The days were passing by like sap, sweat out from a maple tree. The sights of Japan were beautiful—Kyoto was gorgeous and vibrant, the arcades in Tokyo had endless fun, the food was fantastic and the hotel they were given had a perfect view overlooking the city of Shibuya. Everything about the trip so far was perfect, down to the meticulous detail in the gardens they visited. Everyone was pleasant, especially considering Imani had practiced her conversational Japanese in preparation for this trip. Kali unfortunately had to rely on Imani to translate, especially during their restaurant visits.
They bonded. They laughed. They played. They made love. It was just them.
But something was missing.
Subconscious thoughts pricked Imani’s brain. At first, they were merely dog hair splinters that made their presence known at times. She would stare at stands with cultural keepsakes and think someone would like them. She bought a souvenir for her mother, one for her brother, and one for someone else. Kali questioned who the third was for, but she didn’t know. Maybe it was for her, or a distant cousin, or grandparent. The needles only continued to sink themselves deeper, the subtle pin pricks in her memory growing from mere dog hairs to sewing needles.
Visiting the Fushimi Inari Shrine made her remember that someone had wanted to look at the Itsukushima Shrine. Whoever that person was never knew the exact name of the shrine, it was just ‘the shrine in the water’. Needles pierced deeper, syringes of memories starting to make her head ache with each passing day. This day in particular had her stop in the midst of a store after glancing at a bottle of ramune. She’d introduced someone to that when she was younger; it was a show and tell session and she showed everyone how to open the bottle. Everyone loved it, including that one kid—that one person who never stopped clinging to her after seeing the bottle had Naruto plastered on it. That stupid bottle bound her and someone for life, but who? Who was it?
The migraine that followed was enough to cancel plans for the day. One day lost wouldn’t cause much trouble, but she was upset that travel had to end so soon. Kali offered to stay by her side. Imani pushed that she’d be fine and that Kali should go and enjoy the sights by himself. He hesitated on two counts; he didn’t want to leave his lover alone, but more importantly, he did not know Japanese and was afraid of getting lost without Imani’s guidance. Despite his apprehensions, Imani assured him that he could manage and encouraged him to embrace the adventure. Reluctantly, he agreed, promising to find a way to get her an aspirin when he came back.
And so, she sat in a bedroom by herself, staring up at the ceiling, clutching her head in one hand.
It didn’t make any sense. There were moments she remembered with this person, but the face and name were water, and her mind, a fork, trying to capture it all. Who was this person? Why were her memories of things that may or may not have happened with them?
She closed her eyes, letting the room’s silence envelop her. Her mind wandered back to those school days, trying to force clarity from the haze. There were so many shared moments: the laughter in the schoolyard, card games during recess, countless hours spent playing with Cameron before he died. She could almost hear the sound of their voice, see the sparkle in their eyes, but every time she tried to grasp the memory, it slipped away.
Sliding her hand into her pocket to pick out her phone, she scrolled through her gallery, back to the pictures she thought were too empty to be unimportant. Picture after picture, the negative space in certain ones made her head throb. The ice cream-sharing picture with no one else there to compare, the selfie at a laser tag game with one less opponent to face, the picture from the inside of a house, snow whitening the landscape of a window with no one standing in front of it. Frustrated, she forced the camera feed to scroll all the way down to the one picture she held close—a photo of Cameron posing with herself and that other person in front of the mural her elementary school had the students participate in. She remembered the time spent crafting her tile, the energy used making sure the little designs of her friendly dragon were just right, the laughter shared, the tears shed, everything. And that person, that person was right next to her—at least that’s what she thought. That’s what she remembered. They were right there. Right there.
There she was; Cameron pointing at two tiles—both of them of dragons; hers, a big fat purple one, and the other a long, slender noodle. Cameron was grinning like an idiot with her in the picture—that stupid open-mouthed, cartoon smile he did when he told a bad joke.
And again, something was missing. The tile for the mural was there, but she couldn’t remember who drew it, let alone who stood beside Cameron in the picture.
Imani was not one to shed tears in times of crisis. She prided herself in being someone who was a shoulder to cry on. It would be her job once college was done, after all. Yet staring at this picture, a tear fell, and then another. Wiping her eyes, tears started to fall in earnest. She wasn’t sure why. The headache was stinging, but it wasn’t to the point of agony. Confused, she kept wiping her face as the tears kept spilling from her eyes.
Why did she feel sad?
Who was she crying for?
What was the point of shedding tears for someone she couldn’t even remember?
Try as she might, nothing resurfaced. Nothing came to her. Just a photo and tears that stained the pillows.
Kali wouldn’t worry about it. He had already moved past it. Maybe she should too, she thought as she turned her head to dry her eyes on the pillow. She stared back at her phone, closing the gallery and turning to Chattr to scroll through messages.
If only there were a name. A letter. A clue.
Maybe then, the migraines would stop.
The Dragon's Den 
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