| Chapter Four ~ Emma O'Brian |

It's easy to allow certain memories to fade. To let the workings of time chip away parts of it; making them harmless to look back at, becoming borderline irrelevant. It can work on even the strongest, most vivid of events. They become markers; signposts from  a map of a road you merely glance at while driving along. You know they're there; you know they took place. But if you maintain your current speed you can move right past them, without having to delve into any ounce of consequence.

It isn't sad, nor is it a bad thing. It just...is. The trick is to not mind it, like most people do. Most people are only somewhat aware of this occurance. They go through life, going from signpost to signpost, all the while not thinking twice about why their brains have selected those particular memories to tweak, keep, or discard. Others, alas, can't help but dream and focus on the signs instead of keeping their eyes on the road.

For those of us who can't; those who need to understand why some things get to be discarded while others are kept, it is almost impossible to see the road, for our signposts grow larger with each passing minute, threatening to block the view of the horizon most absolutely.

"Professor?" a student asked, quietly, and I realized I had been staring out the window of the classroom long enough for everyone to notice that I wasn't really there.

"What? Sorry, Anna." I said, shaking my head in an effort of forcing my mind to fucking cooperate.

"You were talking about Heidegger? His concept of death and time?" Another student reminded me.

"Of course," I said, still somewhat unsure. "Yes, right. Where was I? Did we discuss the three dimensions yet?" I asked the class, and I could tell they knew not what the fuck they were, which was just as well because it was a class on Heidegger after all.

"Alright. Well...past, present and future. These are the three dimensions that are simultaneously open to man. As they favor one of the three, that dimension determines—and to an extent modifies—the remaining. The future then is that which is projected towards the being. Once the being projects itself towards the future, it returns to that which it already is. Embracing the fact that it is finite."

As everyone took note of what I had said, Simon, looking rather nervous, entered the classroom. On any other day, that fact, in and on itself, would have little to no meaning. Simon had always been a nervous person, and I suppose I'd never seen him stand still in all the time we've been working at Magnolia together. He was just one of those people who were constantly on edge, and I understood that—somehow better than I wished. In any case, whether he was playing with his messy red hair or biting his nails in anticipation as his black-framed glasses threatened to fall off his thin nose, those were all acts conducent with his personality.

The bell rang, but no student paid any attention to it. Instead, they all finished writing and went back to looking up to the front of the classroom.

"So, there you go. Next week we'll still focus on these dimensions, but I think it's time we start discussing Heidegger's approach to death, don't you? In so doing we will need to understand his notion of anguish and care. To that end, I'd like you guys to try and read chapter fifty-three so we can discuss it further in class," I said, then I leaned on the table that was pushed against the white board, which was full of my writings on theoretical philosophy, before adding: "I promise I'll be a part of said discussion."

They all smiled and began to gather their belongings, and I watched as Simon made his way over to me, holding something that looked like a post-it in his hands and having this rather vacant expression etched across his pale face.

"Thomas..."

"What's up, Simon? Don't tell me Christian is going to ask me to cover for him again. I can only talk so much about physics before the students realize I know like, two theories."

"You better look at this," he said, handing me the note. "It seems important."

It consisted of a simple sentence:

Come to St. Yve's

"Is this a joke?" I asked, clenching the paper, looking up at him.

"A woman named Alicia called about seven times already," he said. "Do you know her? What's St. Yve's?" He asked, curious.

"I, uh—I have to go." I said, leaving most of my things on the table behind me.

"Thomas, do you need anything?" He asked.

At least I think that's what he said. By then, I had my Super 8 running at full speed, and suddenly I wasn't at Magnolia anymore, I wasn't even in the city. I was back at being a teenager, at my family's lake house, and the set of troubles I had then consisted of very different things.

The first time I met her I was quite young. I'd been in the water for the better part of three hours trying to better my time, when I suddenly noticed a blonde girl watching me as I swam. So I made my way up to her.

"What are you doing? It's freezing." She said, looking at the fog that was about to engulf the lake and the two of us with it, before undoubtably going for the house.

"I need to practice," I said. "I'm too slow."

"You didn't seem slow to me." She kindly said.

"Yeah well, tell that to my coach." I said, by then out of the water, facing her.

She smiled, then just kept on staring. I won't lie, she did so for far too long in my opinion.

