I have no memory of the first page being written, and this is the first day of my forgetting. I knew there were things that merely could not be remembered: my first lady-friend, the first time a nawpy was held by me, when my first employment was had; if ever I was. However, the first day is today when the page I wrote is seen, and I know I wrote, yet, it is not remembered. It is hated. I hate this: what Harry and I do and how we live. I must know why: if there is any reason or purpose for it. It seems like something is being ran from. That we run from it. Yet, what? Is it a thing done by Harry? Is it a thing done by myself?
I must know. Dawn approaches and Harry is not yet awake. It will be asked of him when he awakens. And this time, arguing will occur until I have the knowledge. I must know.
That did not go as hoped or nearly well enough. I asked it of him and he bowed his head and stared at his feet for a time. Finally, he looked up at me and said with his slanged wordage, “Mack, y’need to stop askin’ me this.”
“The moment you answer it, I will cease the asking,” I responded firmly.
He let out a quick breath of air. Not a sigh nor a laugh, but more of a scoff.
“Let it go, Mack. Y’don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do!” I was shouting. “For what other purpose would I be asking?”
“Shut it, Mack! Do not ask me again!” he said, yelling back.
Standing now, I pressured him again and again until he joined me in a stand and finally gave in. I was nowhere near the readiness needed for what he said.
“Because I killed you, Mack!” he shouted, losing his breath and sitting down on the log we had used as a seat. All he did after that was stare at his feet. I too, sat down with awe. I had neither the thought nor the energy to ask what that could have meant.
After a long, quiet pause, Harry stood and went into the trees. I stayed behind.
“Because I killed you, Mack!”
Will I ever know what that phrase could truthfully mean?