The leaves don’t stop falling. I watch as another one finally gives out and relinquishes its hold on the twig, swaying in the gentle breeze to land atop a pile of its own kin of umber foliage. Somewhere in this huge hospital, the same fate must have befallen one of us. I imagine the woman’s family and friends to be carrying on with their usual business in another country, oblivious to her suffering while she lies motionless on the stiff bed, her mind grasping desperately at the dissolving clouds of memories as her sense of self-awareness gradually slips into a perpetual slumber.

What a pathetic end. An end that has already claimed so many lives. An end that might target me next.

I would’ve shuddered at the horrifying thought had my body been functioning normally. The chemicals flowing in my veins have a strong immobilizing effect, rendering me paralyzed unless I’m fed orders through a computer program to move. We’re merely human marionettes in the physicians’ eyes. Once we succumb to their mind control, they’ll send us back home to wreak havoc on our own people.

Five women used to share the same room with me. We lived through the cool summer in our beds, mostly chatting about our lives and encouraging one another to persevere through the ordeal. We witnessed fall, a season that didn’t exist in our country, for the first time in our lives. And just like the season, we began to fall, the ties of our friendship slowly being severed by the effects of the chemicals. One by one, the women lost their faith, then their memories and finally, their identities. Sometimes I wonder if it’s easier to let go, instead of having to battle it out by myself. But then I remember my family, my fiancè and everyone who's important to me. I don't have a choice.

I can’t hear the wind picking up, but I can tell by the crinkly red and gold leaves dancing past the window. I observe the almost bare sweetgum opposite the road to the hospital losing more and more leaves as the wind continues its relentless assault. Just as I think the tree will be bare for good, a lone amber leaf on one of the twigs defies my expectations. It manages to cling on for dear life and survive the attack.

A knock on the door makes me shift my attention to the physician. He walks towards me with an intimidating syringe in hand and a kind smile that doesn't reach his eyes. There's a hint of impatience in his honeyed voice when he says he wishes for me to be more obedient and make things easier for him. In the next moment, he's jabbed the needle painfully into my arm crease and injected a blue liquid into my veins. Tears well up in my eyes. I can't scream nor move.

I can only hope that I emulate that leaf.

My toes curl into the solid dirt, pressing prints into a ground already obscured by a layer of frost. The chilled wind curls through my hair, up my skirt, and finally scatters through the swaying wheat. Everything steps into beat, all following my gentle lead.

My partner in this slow waltz hangs loosely against my arms, hay scratching, digging into my skin. His ever-present smile mocks me as every step, every bounce, every turn cuts me deeper, but his mockery is a familiar comfort.

Why do you dance with me?

You’re the only one who knows the steps.

I cannot dance with you, my only purpose is to scare away the birds.

You’re the only one who will dance with me.

Aren’t you lonely?

Yes

So, why do you come back?

What choice do I have?

His head lulls onto my neck, and I close my eyes, continuing to twirl to the sounds of the leaves, the sounds of the mice, the sounds of the crows, the sounds of the wheat.

Who will you dance with when fall is over?

I won’t dance when fall is over.

What about the boys in town, won’t they dance with you?

I don’t want to dance with the boys in town.

Why not?

They don’t know the steps.

A deep pink started on the horizon, swirling upwards through the clouds until orange and yellows began to shine through the wheat.

I suppose this is goodbye for the night.

I suppose.

Will you be back tomorrow?

If there is no frost.

And if there is frost?

I will see you again next August then.

I placed my partner back on his stand, giving him a final curtsy before carefully navigating back through the tall rows of wheat. Gently opening the screen door to my father’s ranch house, I crept up the stairs; careful to avoid loose wooden panels. And with a runny, glowing nose I slipped under the cotton sheets, just in time to hear my father creak passed my bedroom door, and down to the kitchen to make his coffee with two sugar cubes and only a splash of cream.