"Your brother wanted me to tell you it's time to come out," she said. "There are some people I have no idea who they are, but they just got here and are asking for you." She added.

"Yeah, about that; not having any idea who people are and all—" I said, going for my towel.

She simply smiled, before getting up and handing it to me.

"Emma," she then said. "Girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" I repeated, surprised.

"Possibly," she leaned in and almost whispered. "Your brother can be a bit slow himself."

I couldn't help but smile.

"Maybe you could put in a good word for me." She said.

"Sure but, I still have no idea who you are." I said.

"Yeah you do," she told me. "Marcy's party, two weeks ago? You tried to kiss me and then almost cried apologizing for using me to make some dude jealous. Chris, I think?"

"Holy shit. Emma!" I exclaimed, absolutely mortified.

She smiled, though. Then she said: "Don't worry about it; I don't mind that a cute boy wanted to kiss me."

"Oh my god, no. I'm so sorry about that. Seriously, you can't—"

"—tell anyone?" She finished my sentence.

"At least not until I have some stuff figured out—"

"Listen, I know. We talked about that, too. At length, and for ages." She widened her eyes.

"Fuck me, how don't I remember that? Like, any of it?"

"What can I say?" She patted me on the shoulder. "You were pretty wasted, kiddo."

"Listen, he can't know about this yet," I said. "I'm begging here."

"You did the same thing back at the party. But as I told you then, you can relax," she said. "You should relax, actually. You look like you're about to pass out."

"There you are," Liam said, walking over to us. "I see you've met Emma." He said, putting one arm around her neck.

He looked so happy. I remember thinking how I almost kissed my brother's new girlfriend and how that girlfriend knew more about me at that moment than he did and I just felt like running.

"Anybody there?" He said, as I kept staring at the two.

"We were just talking about how we actually met before," Emma jumped in. "At Marcy's. You know, the night of the party you didn't want to go to?" She teased.

"I wanted to go to that party, but I was at my grandparents that weekend," he said. "Why didn't you tell me you met?" He turned to me.

"I, uh—"

"It wasn't really at the beginning of the party that we met," she said. "It was toward the end, and he was a bit—"

"Oh, I see. Say no more. You don't remember, do you?" He gave a wicked smile. "And you have the nerve to tell me to take it easy when we go out."

"He's not wrong." Emma said, saving me once again.

He gave her a quick kiss.

"It's good you don't remember, though. I wanted to introduce you two. You know, properly," he said. "Besides, Summer and everyone else are already here, so now would be a great time for you to finally talk to her."

"Yeah, that's great but no. I think I'm going back to the lake." I was finally able to speak.

I swear, another minute and I would have folded.

Emma smiled, yet Liam frowned.

"Why?" He asked.

"I need to train some more." I told him.

"You know that's not gonna make a difference, right?" He teased.

"You know you can fuck off, right?" I said, before adding: "Great meeting you, Emma."

"You too, Thomas." She said, smiling, as I turned and headed back to the water.

"It's Tommy," I heard Liam say. "The only people who can call him Thomas are Gloria and Oscar."

"Who are they?" I heard her faintly ask as I was preparing to go under.

"Grandparents," Liam said. "Except, you can't call them that, either."

"You guys have a lot of rules in your family, don't you?"

I stopped listening by then, diving and hoping by the time I came back up there'd be no need to face her and the embarrassment of that weekend at Marcy's.

I had no luck, of course. When I did swim back up, I could see that they were still at the same spot, laughing and talking and just being what they would—in the coming weeks—become: Liam and Emma. The unit. Not one of those annoying couples people tend to avoid, or friends miss for they disappear once they become an item, but those that are simply impossible to think of one and not the other. The ones people would come to refer as meant to be—and actually mean it. That kind of couple.

It's when I knew, actually; when I realized that there were people in this world who were lucky enough to find each other. And what it felt like to know; to understand that sometimes that's what movies are about and poems and books written for. And how one would have to be insane not to acknowledge it or properly value it, for it was rare, and it was lovely.

•

On a Friday morning, Emma O'Brian left her work at an ad agency in Baltimore with the pretense of having a major meeting in New York later that very day. She took the nine-fifty-seven am train to the city and, upon arrival, checked herself into the Carlisle, where she would remain for the three days that followed. During that time, she remained in her room.

