The Memories We Hide

by jodi Gibson

  Laura’s thoughts pushed back through her memories to the first time she’d experienced Ryan’s sudden mood change.

  They were lazing about down at the river one blue-skied Saturday afternoon. Lawn mowers hummed in the background, and a group of kids on bikes and scooters passed by the walking track, disturbing a flock of galahs in the branches hanging over the river, their piercing screeches echoing as they flew off in a flurry.

  Ryan had been in a good mood, at least until then. Laura would say it was his usual mood. Carefree, light, and laughing about the latest episode of How I Met Your Mother.

  And then his mood began to change.

  ‘What are you doing at uni next year, Ry? You are going, aren't you? Don't you want to do graphic design or something?’ Laura had asked, staring up at the gum trees overhead, her head resting on Ryan’s stomach.

  Ryan remained silent.

  ‘Ry?’

  ‘Yeah. I s’pose, something like that,’ he said with a sigh.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It just means what it means. I s’pose it's what I'll do. That's all.’ He shifted up onto his elbows, and Laura sat up to face him.

  ‘You should. Do it, I mean. You’re good at it. Amazing, actually.’

  Ryan stared past her again, staying silent, a sullen expression on his face.

  ‘I've got it!’ Laura said, speaking at a hundred miles an hour as an idea formed in her head. ‘We'll move to the city, go to uni. I'll do law, if I get in of course, you'll do a design course, and we'll rent a little flat somewhere nearby and get some part-time jobs. It will be perfect, Ry. Maybe Rach could live with us to help with the rent? And we can all come back every few weeks to visit Tom on the farm. It'll be awesome! What do you think?’ She hardly paused to take a breath, pleased with herself and her ingenious plan.

  Ryan’s face, however, clouded further, and his eyes changed from soft green pools to angry oceans. His lips were pursed and his body tense. Then, all of a sudden, as if he couldn’t hold it back any longer, he exploded.

  ‘What does it matter what I think?’ he barked. ‘Sounds like you've got it all planned out.’ He jumped to his feet, flicked his towel over his shoulder, and turned to walk up the bank.

  ‘Ryan! Wait!’ Laura called to him, her voice hard to control thanks to the lump in her throat.

  He turned back to Laura with narrow eyes and stormed toward her. ‘What about what I want, Laura? Did you ever even ask what I want?’

  Laura stood there, her bottom lip trembling as Ryan seethed before her. She’d never seen him like this. And then, almost as quickly as he exploded, Laura saw Ryan’s face drop, the anger sliding away his head fell forward.

  Laura was frozen, not wanting to move, unable to muster any words.

  ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you,’ Ryan said, his voice barely a whisper. He reached his arm out toward Laura, who flinched momentarily before letting him pull her into his arms.

  ‘It was only an idea. I didn’t mean that …’ She sobbed into his shoulder.

  ‘I know. I know,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘It’s just, everyone keeps talking about next year, and I just want to enjoy this.’ He moved back slightly and looked down at Laura. ‘This. Us. You know? Our last year of high school.’

  Laura nodded as Ryan bent down to kiss her head. ‘I just lose myself sometimes,’ he said.

  Laura didn’t know what he meant, but she didn’t want to ask either.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Ryan said. ‘I promised Gran I'd help her in the garden this afternoon. I’ll call you later, okay?’ He pecked her forehead again and turned and made his way up the riverbank.

  Laura sat down on her towel, hugged her legs into her chest and cried into her arms.

  Looking back on it now, Laura wished she had done more than feel sorry for herself. Maybe Ryan was trying to tell her something. Maybe things could have been different if she’d noticed. She sighed. That thundery look Ryan had was so similar to the one drawn on Gemma’s face just moments before. Laura had to talk to Stella.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Laura let out a sharp breath as she unwrapped herself from her thoughts, startled by the young woman who had stepped out from behind one of the rows of shelves.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.’ She smiled. She wasn’t Mrs. Roberts, the librarian whom Laura remembered, old and stern and with a lisp that she found hard to contain if she was grumpy, which was most of the time. No, this woman—girl—looked barely out of school. With a peroxide pixie cut and square, black-rimmed glasses, she looked like she’d be more at home at a hipster café in Fitzroy.

