Text - OTA

[not_as_i_do]

Sometimes I'll be in the middle of a day of work and forget all of this. You have to be able to ... to put it away somewhere, just to focus on what needs doing.

But then some strange little random thing will remind me, and it all comes crashing back. Today, it was a young man's eyes, on the subway home. They were so blue, and I thought, 'my son has eyes like that'. But I don't have a son. Not here. But I do in the memories.

I know I should probably save these things for group, but ... somehow it's easier putting them here in writing. I feel like ... it should still all be secret. Like I should be used to keeping secrets.

I've never been secretive in my life.

Does anyone else have moments like this?

Comments

[not_as_i_do]

[probably. but he'll keep a somewhat distant eye on her just in case. he isn't close enough to be That Worried, but ... well. they're a small group, and he can't help but feel they should keep after one another]

They did have some very interesting things. I may pick something up for my niece's next birthday - I have a feeling she'd love one or two of those scarves to accent her professional outfits, once she gets to the point of needing to interview for things. Also: you really can't beat that barter system of theirs. A case of cheap water from Sam's Club and a rolling suitcase, and you're in the money over there.

[traceofeffort]

The scarves were fantastic, yeah, I got at least one. It certainly fills my pantry, too. Although I don't know about the suitcase idea, it's kind of like walking around with a briefcase of money on our side. I don't want to get mugged over a few dozen bottles of water.

CW: violence

[not_as_i_do]

I admit to not having thought of the mugging. It is a bit akin to a miniature armored truck, isn't it? Might even start a

[he hits send on the text without realizing it, as the memory slams into him like the armored truck in metaphorical question. standing in the middle of a sea of chaos and violence, people shouting, screaming. bones breaking, flesh hitting flesh. but he's utterly calm in his orange jumpsuit: happy, even, as he holds a cell phone up to one ear. "Malcolm! How are you, my boy? I took Ainsley's advice... She did?!" There's a pause. A knot in his throat. Behind him, someone is unconscious on the concrete floor. Guards with billy clubs are arriving. Yet his voice swells with pride, oblivious. "My girl..."]

[traceofeffort]

[Hmm. That's not quite normal. Although she's done it herself once or twice before, on here specifically...]

Yeah, it concerned me a little. Speaking of concerning, you okay over there?

[not_as_i_do]

[he comes out of it like a drowning man breaking the surface, with a ragged gasp. he'd dropped his phone in his lap, and for a moment he thought he may have dozed off at his desk. dreamt. then he sees the prematurely sent text, and realizes exactly what happened. his fingers are still shaking as he types]

Memory just hit. New one.

[traceofeffort]

[Lisa winces in sympathy.] I've done that too. Think I freaked Elliott right out at the time. You okay?

[not_as_i_do]

I'm not sure. It was disturbing: I was standing in the middle of a prison riot, of all things. And I was on the telephone with someone as though I didn't even care it was happening. I don't know what on Earth to make of it.

[traceofeffort]

I don't have words for how much that freaks ME out, and you're the one looking at it. I'm sorry. I hope there's a reasonable explanation, at least. Even if it's going to be coming further down the line.

[not_as_i_do]

Thank you, dear girl. For what it's worth, I was telling someone I took their advice, so ... maybe they'd told me something that would help me get out of there? I don't know. I barely even know who I was talking to.

[traceofeffort]

Hopefully? That'd have to be some pretty good advice to get out of something like THAT, though. Like most of our early memories, I think you'll just have to wait for more context.

[not_as_i_do]

You're right, of course. I both want to know, and don't. I think it's more the waiting in between that gets me.

[traceofeffort]

Yeah, tell me about it. I like finding out more about myself - or, well, you get what I mean - but I wish she'd send more than one letter every other week.