A few days later, one morning, she would order room service. Two bottles of Italian Bordeaux and nothing else. At around lunch time, she took out from her purse three orange prescriptions bottles, carefully placing each one on the coffee table in the living room. She made swirling patterns of blue, yellow and violet, and then proceeded to take them one by one, until there was almost nothing left.

The only reason she was found was due to the fact she missed her check out, and by the time she got to St. Yve's Hospital, she was immediately put under the care of the attending on call, Dr. Alicia Foster, who, as Emma's condition worsened, tried to get hold of her next of kin—me.

I know why or when I'd become her next of kin. I could only imagine having something to do with the time I took her to Oakdale, but even that was a bit odd, seeing as it had happened a decade ago. Then again, much changes in a decade.

Was what I did that important? Had it meant that much? Either way, I started running thousands of different scenarios in my head, each extrapolating from that afternoon in the hopes of being supposedly enough to explain what she had done.

None of them did, of course, but it was something I'd always been able to try: focus on a point and anatomize it until it made sense, or at least come close to doing so. I could lose hours doing that. And more often than not, I would.

Strange that I thought of that while at St. Yve's. After so much time had gone.

"Thomas?" I heard Dr. Foster, softly, as she opened  the door to the half-lit room.

I'd no idea how long I had spent sitting on that bed, nor how long I held Emma's hand and absolutely allowed myself to drown in the past. It could've been ten minutes, or it could've been ten hours. One way or another, I truly didn't care.

I turned to her without letting go.

"There are some things you need to sign." She said, so carefully.

"Okay." I merely responded, robot-like.

We were both silent for a bit, neither of us moving, until she finally spoke again.

"No, I—you need to come with me in order to do it."

"But..." I looked at Emma. "She'll be all alone." I all but whispered.

She took a few steps at my direction and placed a hand on the side of my head, gently stroking my hair.

"It's okay," she said. "She'll be okay. Right now, I need you to come with me. Just for a while."

"Oh." I said, still looking at Emma and carefully letting go of her hand.

I followed Dr. Foster outside to the isle right at the very center of the corridor, and as I did I noticed how there was only one person who seemed to recognize me: Finn. A brown haired, brown-eyed, six-two feet tall orderly who used to show me around the hospital whenever I couldn't sleep and just roamed the place, all those years ago—which happened frequently. He made no attempt at talking to me, and I absolutely could not have been more grateful. When he passed me by, he just winked and gave me a tame smile before moving along.

There were other people around, of course. Sitting at the nurse's station, five women seemed to frantically work on charts. All of them stopped typing and looking at their tablets when I arrived, following Dr. Foster.

I gave zero fucks, though, I should admit to that. And the little I did care had nothing to do with the looks I was getting that may or may not have come from people who'd recognized me from before. No. What I cared was being saved; stored inside somewhere in me that would be kept deep enough as to not cause any immediate damage, but not as deeply that would make impossible to be easily retrieved.

I can't claim to know what or how many things I actually signed. It would've bothered me, had I not had Dr. Foster next to me the whole time, telling me which ones needed to be scribbled on immediately, and which could be left for a later time.

Hours came and went, and I found myself sitting on a blue sofa near some elevators, in an overpass slash corridor that connected the old and new buildings. From where I was sitting, I could see the traffic of the city, and I found it so strange how it all was simply moving along as if nothing had happened. Stupid thing to wonder, but wonder I did, nonetheless. It felt wrong to not have it all just stop, just as my life had. Just as it had also done, ten years before.

"Where do you want to go from here?" Dr. Foster asked, walking over and sitting next to me.

I did not reply.

"Can I take you home?"

I simply shook my head, turning my gaze down to the floor. There were two tiles that were cracked, and I absolutely reveled in the irony.

"What about my house, then?" She asked, kindly.

"Is this Dr. Foster speaking or Alicia?" I asked her back.

She smiled.

"The latter." She simply said. "Dr. Foster ended her shift hours ago."

"Okay then." I told her.

She got up, reached out her hand and asked: "Are you ready?"

I looked up, properly seeing her for the first time.

"No." I truthfully said. I still grabbed her hand though, even if it took me a while to actually get up.

We were silent for a few moments, before she said, so very quietly: "Come, Thomas." And pressed the button to the elevators.

And so I did.

I never saw Emma O'Brian again.