My fiery body remembers him better than my mind could ever recall. And on the seventh day of the seventh month my fingertips still reach for him. The sparks flying across the sky. Tiny balls of burning light shooting across our galaxy from the ends of my hands. Flaming prayers, begging the blazing river to carry me to him. Yet Vega remains separated from Altair.

He was always a star. And I, a princess. My father, the king of fire water, took charge over the stars. Altair was a guide. A lantern for the lost. Day in and day out he saved those who ventured off-course. Day in and day out I wove ribbons of flaming water into coats of celestial matter so that Altair might shine even brighter. My father’s most trusted page, Deneb, would deliver these luminous knits to the usher of the sky. One day Deneb did not show. I decided to play courier. When I made it across the sky, I realized I could never look away. He was enchanting. I returned to him over and over. Wrapping us in blankets of burning, aqueous light. And my hunger for him was insatiable. My mouth ached for him when I was away. And so I returned. Again and again. Day in and day out. Knitting beams of liquid fire to cover us in. Until on the seventh day of the seventh month my father, hearing rumor of my escapades, came to raise the river in the sky. And as the river turned vast and full as ocean he realized that I was tangled with Altair on the other side. He realized too late. And he could not control the tide. And I saw his face from across a vehement and boiling torrent.

My father, suddenly king of floods, pulsing with rage, unleashed a tidal wave of fury. Altair struggled in the undertow. And as his chin tipped back, mouth sucking in deep gulps of space, I did the only thing I knew to do. I scooped the ocean up and ran. But not even I could contain it. I was running with water. Dashing as far from Altair as I could. Carrying the ocean. Running with water. My arms filled to the brim, until they spilled over. Flooding the sky. Turning to sparkling, bursting fire. Sparks dancing across my skin, burning freckles across every inch until I turned to fire myself. And all the time the water spilling over. Dripping across the sky. Tiny droplets of light scattered about a boundless desert. Water turned to river of fire. No longer a cataclysmic current burying my love. Yet still a fierce and infinite blockade. A dusting of smoldering light. Separating Vega and Altair.

“Stop!” Kathleen yelled.

I didn’t listen. My car went airborne as it entered the intersection, soaring straight through the bright red stoplight. Time was of the essence.

“This isn’t timed!” she screamed, her hands squeezing desperately to the sides of her seat.

“What?” I slammed both feet down onto the brake pedal and we skidded to a halt. The car rocked back and forth a few times as a tense quietness settled in. “This is a driving test,” I said. “How can it not be timed?”

Her body was shaking. “The test is over!” she said, fumbling around with the door handle. She managed it open and jumped outside. The door slammed shut and I watched Kathleen stride powerfully away from me – toward the administration building.

I leaned my elbow on the button beside me and lowered the passenger side window. “How do I find out the results?!”

She ignored me and persisted in her escape.

I nudged the gas pedal, turned the car around, and followed the driving course’s main road toward the exit. I passed by a few cars that were headed in the opposite direction, and I could see each of the cars’ occupants staring at me with bewilderment written onto their faces. I nodded politely and continued on, steering my car around the orange cones that were blocking the way out.

“Dr. Dan’s office,” I enunciated into my phone. The navigation app loaded and spun through a few scenarios while I worked my way through the parking lot. The optimal route flashed across the screen and I jabbed at the start button. When I looked up I saw traffic on the frontage road breezing past me in both directions, so I eased off the gas and allowed the car to drift itself toward the stop sign.

Gurgling inside my stomach caught my attention. My eyes scanned across the dashboard until they landed on the clock. It was nearly one. I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Where had the day gone? My gaze shot upward. The sun was already past its apex, though still hovering significantly above the horizon. Days were becoming imperceptibly shorter, secretly throwing off my circadian rhythm. I’d better grab food before I spoiled dinner.

I pulled out onto the now empty road and sped up. Up ahead, a billboard for a new pizza place was speaking my language. My route would take me right past its location. I dialed the number and listened while it rang a few times.

A youngish sounding boy answered. “Pickup or delivery?” he asked, lifting his voice above a noisy background.

