I’ll Meet Myself There

"When I first met Anna, hold on, when was that exactly?" I trailed off.

"You've always known me, silly" Anna sat there, knees tucked under folded hands on a yellow floral loveseat, eyes wide and a smile that had seen better days.

I cleared my throat, "Of course, yes how silly of me. Let me start again. Today is October 3, 2024, and I am interviewing Anna, for anonymity we are not sharing her full name."

Anna nods but look away, as if she is afraid, as if... no, we cannot go there yet.

"Okay, Anna, we've known each other for a while now. I hope you are comfortable with me in your home..."

Anna looks at me then, her eyes are a blue that can only be described as bright with white flecks, "Like waves crashing..." I shake my head, that memory is not meant for this interview.

She nods again, waiting for me to begin.

"We are speaking today because of a project I am working on, telling your story, practicing for an autobiography."

She stares at me for a second before saying, "You mean 'our' autobiography."

"I, er, yes you're right 'our autobiography.'" I stammer. "If you had to describe yourself in your autobiography, what would you think of first to illustrate who you are?"

Anna looked out her window then and sighed. She did not answer for a minute, and I knew better than to interrupt her thoughts.

She looked back at me again, "Can I tell you a story?"

"Uh, I mean, yes of course, this is what this space is for, please go ahead." I shrug and wave a hand, motioning for her to continue.

"Well, let's begin at the beginning, shall we?"

Anna became very animated then. She spoke of her early memories in Lafayette, Indiana, of when she first remembered being truly afraid and then when she first remembered feeling truly safe. I noted how fear came first.

She went through her childhood in a sweep of words, painting pictures of a stout little girl with a blunt bob, barefoot and always in motion, chasing her 3 brothers around their yard, and "making friends with the night" as she put it.

Then she paused, "But as you know, this girl could not keep her innocence for long. She had to grow up very quickly."

I nodded all of a sudden feeling choked up.

"Little girls... well we don't really get to take this girlish/wide eyed view of the world with us into adulthood. We pack up these little dreams and pretend they will come back to us, and maybe they do, but only in our dreams." She looks out the window again, her eyes glazing over, "I am ready to tell you the real beginning of my life now."

I found her eyes then and said, "We can be ready together Anna, after all we were there together."

Anna looked at me sadly, "Yes, I suppose we were." She paused, "Then you know there were many years where we were right next to each other, but always out of reach, right?"

I looked away, "That would be my fault, I did not want to see you during that time, it was... it was too much."

"I know. It was tough for both of us." She smoothed her hands over her legs as if it soothe the churning emotions welling inside her. She looked up again, "It was when me/you were raped." She paused, letting that sentence seep into the air. "I remember you were above it when it happened. You saw it all, I can't attest to anything more than what was through your eyes."

"We don't need to go through the details," she trailed off. "All they need to know is that after, well after we were separate. I became the old Anna full of hurt, and you got to move forward. I will be stuck in one place for the rest of my life, but you...

you get to move forward."

"Anna, wait no, they are not ready to hear this."

"No, you aren't ready to hear this." My former self looked at my fiercely.

She seemed to vibrate an anger I only sometimes still feel. As if she is trying to claw her way out of my subconscious and burn the whole world down.

When I imagine a conversation with this former Anna, it always seems to go like this.

A past and present me converging, and always it feels messy and dark, and I end up wondering when it will ever just be simple.

I am sitting in a Cafe, as I write this. My mind, so good at disassociating, went far away for a little while, my fingers typing faster and faster, thinking,

"Maybe this time I will write my story out of the tomb of memories it seems to be lost in. Maybe, I will be able to find that Anna again. All of them. Maybe I will get to meet them again, greet them at my table, hug each of them, tell them I am so sorry. Tell them you did nothing wrong, and when you did you always asked for forgivingness and that counts for something.

It has to.

Right?"