomfortable It feels as if so ether Caleb doesn’t knoho I am Caleb doesn’t knoho I am! With every step, he takes toward the door I become more desperate Somewhere in my head I hear a voice scream, “Stop him!”

“Wait,” I say My voice is barely audible “Wait…wait!” this ti them out, I focus on Caleb’s back He is almost to the door when he turns to facefor him to here he is, I set off in a trot for the classic rock section It only takes a minute to find what used to be his favorite CD I return with it clutched tightly in

“You’ll like this,” I say, tossing hirace and smiles almost sadly

I watch hin his credit card receipt, and disappear right back out of my life

Hello—Goodbye

Why didn’t I tell him who I am? Now it is too late and the moment for honesty has past I stay rooted in his wake, ishly in ot me

Chapter Two

At sorade, I watched a murder/mystery on television The detective, who I had a ridiculous crush on, was naeting prostitutes Follagyn was hunting hi hooker, with stringy blond hair that was stained black at the roots She was curled up on a arette “Wohat a terrific actress!” I re so pathetic She held a rocks glass in her hand, and was taking quick, birdlike sips of whiskey I watched hershe did Later that night I filled a glass with ice and Pepsi I took arette to my lips

“No one listens to lass “This world—It’s cold” I took a sip of Pepsi,sure that I rattled the ice

A decade and a half later and I still have my sense of the dramatic The day after h town and sparedto call in sick to work I am in bed, my body curled possessively around a bottle of vodka

Around midday, I roll out of bed and shuffle to the bathrooory three hurricane that is rattlingwater, I replay the whole thing in ot me

My pug, Pickles, settles herself on ly, I smile

“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb,” I say it to see if it still sounds the same

He used to have a weird habit of reversing people’s names when he heard theht it was ridiculous, but eventually I foundIt beca

And now he didn’t reet someone you loved even if I did rip his heart to shreds? I pour soet hi depressed ers did I could be a country singer I belt out a couple verses of “Achey Breaky Heart” and take another swig

I pull the chain to the plug with le into the drain I dress and plod to the fridge, with the cheap liquor sloshing around in ency hurricane food supply consists of two bottles of ranch dressing, an onion, and a block of sharp cheddar cheese I cut up the cheese and onions and toss the fat free ranch over the top I put on the coffee pot and hit play on the stereo In it was the saiven to Caleb in the Music Mushroom I drink a lot more vodka

I wake up on the kitchen floor with my face pressed into a puddle of drool In my fist is a picture of Caleb that has been ripped and taped back together I feel pretty da into start froet what’s-his-name and buy healthy crap to eat andbriefly to toss the torn and taped picture into the trash Goodbye yesterday I grab my purse and head to the nearest health food store

The first thing that the healthy crap store does is puff patchouli scented air into my face I scrunch up my nose and hold e is snapping gu behind a counter

Grabbing a cart, I head for the rear of the store, pushing past the bottles of Madame Deerwood’s Aura Cleanser (it doesn’t work), the eye of newt, and the bags of Gota Kola

As far as I arocery store and not a supply haven for every new age weirdo in a twentythe Mecca Market a memory free zone for me

I throw some seaweed cookies and baked chips into the cart and head for the ice crea a shirt that says, “I a shoes

Turning down the ice cream aisle, I shiver

“Cold?”

I swing around so fast my shoulder upsets a display of waffle cones I watch in horror as they crash to the ground, scattering and skidding like hts