“Drive thru.”

An awkward pause erupted.

“We don’t have a drive thru sir,” he replied.

“Don’t have a drive thru? It doesn’t say that on your advertisement.”

I could hear the young employee’s confusion stiffen. “I can bring it out to your car if you want. When it’s ready.”

“How long will it take?” I asked.

“To cook your pizza?”

“No, to walk it outside.”

I swear I could hear the kid smiling before he spoke again. “Just a few seconds sir. Once it’s ready.”

“Oh, no problem then. I can just come in,” I said. “I can help you carry it out.”

The kid chuckled. “Sounds good.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “See you in a few.” I hung up the phone and returned my attention to what lie ahead of me. The colors were beautiful. The orange and yellow leaves that painted the edges of the road, visually offset by the deep blue distant sky, reminded me of my youth. Autumn was the beauty before the beautiful. The coming of fall meant hockey season was right around the corner. I hadn’t actually played in a few years, but I still felt the tickle of anxiety stir through my stomach whenever the leaves began to change. The feeling was instinctual. For most of my life, hockey was my identity. Now, it was my shadow. Maybe I was its shadow. Either way, I still felt the connection through the arms of the season’s transition.

“My pizza!” I blurted out, realizing I’d forgotten to actually order. Before I could react, my phone was already vibrating against the dashboard. I didn’t recognize the number. Maybe it was the pizza shop, calling me back.

“This is Dr. Dan,” I answered.

“Good afternoon Dr. Dan. It’s Eugene calling.”

“Dr. Hancock,” I laughed. “I didn’t even recognize the number.”

“How are you doing today Dan?”

“Not too bad. Failed my driver’s test.”

Gene offered a nervous chuckle. “Why were you taking a driver’s test?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just thought I’d mess with Kathleen a little.”

Gene couldn’t hold back a more robust outburst of laughter. “Your daughter’s friend?”

“Yeah. She works part time at the DMV.”

Hearing Eugene continue with his uncontrollable giggling made me smile. I loved it when people smiled. Anything I could do to ignite a burst of laughter was well worth the effort. I had just spent half the morning trying to make myself laugh, but it was better with other people. I didn’t have to work anymore, so that’s how I’d spend part of every single day – pranking people, joking with people, and just trying to bring a shot of adrenaline into people’s lives. That and helping people were my life’s priorities at the moment.

“You headed into the office Dan?” Gene joked.

“Yeah. Long day ahead of me.” He knew I referred to my home as my 'office’. He and my dad were best friends. I’d known Gene since as long as I could remember.

“Let’s meet for lunch instead,” he said.

I shook my head and snickered. “I can’t man. I’m finally framing my honorary doctorate degree today.” I wasn’t a real doctor either. Not technically, anyway. My alma mater thanked me for my recurring donations by offering me a fake diploma along with an awkward appreciatory commencement ceremony. It was their way of branding my name to the arena walls to help with recruiting. I didn’t mind. I did like to joke about it though.

“Come on… I’ll buy,” Gene persisted.

I just didn’t feel like meeting for lunch. “Can we meet next week instead?” I asked.

“The MRI and cranial scan results came in,” Eugene said, going right where I didn’t want him to.

“Maybe we should meet for lunch,” I suggested. I pulled over quickly and parked my car along the shoulder. “I knew you sounded a little too serious today.”

Dr. Hancock nodded a few times. I could hear it. I could see his comforting facial expression in my mind’s eye. I could even hear the thoughts inside his head. Those weren’t very comforting.

“Gene?” I asked.

“Dan, you have Alzheimer’s.”

A tingling sensation spread through my chest and I felt my lip quiver. I don’t know why it quivered. Somewhere, deep down, I already knew. The finality of it was tough to hear though.

“I’m only 44,” I said, directing the confirmation of my denial more toward the heavens than toward Gene. I had taken the tests over a month prior and thought maybe I’d passed. No news is good news, right? I’d forgotten to take into account that Gene was an old family friend. He couldn’t get himself to spill the beans I imagine.