  ‘No. That’s fine. I just didn’t see you there,’ Laura said, clutching her phone.

  ‘So, are you looking for something in particular?’

  ‘Um, yeah. I’m after the newspaper archives.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ the young woman replied, as if it were an odd request. ‘A particular date?’ she asked as she motioned for Laura to follow her into a darkened room behind the periodicals.

  ‘Um, November 2009.’

  ‘That’s easy then. All on digital now,’ she said as she clapped her hands together. ‘We’ve been working on getting all the newspapers computerized for the past few years. Big job,’ she said, her eyes widening with excitement. ‘But we started with the present, which was easy as the first seven years back were digital already, and then it was manual scanning. You know. Takes time. But we’re already back to 1987, can you believe?’

  Laura smiled politely.

  ‘Right over here.’ The librarian showed Laura the computer and how to search the program, and then left her to it.

  Fifteen minutes later, Laura found another article discussing Ryan’s death. It was the only other one apart from Ryan’s eulogy, which she couldn’t bring herself to read. She squinted as she read the pixelated print.

  Police have ruled the death of local teenager Ryan Taylor a 'tragic accident.' The teen was discovered on the tracks near the Smythe Street crossing three weeks ago, with the police and coroner only now ruling on the cause of death.

  ‘Our investigation has concluded, and we’ve determined that the death is not suspicious and was simply a tragedy that could well have been avoided,’ local detective Roy Makin said in a statement released late yesterday. He went on to say that the potent mix of alcohol and marijuana, presumed to be consumed at an end of exam after-party, had resulted in the youth straying onto the tracks. Due to the extent of injuries, the coroner was unable to conclude if Ryan was already passed out before he was hit, or if he stumbled onto the tracks in his intoxicated state. Although it could not be officially confirmed, the police ruled out any evidence of foul play, further dismissing the green army material found on the tracks.

  ‘We hope, if anything, that the local youth realize that excess alcohol and illicit drug use can have very permanent consequences,’ said Detective Makin. He went on to say that steps will be taken to install guardrails on this section of the track, which is so easily accessible to the general public.

  Laura sat in silence, her stomach now a collection of knots, her brain feeling like it was being cut open, raw memories burning behind her eyes. Ryan's death was an accident. An unfortunate, tragic accident. A case of too much alcohol and god knows what else. That was all.

  ‘Did you find what you were after?’ the librarian asked Laura as she was about to leave.

  ‘Well, yes, but no,’ Laura said, glancing at the girl’s name tag.

  She smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, very cryptic. And hi,’ she said, stretching out her hand. ‘I’m Shea.’ Laura reached across and shook her hand.

  ‘Don’t get a lot of girls my age in here too often. I’m guessing you’re my age. Mid-twenties?’

  Laura nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m Laura.’

  ‘I’m twenty-four. So, kind of out of touch with the oldies that come in, as lovely as they are, of course. And then there’s the little ones with their mums. They�
��re all nice.’

  A thought jumped to attention in Laura’s mind. ‘What about Gemma, the girl I was talking to at the tables when I came in?’ Laura motioned toward the now empty group of study tables.

  ‘Ah, Gemma, is that her name? Mmmm. She’s a bit of a quiet one. She’s been coming in quite a bit lately, I’ve noticed. Mainly to log into the free Wi-Fi on her laptop. Don’t think she’s ever borrowed anything. Kind of keeps to herself. You know her?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I used to. I grew up here but left after year twelve. She was one of my mum’s friend’s daughters.’

  ‘Oh, right! A local. I can’t call myself a local yet, only been here for a couple of years, but I love it compared to the city. So much quieter and simpler. Is that why you’ve moved back?’

  Laura swallowed. ‘Oh, I haven’t moved back. Just, um, visiting.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘My mum passed away, and I have to pack up her house to sell it, then I’ll be back to the city.’

  ‘Oh. You must be Judy Murphy’s daughter?’

  Laura nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t know her to speak to, but I know she was well liked. I’m so sorry.’

