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There are things that Olive no longer remembers. Her brother's hugs. Her father's laugh. Her aunt's favorite cake from the bakery that she took Olive to. The last thing she ever said to them as she walked off with her Mom, her backpack over her shoulders, waving good bye to them in Jamaica.
For a while, she even kept a written list. It was kept next to the list she kept of things she had to without her twin brother. The day she had to add her father's voice to the list of forgotten things, she burned both lists on the kitchen stove and spent the afternoon in the locker, hiding behind the pile of boxes, her brother's stupid dinosaur clutched tightly to her chest.
There are things that Olive cannot forget. Her mother's scream when she's finally told they lost contact with the other flight. The way her grandfather didn't say a word, but his hand tightened around hers, almost hard enough to bruise. The taste of the blueberry yogurt her grandmother bought her at the airport, during that short time when they simply thought they were waiting for the second flight to land. The bright sun light throwing patterns through the stained glass when they bury half of her family during the day of funerals that never seems to end. The look on her grandfather's face as her grandmother slipped away.
There are hours seared into Olive's memory that she knows will be with her to her final days.
The frantic ones at the airport, after it became obvious that they weren't just waiting. Those heartbeats the next day when she woke up and for a few moments thought that it had all been a weird dream. The day she utters the words in her therapist’s office, finally admitting a truth that she still refuses to believe.
This is the day that Olive will never forget.
She's upstairs, getting dressed, one leg propped up on the chair to tie her laces when the landline rings. Even grandpa calls her on her cell nowadays, so she ignores the phone. She doesn't get a chance to tie her other shoe before her mother screams the blood curling scream she had heard once before. Try as she might, she can't recall how they ended up in grandpa's van, breaking several driving laws, headed to an airport for the first time in five and a half years. She can't recall what her mother said or how either of them managed to remember jackets or keys or to wait for grandpa to pick them up.
It's a long drive. It feels instantons. Later Olive will wonder if that's how it felt for them. One minute you're here, the next, hours have passed and the world kept on turning. She finally notices that she never finished lacing up her shoes when they park with the others.
She knows the NSA agents are saying something. She knows that it's probably important. All she can hear is the blood rushing through her ears and her heart thundering in her chest.
Her mother runs ahead, clutching at her purse and jacket, the wind tearing away any tears or words she may have. Olive follows with her grandfather, their hands holding tight enough to bruise. She thinks she may be holding him up, but she knows if she lets go she will probably float away.
She knows her father only believes that five years have passed when he looks at her. She realizes that she had half thought that this was all an elaborate prank up to that moment. She realizes she's forgotten what her father's hugs feel like. Or maybe she's just never felt this one before - she's grown six inches since the last time she saw him.
Her twin brother looks at her from the wrong side of puberty and runs away. She wants to run too, but she's not sure she won't fall over. Behind her, she can hear her aunt begin to cry. She thinks that this going to another sound that she can't forget. Her mother's scream. The look on her twin’s face as he saw her after three days that lasted five and a half years. Her aunt's sob. The clutch of her grandfather’s hand around hers. What will her father leave her with now that he has this second chance?