He knew the drill though. Many patients had tried bargaining away his diagnoses before. Still… this was different. The somberness of his tone told me he was gutted too. “I don’t know what to say Dan.”

I wiped my hand across my face, hiding myself from the brightness in front of me. “Is it from hockey?”

“I’m not completely sure. But my guess is… yes, it’s probably from hockey. This is a pretty early onset. You don’t have a family history.”

I wasn’t sure what to say either. I felt myself suddenly wanting to cheer him up for some reason. “Wait, what did you just say there Gene, like a second ago?” That was the only way I knew how to feel better myself.

This time, Gene forced his chuckle. “Let’s talk for a while Dan.”

“Ok… Osseo Pizza?” I asked.

“Sure Dan. I’ll be there in ten or fifteen.”

Neither of us said a word for a few seconds so I hung up. I still didn’t care to meet. Nothing he’d tell me would change anything.

“So, this is the autumn of my life, isn’t it?” I asked the emptiness around me. I knew the scene in front of my eyes would be burned into my memory for as long as memories existed inside me: the colorful trees, the perfect sky, the breeze running effortlessly through the blades of grass. And I couldn’t think of anything else except how bittersweet it all was to look at. Everything in front of me seemed more real than ever, and I knew nothing would ever be as beautiful as I saw it at that moment. The colors were already fading away, right in front of my eyes.

My phone rang again. I picked up the call without speaking.

“Dad?”

“Hey baby.”

“Kathleen thinks you’re crazy.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“She’s studying psychology, right? Trying to be a therapist?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, I’m her first patient. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to fix me.”

“Dad, stop messing around. Kathleen had a tough upbringing. She has like no confidence.”

“Why do you think I went there today?”

“Because you’re weird and you think you’re this funny, wise old shaman man.”

“She needs to believe in herself Alexandra. Just tell her I’m a narcissist or something. Tell her I refuse to see a therapist. Maybe sprinkle in a little OCD too.”

“You want to act insane behind her back so she can fix you behind your back?”

I smiled. “Sounds like me and your mom. How is your mother anyway?”

I heard Alexandra laugh a shot of air through her nose. “I think she’s ok. Did you get your test results yet dad?”

“Oh, no… not yet. I completely forgot all about that.”

“That’s not funny dad.”

“I know. I’m sure it’s fine.”

I could hear the tension in her breathing. I think maybe she could sense mine too. It wasn’t the right time for me to say anything.

“Dad, I wrote you a poem. Do you wanna hear it?”

“Sure,” I said, pinching my eyes to trap the tears in. “What’s it called?”

“Hope,” she replied.

I felt the tingling hit at my chest again. “Ok. Let’s hear it.”

I heard her take a deep breath. I knew she wasn’t embarrassed or worried about me liking it. She was just nervous.

“To my dad…” she began. “Hope with all your heart. Maybe everything will be just fine. Hope with the irrational part of your soul. Hoping is actually a really good sign. It means you won’t give in. It means there’s always a chance. It means you’ll never lose your sweet grin. Tomorrow will bring at least one more dance. Some things are bigger than us. Miracles happen every single day. I’m scared, I admit it, but one thing’s for certain. God will answer you, whenever you pray. If you lose hope, you lose your will. You lose the essence of what makes you fight. You know I’m right. Your future’s bright. Your future, to me, is a beautiful sight. So be the fighter I know you are. I’ve never known you to shy away. Dream the most marvelous dream you can think of. Because I need you to stay dad… I need you to stay.”

My lungs were empty. I couldn’t inhale for a few seconds. I hung up and burst out crying. The news still hadn’t even sunk in properly yet and already I couldn’t function. When I saw my phone start ringing again, I swallowed hard a few times and cleared my throat. “Hi sweetheart.”

“Did you hang up dad?”

“No. I just went through the tunnel. I heard the whole poem though before it cut out. That was so beautiful.”

“Thanks dad. You’re still holding out hope, right?”

