“What kinds of shapes are in the sea?”
“Why do you always assume that they mean the sea?” I ask, in a cautious tone that does not seem like it would sound offensive.
“The bottle,” Noah says as he picks up his small container. It says Calm in the white here which represents the sky, and this little blue rolling design at the bottom are waves—sea waves. So, what kinds of shapes are in the sea?”
“Starfish,” Cherie answers as she nods. “Stars are a shape.”
“The pills are made from starfish,” Noah concludes.
“Is that your new theory?” I ask as I let out a short laugh. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“When is the last time you saw a starfish?” Noah asks as he places his bottle of Calm back into the drawer.
“We’re in Illinois. I don’t think I’ve seen a starfish since we went on that school fieldtrip to the Shedd Aquarium down by the lake.
“I’ve never seen any,” Noah says as he nods confidently and rubs his hands together. “Therefore I have proven my point.”
“I’m convinced,” Cherie says as she nods in the same manner and rubs her small hands together.
“Well,” I say as I pause for a moment to let that all sink in. “I’ve been outvoted, so I’ll just go with the majority rule.”
“…go with the majority rule.”
“Exactly,” I say as I smile.
“Exactly,” Cherie adds as she smiles at me.
Sometimes I have to laugh to myself at her timing when she mimics what I say. It almost seems deliberate, like she knows just when to mirror me at times in a way that almost makes perfect sense.
Noah looks pale for a moment as his plate slides down to the floor. I get to my feet and pick it up, giving it a once over to make sure it is not damaged—it is fine. Noah buries his face into his hands and begins to sob uncontrollably.
“Hey, Noah…” I say as I reach for the box of tissues and place them on his lap. “Everything is alright. There is no need to cry.”
“No need to cry,” Cherie says as she places her hand on Noah’s shoulder.
I nearly stop her from doing so—however, Noah does not push her away. Instead he continues to cry for a while. Then abruptly stops.
“Are we playing chess today?”
“Sure,” I say as with a reassuring smile, “I mean as long as Cherie doesn’t mind, let me just clean up.”
“I’ll clean up.” Cherie says as she begins to collect the plates. “You play your game.”
“That’s… kind of my job,” I say somewhat hesitantly. After all, I am the Sitter—aside from making sure they take their pills cleaning up is one of my only other real objectives.
“Kind of my job…” Cherie says as she disregards me and continues to clean.
As I sit across from Noah he waits for Cherie to leave and then begins to speak softly. “They don’t let her watch the news right?”
“No,” I say quietly in reply.
“You think that’s for the best?” He asks as he moves a pawn up two spaces.
“I don’t know, Noah,” I say as I give it a moment of thought. I mean, she is aware that she is different so it seems only right that she should get to know what is happening to people like her—however, that kind of information could be damaging. “That’s a hard question. I mean I feel like it’d be the right thing, to let someone know the truth—but sometimes when I get home and see what is going on… I don’t even want to know.”
“Not knowing doesn’t make it go away,” Noah says as he takes one of my pawns with his knight.
“Yeah,” I say let out a sigh. “I don’t know what the right answer is.”
Cherie walks into the room and sits beside me and fixates on the game board in front of us.
“Hey Ethan,” Noah says, changing the subject.
“Yeah…?”
“How many Amnesiacs does it take to plug in a light bulb?” He asks as he slaps himself in the knee as he loses another piece.
“How many, Noah…?” I say as I am once again disappointed that the game is going in my favor. It is a strange thing, to feel sad that you are winning—to actually want to lose because you know somehow that it will make you feel better.
“I forget,” Noah says as he begins to laugh heartily.
I shake my head and laugh, not to the extreme of Noah, but I humor his attempt. “That’s very nice, Noah.”
“I don’t get what is funny about that.” Cherie says as she shakes her head. “That sounds kind of sad.”
“I’m an Amnesiac,” Noah says as he turns to her and nods. “It’s self deprecating humor.”
“Is that why you are always sad?”
“Probably,” Noah says as he looks away and focuses back on the game. “Have you been around any others—like us?”
“Only a few times, I think.”
“You think?” Noah asks as he gives his next move a lot of thought. He attempts to move his king out of check.
“I think I can feel them near me, but it must not be real because I don’t feel anything now.”
“Strange,” Noah says as he loses the game.
Having won, I feel no sense of victory. However, I am happy that they are having a conversation that is much more normal than the previous one. This test seems to be going very well. I think that this friendship could be good for the both of them.
“I’ll win on Friday,” Noah says as he looks down for a moment and then lets out a short laugh. “You’ll see.”
“You’re getting better,” I say in an attempt to reassure him. I don’t know if this is true or not. It seems to be about the same as last time.
“I’m just out of practice,” Noah adds.
“Of course,” I say with a smile.
The rest of the day goes well. Noah slips into a few moments of incoherency but they pass like a breaking wave upon rock and swiftly recede just as soon as they appear. I leave early, Noah is content with the leftover pizza—after all, due to the delivery driver’s policy of not coming to the door—this is a special treat for him.
The drive back to Cherie’s apartment is uneventful. She looks out the window in silence as we make our way back into the city. Once we stop, I place my badge over my neck and walk her up to her apartment—as is procedure. I make sure that she gets into her apartment safely. “Do you need anything before I go?”
“I’m good,” Cherie says as she stretches her arms out wide. “I usually nap… I didn’t nap today—I think I’ll sleep extra well tonight. Maybe I’ll dream of Paris if I can’t be there.”
“Do you ever think of…?” I begin as I turn to face the large painting of the Eiffel Tower. “Do you ever plan on finishing this? It’s such a good piece…”
“I painted this…” Cherie whispers, almost as though she is informing herself of the fact.
“I just think you are really talented,” I add.
“It’s finished,” Cherie says as her eyes look saddened. “It’s as finished as it is going to be.”
“I’m sorry,” I say as I let out a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s incomplete though isn’t it… kind of like me.”
“I didn’t mean to imply any of that,” I say as I shake my head. I feel terrible. I should have followed my instincts and kept my mouth shut about it. Sometimes I forget that I’m dealing with someone with issues—I begin to realize that I am having a harder time making a distinction between Unstables and just normal people. “It’s perfectly fine the way it is… and you are too. Don’t think otherwise.”
“Don’t think otherwise…” Cherie says as she slowly nods her head and glances back once more to the unfinished painting. She yawns once more and a smile returns to her seemingly always happy face—it is only her eyes that betray how she really feels about things. I wonder if her last Sitter noticed that… or even cared to.