When She Was Me

Emily watches, swaying on her feet. “Are you going to run now?” she asks. Her words sound slow, sluggish.

“No,” I say, moving to my feet. “But you should.” I lunge for her.

Here’s the thing about memories. You can’t control or choose when they come to you. Like this one. Entirely meaningless—I forgot all about it. It’s one of those memories tucked into the furthest corner of my mind. Not for any particular reason, only that it’s odd enough to stand out but not spectacular enough to dwell on.

Sometimes it’s better not to know.

but I left something behind. Something that will tether me there forever.

I only know because mine were open.

I want to pluck your brain out and put it under a microscope. Roll it around my fingers and feel your thoughts.