“Always.”

“Will you call me right when you hear back from Dr. Hancock?”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“Dad. Promise me.”

“Alex. We’ll find out soon enough. You have your own life to live. Don’t ever let anything get in the way of that, ok?”

“Yeah, sure,” Alexandra replied, sounding only slightly convinced. “You wanna hear a secret dad?” she asked, more excitable.

I smiled. “I would love to.”

“Liam proposed.”

I already knew. Liam called to ask my permission a few weeks prior. “Who is Liam again?”

“Dad!”

“Did you say yes?”

“Of course!”

“I assume his parents are paying?”

The carefree sound of Alexandra’s light laughter perked me up. I couldn’t help but smirk. The leaves suddenly looked immaculate again. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the beauty in front of me would never truly diminish.

“It's deep…”

“What exactly does that mean?” A moment ago I was sleepy from the thick, flowery air in the small, warm room. It's cliché and serves its purpose well. My stupor came on fast and lulling. Now, I am all energy. I feel electricity pass through my spine down to my fingertips and glide across my ribs down to my toes.

“You will have her across every life time. And you will lose her. Over and over. Or rather. She will lose you. I can't be sure. Although...my heart says she will lose you. You will push and push, and she will break. She will always break. You will build her up just to break her. Over and over. Across every existence. You can break the pattern…”

The smallest, downy hairs rise in ripples across my arms and legs. She knows how to use her words to create urgency, but this is important even without all the dramatics. Somewhere inside I knew this. It is still a halting collision to my heart. My lungs stop, and it is all I can do to hold steady. I find my breath and swallow hard. “How…how do I break that pattern? All I want is her whole.”

Her bright eyes lower. I wait in her arrested quiet, pushing back my tears, willing my lungs to keep filling and emptying. I watch her hands raise to her forehead. She looks tired, too tired to tell me what she's thinking. Her elbows rest on the table, and her head rests in her hands, fingers massaging her temples. Her eyes snap up with silent tears pouring from them. “But can’t you see? That there, that is the pattern. You want her whole. You will push her until she is almost complete. You want her whole. And you want her as your own. She is already yours, and you've already missed it. You want her whole, but you will destroy her. You have to take that with you. You have to keep it inside you. You cannot forget. This pattern has already begun. All you can hope is that you take it with you, and you remember for your regeneration. You cannot make her whole. You can only keep her. And each time you push to complete her rather than hold her you will dismantle it all.”

I shake my head. I can't accept that. I pull my hand back across the table. I don't care about a line that is severed. I don't care about a pattern. I can fix this. I can fix us both. I can find her, and then she will find herself and me. I can fix it.