  Laura smiled politely as a customer approached the loans desk where Shea was standing. ‘Well, better let you get back to work. Nice to meet you,’ Laura said.

  ‘Yeah, you too. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.’

  ‘Thanks. I will.’

  Laura stepped out of the library and popped up her umbrella. The water was welling in the gutters, creating a mini river rushing by. She ran to her car, trying to avoid the puddles that were now almost lakes across the parking lot. Once in the car, she started the engine and pumped up the heater, switching the vent to the floor. The air warmed her cold feet while her mind again asked questions she didn't have answers for. As she drove across the bridge over the railway line, Laura tried to keep away the images that had plagued her imagination so intently, night after night, day after day. At times, the snippets flashing before her felt so real, but she knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Tormenting her. She’d learned to switch it off, but now with the memories of Ryan at the forefront of her mind, and seeing the tracks, the collage of images had flickered to life again.

  Light-headed and heart racing, Laura pulled to the side of the road to catch her breath once across the tracks. It’s time to move on, Laura. Time to move on. Replaying memories wasn't going to do any good. What's done was done. But still, she couldn’t shift the unsettled feeling that had lodged in the pit of her stomach, keeping her thoughts flapping from one page to another like a book in the wind. She needed to hear it from someone who knew. She wanted to hear it from the source: Detective Makin. Laura bit her fingernails as a flash of Makin’s face entered her memory. It was the morning she found out about Ryan.

  Laura had sat in the living room of her home, eyes fixed straight ahead as she fingered the holes on her mother’s crochet blanket that lay across her legs. It was doing little to warm her. She was so cold. Her skinned knees stung, and her bones ached. Muffled voices and road noise echoed irregularly through the open window, and the morning breeze stung her red and swollen eyes. A cup of tea sat untouched on the side table next to her. The milk had separated, fat floating in ribbons on top of the cold liquid.

  Her eyes flickered as she heard voices approaching. Heavy, unfamiliar footsteps creaked on the hallway floorboards.

  ‘Are you sure this is necessary, Detective? Now?’ Her mother’s voice.

  ‘It’s only a couple of questions, Judy. I promise it won’t take long.’ The male voice was deep and raspy. Laura didn’t look up as their shadows appeared at the doorway.

  Her mum walked over, knelt, and placed her hand over Laura’s. The warmth of her mother’s hand made her realize how bone cold she was. Cold and empty.

  ‘Laura, honey? Detective Makin just needs to ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?’

  Laura shrugged, the slight movement threatening to break her.

  Detective Makin sat on the worn couch opposite Laura, his large frame sinking into the cushions. He cleared his throat before speaking.

  ‘Laura, I know this is hard, and I’m very sorry for your loss, but I need to ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?’ He paused for a response, which Laura didn’t offer, and then continued. ‘When was the last time you saw Ryan?’

  Laura felt the tears well in her eyes at the mention of his name. She swallowed. ‘Last night.’

  The detective began scribbling in his black, vinyl-bound notebook, the concentration forming in thick lines between the bridge of his nose. ‘Do you know what time?’

  ‘I don’t know. Late.’

  ‘Was this after the party down the road?’

  Laura nodded.

  ‘Do you remember where you saw him?’

  Laura’s hands began to shake.

  ‘It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.’ Her mother folded her hands over Laura’s.

  ‘On the train tracks.’

  Detective Makin looked up over his square-rimmed bifocals. ‘The tracks? Here? Just down the road?’

  Laura nodded.

  ‘Can you tell me what state Ryan was in? Was he intoxicated? Had he taken any drugs? What was his frame of mind?’

  Laura stared past Detective Makin into the distance, trying to urge her memories to clear. Everything was still a blur. She remembered seeing Ryan and arguing, then storming off, leaving him sitting on the tracks. She remembered being in her bedroom and sobbing into her pillow. And then she remembered nothing but smudged and hazy images. Images of Ryan. At her bedroom window? At the front door? His head bleeding? The train? But that wasn’t right. She didn’t trust these memories. There was nothing to ground them. The line between real and imagined had twisted in knots in her mind, strangling every thought and memory into tight balls of confusion. Every time she closed her eyes, the memories would skip and change like a broken movie reel playing different images simultaneously. She couldn’t trust the tricks her mind was playing on her.

