#hellcheer week

Remembering can be hard. It’s not like they wake up in this life, remembering their history together. They are born and exist as whoever they think they are. And then one day, it’s like a switch and everything is thrown into sunlight. For Chrissy that moment had been several years ago, one bright May morning. There had been a slant of sunlight through the trees, the smell of fresh bread, and the walls had come tumbling down. She’d been Claudia, baking for their children, she’d been Teresa, working in the mill. 

This life so far isn’t particularly her favorite. 

One of the side doors swings open to let someone out and then drops shut with a clang that echoes across the grass. Chrissy almost misses the long, lanky figure as he strolls across the parking lot, neatly hopping the fence that divides the school from the woods. 

But she looks up just in time to catch the long dark hair, how he throws on a denim jacket as he easily strides across the grass. 

Some faint memory flickers in the back of her mind - the stale, musty smell of the gymnasium, the squeak of her plimsolls on the rubber floors. Hiding behind the heavy curtains that had been put up with a boy with close-cut hair. 

Back then she hadn’t remembered. As far as she knew, she was Chrissy and nothing more. She couldn’t remember Sarah or Audrey or Leilani. She didn’t know about all of the steel or silver or straw rings that had crossed her finger, the dozens of children that she’d borne or the man that had fathered them. She’d been Chrissy, hiding from the audience before her routine, catching sight of a boy with dark eyes between the plush red folds. 

Her heart pounds and she’s pulling herself up from the bench before she can think about it. It’s the same boy…but is it him? 

There’s only one way to find out. 

The grass is dry under her feet as she walks, hurrying to follow him before he’s lost among the trees. She takes the gate, rather than risking climbing the fence in her skirt and jogging towards the thick line of trees. 

This is possibly very stupid. But Chrissy can see a figure moving ahead of her, the glint of metal still visible between dark wood and fading yellow leaves so she braces herself and steps in. 

The sun vanishes behind the thick canopy of trees, but Chrissy forces herself on regardless. Everything feels so still inside here, the sound of teenagers vanishing behind her as she walks forward. There’s only the sound of birds in the trees and leaves crunching underfoot. The weather has just begun to turn, bringing the hint of cold weather on the wind, the fresh greens beginning to change to something warmer and golden. 

There’s an anxious beat where she wonders if she’s lost. He could be going anywhere, could be using the woods as a shortcut. She doesn’t know her way. 

But then somehow she steps through some branches into a clearing. To her confusion, there’s a picnic table, not all that different from the one she was just sitting at, abandoned on the grass. She steps forward and brushes her fingers across the worn wood, wondering how it got here. Kids, probably, and she imagines them carrying it all the way out here, like this is some kind of clubhouse. 

“Well, this is a surprise,” says a voice behind her and, startled, she whirls around.

He’s removed his jacket, standing there in a long-sleeved t-shirt, dark hair wild around his shoulders. He’s watching her with a strange expression - surprise and confusion, with just a little bit of intrigue. Chrissy swallows around her dry mouth. Does he know that it’s her? 

Because it has to be him, it has to be. There’s no denying this feeling, the trembling in her fingertips, the flickering of her heartbeat. She only ever feels this way around one person, and it’s the same glittery, fizzy kind of excitement that comes with the thrill of first love. In every lifetime, that’s never changed. 

He’s taller in this life. Thinner. He has dark eyes and sharp features, softened only by full lips and the curls that fall over his shoulders. For a moment, her vision blurs, overlaid by all of the other versions of him that she’s loved before, before it softens into that boy hidden behind the curtain. 

“Queen Chrissy came to see me,” he remarks, strolling forward. He’s clutching something in one hand, an old metal lunchbox. He puts it down onto the table with a clang and swings himself down onto a seat. “Color me surprised. How may I help you?”

“I was…” Chrissy stammers, because she thinks that she probably doesn't want whatever is in that lunchbox. For a moment she doubts herself, wondering if she’s made a mistake after all. “I was just…looking for someone.”

He drums his fingers on the table, looking thoughtful. “Sure I can’t help you with anything?” he asks, tugging the lunchbox towards him. “People only come out here to buy something.”

She doesn’t want to buy anything but she also doesn’t want to leave. So she steps over to the other bench, swinging her legs over, one by one. He’s watching her with that same expression again and her heart pounds in her ears as she wrings her hands and waits. Does he know that it’s her? Does he feel the same way that she does? 

“I was looking for someone,” she repeats, heart in her throat. “I thought he might be here.”

“Just me,” he says, holding his hands out wide, long fingers heavy with silver rings and calluses across his palm. Something catches in her throat at the sight of them. That’s a good sign. 

There are certain things that help give it away - he’s usually artistic or musical. He often has a dry sense of humour, a love of games and a gentle touch. They may reincarnate and their faces change, but some things are just a part of them.

“I guess I was wrong,” Chrissy says, even though she’s now sure more than ever that she’s not. Heart pounding in her throat, she joins him at the table, eyeing the lunchbox curiously. If it contains what she thinks it does…well, that’s a new one. 

“You don’t have to be,” he counters, sliding the offending item over in front of him. “Can I brighten up your day? Maybe mellow it out?”

“I…” Chrissy says, somewhat thrown. She doesn’t really want any drugs but she also can’t leave either. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?” she asks instead. It’s a ridiculous question but she feels maybe as though she is. She feels as though the more desperate she becomes looking for him, the further away he seems to be. Maybe if this was any other life, with a loving family or genuine friends, she wouldn’t feel as though she’s being caged in. But the fact is that without him to anchor her, she feels as though who she really is has begun to slip away. And if that’s the case, the girl she’s meant to be here will take over. The quiet one, the perfect one, the one who does exactly what’s expected of her. 

