June, Reimagined (61)

“Maybe you’re wrong,” June protested. “Maybe this is just who I am.”

“That’s complete bloody bullshit and you know it. Now close your damn eyes.” June did, if only to disappear into the darkness. “Imagine your mind is an infinite room, and hidden in that room is something you need to find. There are drawers filled with memories and bins everywhere, with any item you can dream of.”

“How will I know when I’ve found it?”

“Because you’ll say yes.”

June settled back on the bed and let the darkness slowly morph into a concrete image, a room lined with endless drawers and overflowing bins, just as Eva had described. June noticed familiar objects: her CD collection, her running shoes, her great-grandmother’s broach, the baby blanket from the day she was born, her high school yearbooks, medals from swim team, cross country, and honor roll.

June paused on the headshot of Jared Leto. She didn’t want to open memories of Matt, but there they were: summer nights sleeping in a tent in his backyard, the bike streamers he gave her for her eighth birthday, his worn copies of T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, hangover breakfasts at Mitchell’s Diner, the local greasy spoon where June always ordered blueberry pancakes and Matt insisted on a burger and fries. Matt’s pet peeve about “that” versus “who.” June’s obsession with sock puppets and scrunchies.

“How’s the search going?” Eva asked.

“I’m a mess,” June sighed. “Potentially dead inside. Definitely in need of a therapist.”

“Sounds like you’re human. Keep looking.”

But June didn’t want to look. What was the point? She already knew these things about herself. Every item, she recognized. Every memory. Nothing was different.

And yet there was an edge of discomfort in her body, like wearing shoes a size too small or a too-tight headband. Sure, she could place every item in the timeline of her life. Sure, she knew the feel of them in her hands, where they were located in her bedroom, how much they weighed, and who had given them to her.

Same with her memories. She knew the little girl who once stopped her bike using her feet and ended up in the hospital, missing a toenail. The girl who raced home from the pool every summer day to watch Stone and Robin’s love story on General Hospital, who once got so mad at Josh that she dumped a glass of milk on his head.

As June lay there, eyes closed and completely exhausted, a scent crept up from the blanket underneath her.

Cedarwood.

Lennox crept into her mind without her permission.

I hate when you do that, she said to him. You’re so distracting.

Right now, the problem isn’t me. It’s you. Lennox’s voice was a perfect replica in her mind, his rolling r’s and deep tenor, the end of his sentences lifting slightly.

Even in my imagination, she said, you’re exasperating.

Aye, but you like it.

Shut up, I’m looking for something. June dug through the imaginary bins, pulling items out quickly and tossing them to the side.

Why don’t you let me help you? Lennox asked.

I don’t need your help. June abandoned the memory bins and went to the drawers, pulling one after another free. Memories blurred.

You’re not looking in the right place, Peanut.

What do you know?

I could help if you’d just stop for a second and listen.

No.

Lennox grabbed hold of June and forced her to look at him. Would you stop being so damn stubborn for once?

No! No! No! You pushed me away! You made me leave.

This isn’t about me. This is about you. Just say it, June.

No. She whimpered even in her head. My answer is no.

But you’re tired. Lennox came so close that June practically felt his chest pressed to hers. You won’t find what you’re looking for in these bins and drawers, because one thing is missing.

What’s that? June snapped.

You, Lennox said. You don’t belong here anymore.

June looked at the mess of her life around her—the strewn items, the memories. They weren’t off. June was.

Am I right? Lennox asked.

Yes, June finally said. But if this isn’t me anymore, where do I belong?

“Find anything interesting?” Eva asked, dissolving June’s imaginary conversation.

She looked around the room, but it had disappeared, too. She was alone, in darkness.

Alone.

For an instant she saw her brother, lying on the cold bathroom floor, dead for days.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

June didn’t want to live like that.

June didn’t want to die like that.

She opened her eyes, frantic. “I have to go.”

Eva smiled knowingly. “Yes. You do.”

June tore open the door and stepped outside her room for the first time since Matt had left. She paused, looking back at Eva on the bed, surrounded by pictures. “You called me an artist, Eva. No one has ever said that before.”

“Welcome to the club,” Eva said with a knowing smile. “The pay is shit, you’ll have to work until you die, you’ll battle self-doubt like a bad case of acne, but you’ll be happy . . . most days.”

June regarded her friend. “Thanks.”

“June, Reimagined,” Eva said, “that’s what I’m going to call your story.”