I don’t even know where they keep the damn corkscrew!

Making it back to the family room, I stop hugging the bottle of wine tightly to my chest. I want this, right? I want these memories.

Why? Why am I so confused? I stare at all these boxes, not knowing what to do with them. Falling to the floor on my knees with tears streaming down my face, I pop the cork on the wine, but stop before I pour it into a glass.

Why do I need a glass? I start drinking it straight out of the bottle.

After guzzling half the bottle, I set it on the table beside me. On my knees, I inch myself closer to the boxes. Taking a closer look at the box in front of me, I notice my handwriting. What the hell?

It is labeled with Tristan's name. I unfold the flaps. Right on top of everything in this box is an envelope addressed to myself in my handwriting. I open the envelope slowly and begin to read.

If you are reading this, then that means you have completely lost all of your memories in this box. As I write this, I still remember some things, a lot of things actually, but with the surgery coming up I am not taking risks. The doctors informed us that it would be best to pack up everything so I won't dwell on these things during my time of healing. The date today is September 16, 2008. I left Tristan and the Monroes on August 16, 2008. This all happened in a very short period of a time, in only one month! One month was all it took for the migraines, blurred vision and memory loss to start kicking in. The surgery I am having is in the part of my brain that holds memories. The tumor is laying on top of that part. I am trying to keep up with the medical terms. It’s no use. I am already withering away into nothing. I am so weak. Mom said she would let Tristan and the Monroes know before Thanksgiving. That is when I am supposed to see Tristan again.

I can’t even imagine what he is going to be like when I don’t return his phone calls, texts, emails or letters. This is going to rip his heart out. Actually, I am sure it has already been ripped out because I have been ignoring him. Tristan would want me to listen to my parents and my doctors and do what is best for me. Tristan always wants what is best for me. He always puts me first. I love him. What I feel for him is not some silly childish love. I love him with everything I am. That is why these boxes are going to be labeled. If one day I happen to run into him again and I can’t remember anything that has happened then I want backup. I am also putting a letter in here for him as well. I am telling you Self, you want this! You want to remember these years! DO IT!

I gasp. It is like my sixteen year old self knew exactly what I was going to go through. I guess it is true when they say nobody knows you better than you know yourself. I pick up Tristan’s letter and put it to the side. I don’t want to read it. It is for him. I gulp some more wine before digging into the box when I hear my doorbell. My fingers shake. I already know who it is before I get up.

I take a deep breath for encouragement. My bottle of wine and I get up to go let him in.

I unlock the dead bolt, leaning my head on the door for another breath, and open it all the way before walking back into the family room. I don’t want to look at him just yet. I keep my eyes to the floor the entire time. His look. His touch. His voice. Everything about him is too intense right now.

I feel his presence behind me. I go to take a sip of my wine and notice that it’s all gone. “Shit.” I pick up Tristan’s letter and hand it to him without looking. Once I feel his hand’s weight on the envelope, I leave to get more wine. We are so going to need it.

10

“She’s not answering my calls,” I throw my phone, yelling.

Drake looks up at me, shaking his head, letting me know that she isn’t answering his calls either.

“I don’t understand Drake. This is not like Ev. She doesn’t just disappear. Even her parents aren’t answering their phone.”

My whole body is shaking. It’s been months since I’ve heard anything from her. The Laguna house is packed like they just up and left, going back home from vacation. Where the hell are they if they aren’t in Laguna or at home? It’s f**king Thanksgiving and I haven’t talked to my girlfriend in three months!

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” I punch the wall again, growling and crying out my pain, not just the pain in my hand, but also the pain in my f**king heart. It feels as if there are a thousand damn needles jabbing me over and over again.

I am not a pansy. This is the love of my life we are talking about here.

My parents have been quiet; they don’t know what to think either. They also can’t get a hold of any of the Beaumont’s. Mom has been trying everything to help me, but I can’t stand the look in her eyes. It’s like she feels pity for me or something. She’s just as upset as I am though. I know she is. She loves Evelyn just like the rest of us do. Mom comes into the room sighing, her sadness apparent in her eyes. I’m a seventeen-year-old f**king kid with a broken heart. Her oldest son in pain and there is nothing she can do about it. If I ever have kids, that is one look I hope they never see from me.

I get even angrier. We were supposed to go to Talania Community College together, get married, start another band and have three babies, but she’s breaking our f**king infinity promise. I punch the wall again.

“She broke her f**king promise to me. I promised her and she f**king promised me,” I growl, making a new hole in the wall.

“I know son, I know.” My mom’s soft voice answers back. “Drake, leave me and Tristan alone please.”