That’s the problem with reincarnation sometimes. The people around you only expect one thing: for you to be exactly who they think you are. 

“I’ve often had that thought,” Eddie agrees, still looking at her with that strange expression. She curls her fingers together under the table, wondering if he’s started to understand. But in the next breath, he’s shaking his head. 

“We’ve actually hung out before,” he says, and her heart sinks. “Do you remember?”

“I’m not sure,” Chrissy lies. She knows exactly what he means but she wants to push him, to see what he remembers. They’re often drawn together, even before they’re old enough to remember who they really are. It wouldn’t be the first time they encountered each other before their memories came back. 

“Talent show,” he says, drumming his fingers along the weather-worn wood. “You did your cheerleading thing. It was pretty good. You still are, I mean. I’ve seen you. But I was there, with my band…”

“Corroded Coffin!” Chrissy blurts out. She hadn’t remembered before, fixated on the dark eyes of the boy in front of her. But now it’s come flooding back - the badly painted name on the backdrop they used, the battered old guitar that Eddie had used, the nerves on all of their faces at the prospect of playing in front of a crowd. 

“You do remember!” Eddie crows, slamming a hand against the table. 

“Of course,” Chrissy says, still watching him. She’s sure now, that this is the one she’s been looking for. Her love, her lover, meant to be hers for centuries. They’ve been pulled together and she feels the same tug of that invisible, unbreakable string now. This boy is hers. “How could I forget?”

For a moment, he looks briefly bashful, ducking his head as though embarrassed by her attention. And that…throws her. Because he’s never looked at her like that before - he’s never needed to look at her like that before. 

“We still play,” he says suddenly, catching her eye. There’s a faint flush to his ears, just barely visible under his dark hair. “The Hideout, most Tuesdays. Might be nice to have someone there to hear us who’s not drunk and half-deaf. You know, if you wanted to come…I’d be glad to see you.”

He doesn’t remember her. 

Oh, he remembers Chrissy. But he doesn’t remember her. The part of her that matters, even after hundreds of years. She’s been tall, or short, with pianist’s fingers or the strong arms of a farmer’s daughter. She’s had olive skin or pale blonde hair, eyes like seaglass or a rich, warm amber. But what’s inside hasn’t changed and for the first time, he doesn’t recognise her. To him, he’s Eddie and that’s all he’s ever known. 

“Why do you think we’re always born together?” she’d asked once, several lives ago. It had been a hard winter, with only just enough to eat, and the cold blew under the door in their cottage. But she hadn’t cared - they’d huddle up together in a blanket in front of the fire, her head resting above his heart. 

“I don’t know,” he’d said, after some thought. The how or the why seemed too huge and impossible - and even worse was the idea that it might just one day…stop. That she’d be born again and not know him. Or that he’d exist without her, that they’d never find each other. She prays every night that for as long as she lives, as many lives as she lives, that they always find each other. “I guess maybe sometimes, one lifetime isn’t enough. I think that’s it for us. Just one life wasn’t enough.”

But never in all of their lives before had he not remembered who he was. The realization of it is cold, spreading from her heart all the way out to her fingertips. How can they be together when he doesn’t remember? 

“Is something wrong?” Eddie asks, suddenly looking dismayed. She hastily wipes the devastation from her face. She can’t tell him. He’ll never believe her, not like this. She’ll only frighten him off and she needs him. 

But why doesn’t he remember her? They regain their memories usually after puberty, when they start to make the change towards adulthood. It gives them time to adjust before they’re able to go out into the world to look for each other. If she hadn’t remembered, her teenage years would have been unbearable, with the increasing discomfort in her skin, the constant trickle of her mother’s disapproval. She’d had hope, the memories of the person she really was to bolster her. But it’s been four years for her. Why hadn’t he regained his memories at the same time? 

“I’m fine,” she lies, digging her nails into the soft flesh of her arm. She can’t cry, not now, no matter how much she wants to scream. Is she cursed? Is that why she can’t have the one good thing meant for her? 

“You don’t have to come,” he says, backtracking instantly and looking miserable about it. “I mean, it’s probably not your scene.”

“No,” she says instantly. If she doesn’t find a way to go, he’ll slip away from her. He must be older than her - by what, a year or two? - and when he graduates, he’ll be lost to her forever. Without him, she’ll have to go to the college her mother wants and she’ll never find him again. “No, I really would like to. It’s just…something else.”

“Anything I can help with?” Eddie asks, and the offer is just so…instant. Genuine. Some people would say it, and not mean a word, but she can tell that this is just another facet of her soulmate. No matter how buried he might be right now. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “But it’s nothing you can help me with. What time do you guys play?” He wrinkles his nose.

“It’s not exactly hopping on a Tuesday night,” he says, looking rueful as he drums his fingers against the lunchbox. “Usually about eight? The owner sometimes takes pity on us and makes us nachos after.”

“I’ll be there,” Chrissy says and then feels guilty as his face instantly lifts, into a smile of sunshine and warmth. She hadn’t thought about what this meant for him at all. He’s thrilled by the idea of a girl he likes coming to watch him play - after all, she has her own agenda. 

“Can’t wait,” Eddie says, and smiles again in a way that makes her wish that it were so simple. That this genuinely was their lives, meeting by chance, agreeing to meet up again. The start of any love story. 

Chrissy stumbles through the line of trees back to school, blinking as she emerges into bright sunlight. For a while, it had felt as though they were enshrouded in their own world, full of soft light and rich colors. Everything out here felt harsh and raw, made worse by finding him and losing him in one fell swoop.