*

I can't let it go. I haven't found her yet, but I can remember. There's a dark room. October 25th 1941. It's late on the night before I sacrificed my regeneration cycle. The room has a heavy feeling. Its like you closed the door and ran a hot shower, and now you're basking in the steam. I remember the false sense of security that room offered. I remember little before or after. I know that that wasn't my first or last visit to the “gypsy”. I know that she wasn't a gypsy either. She was the same as me, only she knew how to do her business out in the open. It wasn't easy then. Not that it is now. Then, though, it was nearly impossible to make it through the days. Only those who could divine were really able to get away with using their magic. The rest of us were limited to feigning parlor tricks if we wanted to avoid questions. Genesis was her real name, but she went by Madame Apollo. As though Genesis wasn’t able to garner enough histrionics in the art of fortune telling. The lighting was low, and the air was heavy. There was me in a pressed suit and tie, and her in all of the gauzy, lacy layers of clothing that the swamp lands had ever known. We were tucked away in a back corner of a tea shop. The curtains were deep reds and oranges mirroring the leaves outside and layered in the same haphazard fashion as the folds of Madame’s dress. The walls were a muted, pale purple, and the flames danced across them in a way that made them almost disappear into a living thing. She told me of the girl and how I would come to ruin her. And I can't remember that girl, but I can remember how important that revelation was. I don't know what I did. I can remember leaving that room with determination and defiance in my heart. I can remember my chin held high as I told myself that the lines she had read meant nothing. The cards had meant nothing. The leaves, nothing. She may be practiced in divination, but divination was finicky, and strong will and energy could change it. I would change it. I remember walking out with my eyes burning, but my head high and determined. And I remember returning to Genesis the following evening. I remember the tears breaking through and me breaking down. My head in her lap as she quieted me and helped me remember to breathe. I knew of an ancient magic that would require her help. It was mythical. There was no way to know of its power or if it had ever worked. She was a true seer, not like most now that have learned their craft. She was born with the ability to see, which is what the spell required. She knew why I was there before I had even gathered myself up enough to tell her. She was hesitant. If it didn't work, we would invite a darkness into our world that had long been caged. She spoke of a return to the earth. But not a regeneration as we usually experienced. It would be an end. Permanent. I said nothing. I held my hand out for her. Palm to palm. Her eyes rolled back and closed. I felt every nerve in my body come to attention and saw her skin take the shock of it. And then I felt nothing. My eyes closed involuntarily, and I felt nothing but perhaps, an indescribable lightness. And then I was drowning. Suffocating. Burning alive. Until it all melted away. My eyes opened and she nodded. I knew she had felt it. It was all I wanted, and I would not make this mistake again, if I could just hold the idea through to my next life. She didn't speak. She lifted her layers of skirt and pulled a blade from her garter. What I was asking her for required blood magic. Mine and hers. And memory. Strong memory. And strong magic, also. There has to be enough energy for the blade to hold the memory. That means a terrifying amount of power. All of the power I had. Most of hers. It would cut her lifespan by half. If something were to go wrong and I was not able to hold her power it wouldn't even come back to full after her next regeneration. This was reason enough for her to return her blade and tell me to find another way. She must have felt it. She felt my will or she would not trust me to carry the spell. She handed me the knife. The handle was made of some ancient magical bone tumbled and polished then wrapped ornately in a sparkling silver that must have been faerie made. I can feel the magic thrumming through it even now. I am right back there. My skin ignites with its energy. We all keep magical objects. Most of us still use wands or rings to help channel our power. The few with true divine magic do not need a channel. Their body is conduit enough, however they still keep something impregnated with magic to steady their own. Handing over something like that is like handing someone a vessel full of yourself. I use a wand to contain my current. It's made from blood crystal from the dark sea. I laid it out on the table in front of her as a courtesy. I know she trusts me, but it feels disrespectful to not offer her up some sign of that same trust. I touch the tip of her blade to my temple. I start to conjure up the girls face, but Madame must sense this. She lays her hand on mine and shakes her head. She tells me it's not strong enough. She tells me I need to remember her energy in order to hold onto her. The face will do nothing. I need to feel her energy and know how to hold it without crushing it. I let go of the face. I think of her. I think of everything I have ever felt from her. Every vibration she has ever sent through my being. I can feel her all through me as she passes through my mind. I can feel every breath I have stolen from her. I can feel her hands and her mouth. My skin is crawling with every memory it has ever contained of her. I am awake and alive and teeming with energy I have picked up over all of my lifetimes with her. It is painful and breathtaking and every part of me wants to hold onto it forever. I cannot. I let it spill into Madame’s blade. I feel the memory draining into it. It is an intense heat that creeps throughout me and leaves a damp cold in its place, and by the time it reaches the blade my temple is on fire. I feel flames pour out of me into the faerie silver. Then there is no more fire, but I am still burning. I pull the blade away and it is glowing almost golden with heat. My exhaustion is indescribable, but I push past it. Madame slices her palm then squeezes the blood into a cup of something steaming. It smells like pines. She takes my hand and does the same. The drink turns a glowing yet milky white. It is memory liquefied. I have seen this once before now. At a museum. An orb filled with liquid memory from a failed attempt at this same spell. It is the most enticing sight I can ever recall. And it is the last thing I remember before now.