Forgotten Memories

“Come on, Cass!”
A ten-year old boy ran ahead of me through the thick, dense woods. We weaved around the numerous brown trunks. I struggled to keep up with him, losing sight of him completely where the trees grew too thick. But I’d always find him again, still racing forward to some unknown treasure hidden in the ancient forest.
And what a treasure it was.
The woods opened up to a small clearing where a pond lay rippling under a high waterfall. The boy was already pulling off his shirt, smiling back at me. I began untying the black lace of my shoes.
The boy jumped in, splashing me with cool water. “You comin’ in?” he asked.
I looked around the clearing, noticing the high cliff that allowed the water to fall with white glory into the small pond below. I began climbing up, grabbing the cold, hard rock with my hands.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” He looked up at me climbing, and I couldn’t resist the dare that he was proposing with his big, blue eyes.
I was breathless by the time I reached the top, but I was still able to shout my answer down to the wading boy. “Of course I’m sure.” And I dived head first toward the pure blue water…

“Excuse me!” shouted the gray-haired woman across from me. I pulled myself out of my memories, focusing on the job at hand.
“Sorry,” I said as I handed her the money that she had withdrawn. My job bores me deeply and many times I find myself remembering my younger days, my more dangerous days. That’s why I took this job in the first place; it was safe. A bank teller never has to worry about friends leaving, drug deals, or mothers killed by boyfriends. No, the only thing a bank teller had to fear was angering a costumer. And I can handle that. I’ve been screamed at many times before so I’ve become accustomed to the sound.
A sound that I am not so familiar with is that of people screaming in fear instead of anger. It’s a piercing sound and it sends shivers up your spine. And it’s this kind of screaming that I encountered today, when two men dressed in black stormed into the bank, guns pulled.
“Everyone down on the ground!” the shorter of the two men shouted.
I begin to panic. How can this be happening now, here, at my safe job? I took so many steps to avoid ever again being involved in something bad, and yet here I am, back in front of a gun barrel! But then I remember my first day on the job, the “tour” of my desk that my boss gave me, and I remember him showing me a little red button on the right corner of the desk that one can push if there is need of police assistance. My hand slides quickly under the desk. I can feel the smooth plastic on my fingertips.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” I hesitate at the familiarity of the words. Looking up, I see a masked face with only two dazzling blue eyes visible. An old urge of my childhood recklessness came back to me. Without even thinking I say,
“Of course I’m sure.” And I hold down the hidden button, smiling in triumph. The tall man across from me falters slightly, lowering his pistol.
“You little bitch!” cried the first man, aiming his gun. But before he can fire, the blue-eyed man ran towards him and grabbed the gun.
“Do you want to spend life in prison for murder or a few months for attempted bank robbery?”
“It don’t matter. This is my third offense. I’m in the slammer fer good anyway I play the cards.”
“Well I don’t want to go to jail for assisted murder, got that!”
The two men glared at each other a moment before the shorter man relaxed and said, “let’s just grab the money and git.”
“I’m way a head of you.” He walked over to my desk again, throwing a black bag at me. “We’ll be taking all of the money in the bank, please. Oh, and would you mind being fast about it? We’re in a bit of a rush.” I angrily crammed the money into his bag.
“Thank you,” he said with false politeness as he grabbed the bag back from me.
“You’re not welcome,” I said in the same tone.
The two partners in crime turned and began to head towards the glass doors, but stopped dead in their tracks when they heard the wailing sirens of police cars. A dozen or so cars arrived only a few seconds afterwards.
“Shit!” yelled the shorter man.
“Now just calm down…”
“Calm down? Calm down! How the hell can I stay calm? I’m goin’ to jail fer the rest of my life while you, you, get to sit in a cell fer only a few hours while you wait fer your drug dealin’ buddy to bail you out!”
“Shut up!”
“No! I’m sick of takin’ all this crap from you! I told myself that I was quitin’ my crime days the second I got outta prison, but then you came along a dragged me into another mess. Now I’m screwed!” the man began screaming in rage, which was surprisingly more comforting than that of the terrified screams of the customers. He noticed me still sitting with my finger held firmly on the security button. “You!” he screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “This is all your fault!” And he raised his gun up, cocking it. The movement triggered a strain of painful memories.

The boy with the bright blue eyes. The fun we had that summer together. My first kiss. His first kiss. My first goodbye.
Emptiness in my heart. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex. Many more kisses and many more goodbyes, but none as wonderful or as painful as the first.
A deal gone wrong. A gun. A scream.

My mother lay on the floor of our small house. I was only a stupid eighteen year old who had gotten into some deep trouble. Trevor, one of my many reckless boyfriends, held a gun still smoking.
Crimson blood began to seep out from under my mother; her bright eyes began to fade. She reached up as I kneeled over her and took hold of my black leather jacket, pulling me closer. My tears dropped on her paling face. She spoke in a whisper almost inaudible.
“Cassidy?” I held her hand tightly when her grip began to loosen. “Cassidy.” Her eyes grew big, frightened. “Run.”
I looked up and saw a gun pointing straight at my face, held in the pale skin of my boyfriend. I felt the color slowly fade from my face as the sudden realization hit. I heard someone yelling to me, calling out to warn me, a voice much different than that of my dieing mother’s. A man’s voice.
“Cass! RUN!”
And then the gun was no longer held in Trevor’s hands, but the small bank robber’s. I heard it fire, heard the screams of the people lying on the floor. I felt something wiz quickly by my head. I saw the glass doors shatter and red blood on the floor.
I saw the policeman with his arm still held out in firing position and I saw where his bullet had gone; into the blue-eyed man crumpled on the floor. His partner sat, blinking stupidly as he realized that the bullet had been meant for him. His gun was still pointed towards a small, black bullet hole on the wall behind my desk.
I raced around my desk and leaned over the crumpled black figure, lifting his head slightly. I felt the warmth of blood on my hands. I gently removed the black mask, letting out a gentle sob as I saw the familiar face with its blue eyes dimly looking up at me. I leaned over and gave him one last kiss, one last goodbye.