Henry and Amber sat in the little coffee shop on campus. Henry hadn’t been in here since Sora died. He hated coffee, but she couldn’t go a morning without her double shot of espresso. So he sat with some sort of iced tea concoction that he could barely stomach but he sipped it just to have something to do with this hands. Amber sat across from him with one of those blended ice drinks that seemed very chocolatey. She reached into her black backpack and pulled out a spiral notebook and dug some more for a pen. When she located the writing utensil from the depths of her bag she straightened and opened the notebook on the table.

“I don’t really have any questions just yet, so why don’t you just talk to me. Does that sound okay?”

Henry took another sip and nodded. “Um about me and Sora?”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

“Uh we got married in our junior year. People say we got married too young, but at the time it seemed like there was nothing more natural. We were so wrapped up in each other and I didn’t really realize it at the time, but we were that couple. You know the ones that are so sickingly lovey dovey with each other. Yeah that.”

“How long were you two married?”

“She died two months after our second anniversary.  She was driving home and got hit by a drunk driver. They caught the guy though.” Amber scribbled in her notebook and Henry tried not to be bothered by it.

“What did you love about her?” Amber stares at Henry right in the eyes.

“I loved how she made me feel at home wherever I was with her.” Henry laughed a little at his own cheesiness. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but you know that song? Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros? Yeah that’s how it felt with her.”

Her eyes still don’t leave his as she says, “I love that song.” She quickly glanced away and cleared drawing her attention back to her notebook and pen. “So, Henry, when did you first start noticing that you were forgetting things?”

“I’m pretty sure I began forgetting things long before I realized it. The smallest things went first, really miniscule details. But the first time I forgot something, something big, was on her birthday. I couldn’t remember what her favorite type of flower was- I was buying flowers for her grave you see. Things have just gotten worse since.”

“I see,” she said and scribbled more notes on her paper. Henry could have easily leaned forward ever so slightly to make out the words (he always did seem to have pretty useless talents, one being reading upside down), but he decided he didn’t want to read them. Because reading about whatever was wrong with him on paper, like he was at a doctor’s appointment, would make everything just feel too real and too much like an incurable disease. He could imagine it already- groups of doctors standing around him talking like he isn’t even there. ‘It’s a rather unusual case. What do you think doctor?’ ‘Will he be able to be cured doctor?’ ‘We should run some tests doctor.’ He shivered at the thought.

“So what’s the prognosis, doc?”

Amber leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Well, it’s certainly nothing I’ve seen before.” She paused before gazing out of the fogged up window and stared at the people walking by. “Most people would give anything to forget as a way to cope and when they do they wouldn’t be begging to get those memories back- like you.”

Henry pushes his still mostly full glass of tea away and leans his elbows on the table to hear her better even though she’s speaking loudly enough.

“That’s the one reason I don’t think it’s your subconscious suppressing memories like most people do. It’s a common coping mechanism, but that’s just it- you’re not coping. In fact it’s driving you insane. You are definitely not suppressing these memories voluntarily or at least not very easily.” 

“So what do we do now?”

She closes the cover of her book. “I’ll be very honest with you Henry, this is way beyond my expertise. This should go to someone way higher up than me and maybe even my professor. But I know Donghae wouldn’t ask me for a favor unless he it’s absolutely necessary, so he must really care about you. Plus, I know you kind of want to keep this under wraps. I promise I’m going to try my best, but don’t expect answers right away. It’s going to take a lot of research and a lot of me bugging you. But as long as you’re up for it, so am I. So what do you say?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “At this point Amber, I’m willing to do anything.”

She smiles, “Okay. Tonight, my house or yours?”

As Henry unlocks the main door to his apartment he is suddenly overcome with a surge of self-consciousness. Since Sora died, Henry has not invited anyone into his home except Donghae. He cleaned at least every other week and it was mostly presentable, but he began to worry about things like leaving his laundry on the couch or dirty dishes in the sink. He was relieved when he poked his head in and there was no immediate sign of anything embarrassing or things to show Henry’s true lazy nature. He really was a slob and Sora had been the one to improve his hygiene because his college freshman self had believed that it was socially acceptable to wear jeans more than three times without washing.

“Would you like anything to drink?” He motioned for her to take a seat on the couch. “And please make yourself at home.” He didn’t know why he was suddenly repeating all the things Sora or his mother would say to houseguests to her. Normally he’d just smile and tell them it’s okay to put their feet up on the table and help themselves to the fridge, beers in the bottom drawer. He felt a strange need to be hospitable towards her and treat her properly.

“Water’s fine,” she answered. Henry handed her a glass of water and sat on the other chair across from the couch clutching his own diet coke.

She thanked him and rested the glass on her knee, but she seemed to take a deep breath before saying, “Henry, I think we should get to know each other more and just be more comfortable. Because before I can help you figure out what’s happening to you and your subconscious I have to know you. Let’s just treat this as two acquaintances hanging out?” He nodded, but his back seemed to be upright at an uncomfortable angle and he hadn’t even opened his can of soda yet. “And please, don’t be so… formal with me. I’m just Amber, a twenty year old tomboy who likes pizza and video games.” She smiled at him hoping to add reassurance when she said, “So relax.”

Henry’s proper posture instantly reverted to his normal slouched shoulders and he popped open the tab of his coke and took a swig. He chuckled at himself because he really had no idea why he was so nervous.

“I like pizza and video games too,” he added. Amber seemed shocked at this. “Really?” She cocked her head to the side and squinted as if she were examining him closer. “I pictured you to be this super uptight musical professor who is totally upper crust and Mozart this and Bach that.” She straightened before doing her best British accent, “I went to theatre last night and the orchestra was phenomenal, but the conductor.” She held a hand to her forehead and shook her head. “He didn’t wear white gloves.”

Henry laughed so hard he doubled over in his chair and had to put his drink down on the table so he could properly clutch his stomach with both hands.

“I do not sound like that! I’m Canadian, not British.”

“I know,” she smirked before leaning back into the chair. “But my British accent is so much better than my Canadian and it just fit the mold of cultured snob.”

“Did you really think I would be like that?”

She just shrugged. “It’s not like you didn’t have some sort of picture of what I would be like in you mind.”

Henry straightened and after some thought he realized that he did have some sort of expectation of what she was like. “I guess I thought you would be this super indie sort of intellectual. I mean you’re getting your masters and you’re twenty for god’s sakes. I figured you were the type that studies in coffee shops- drinks an espresso, no cream just sugar, and goes to art galleries and poetry slams. I bet you own a vintage film camera and only listen to records and you hate James Cameron movies.”

It was Amber’s turn to laugh and she choked out, “That is not even the least bit true. Although I’m pretty sure you just described at least half of my intro to psych class.”

“Guess we’re both not what we seem,” mused Henry.

The pair spent the rest of the night comparing their interests and found that they held more in common than they thought. Their favorite hobbies turned out to be eating, sleeping and watching movies. Henry impressed her with his dvd collection, but she boasted that she possessed all the seasons of Psych on dvd (which just so happened to be both of their favorite tv shows). He made her promise to bring it over and let them have a marathon all weekend. It was nearly midnight when Henry showed Amber to the door and he felt slightly guilty that she had to head back to her off campus apartment on her own, but she had insisted that she go on her own.  “I can handle myself, Henry,” she said just smiling and left with a quick goodbye and the promise to call about the next time they could meet up. He shut the door and as he locked the bolt he thought that maybe even if they weren’t able to figure out what was going on with his memories that he’d at least get a new friend out of it.