  ‘Laura?’ Detective Makin prompted.

  ‘I … um … yes, he was drunk. He was slurring his words.’ The tears began again, and she feverishly brushed them away.

  ‘Had he taken any illegal drugs?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure.’ Laura remembered the sweet smell of marijuana and gagged. Her shoulders began to shake with the deep sobs that rose from her chest, unable to be held back anymore. Her mum shuffled to her feet and put her arms protectively around Laura’s shoulders.

  ‘I’m sorry, Detective, I think we should continue this another time. It’s too soon.’

  ‘With all due respect, Mrs. Murphy, it’s imperative we get as much information as early as possible for the investigation. Just one more question, please?’

  Her mum pursed her lips.

  ‘Laura, did Ryan have any reason to want to end his life?’

  With that, Laura caught her breath and looked sharply toward the detective. ‘What? You think Ryan …’She cupped her mouth with her trembling hands.

  Detective Makin sighed with heavy shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Laura. We have to look at all possibilities.’

  Judy moved between Laura and Detective Makin. ‘Obviously she doesn’t have an answer for that,’ she said. ‘That will be all for now. I’ll show you out.’ She gestured forward and walked to the door with her head held high.

  Detective Makin sighed as he heaved his body off the couch, leaving a sunken impression in the cushions. Pausing at the door of the living room and the hall, he turned to Laura. ‘I’m so very sorry, Laura.’

  Laura startled as a group of teenagers crossed the road noisily in front of her, their raucous laughter vibrant against the backdrop of the gray sky. Laura noticed her white knuckles and slowly uncurled her hands from gripping the steering wheel. Behind her, a passenger train rattled rhythmically along the tracks as it slowed toward the station. It fel
t to her like it was tearing along at a speed of one hundred miles per hour, right through her heart. She turned the key in the ignition, her heart pounding, and drove home.

  Once inside, Laura’s breathing calmed. She switched on the kettle, grabbed a cup off the sink drying rack, and dropped in a tea bag. Part of her wished she hadn't come back. As much as she felt centered here, safe within the confines of her home, she realized the memories that her hometown held simply couldn’t be put aside like she had done over the past years. Was finding out what really happened to Ryan going to make any difference? Why couldn’t she just say goodbye and be done with it, just like she’d promised her mum? She didn't know why it didn’t seem like enough. It was as if everything inside, from her core right through to the marrow in her bones, ached to know. It was a compulsion now, a drive like nothing else she’d experienced. She just had to know.

  The kettle switch flicked off, and she poured the boiling water into the cup, the tea bag shrinking and then relaxing. As she let the tea steep, Laura pulled the telephone book from a kitchen drawer. 2013. It was a few years old, but it was a start. She flicked through the soft paper to find the right page and then scanned her finger down the list of names. Maddison, Maguire, Makin. There were two listed:

  A.R. Makin, 17 Allison Crescent

  D.M.& P.D. Makin, 2850 Clear Springs Road

  Neither began with R for Roy, but it was worth a try. Forgetting about her tea, she pulled on her raincoat, slipped on her boots, and decided to check out the listing on Allison Crescent. It was only a few streets over.

  Laura drove carefully down the cul-de-sac, a wave of nostalgia washing over her. Familiar houses with neat nature strips and concrete driveways. She remembered cutting through the adjacent alley as a shortcut to Rachel’s house when she was younger.

  Laura came to a stop in front of a cream, triple-fronted brick veneer, a brass number 17 adorning the matching brick mailbox. The gardens were immaculate, albeit a little waterlogged. Pruned hedges and manicured conifers stood symmetrically on either side of the house. A row of apricot roses in full autumn bloom lined the front fence. Laura inhaled their fresh scent as she walked toward the porch. Knocking on the security door, Laura froze. What was she going to say? She didn't have long to think about it, as a large man wearing thick bifocals and sporting a neatly clipped gray beard opened the door with a cautious look on his face. His frame took up the whole of the doorway.