"How have you been sleeping?" Clive's eyes blinked, wincing from the harsh light. He could feel the soft and sturdy texture of the couch as his right arm lay at his side. 'It's the middle of the afternoon,' He thought to himself as he noticed the light peeking out through the living room windows. At first, he only caught their feet, her left leg resting over her right; as she tried to remain graceful and approachable. She wore a light green-colored blouse that tucked tidily into her long black skirt. Her dark brown hair twisted and curled on its way down her neck and sat over her right shoulder. There she was, sitting in his father's recliner across from him, holding a look of anticipation.

"Clive?" she asked again, her voice delicate but direct in its tone.

He tried to piece together the moment that came before and drew a blank. He smiled in an awkward manner as his mind raced in a panic, trying to adjust. Then he stopped, the panic subsided and the feeling of dread that followed these meetings washed over him. If there was a vibrant color in the room, Clive could not see it. He veered his eyes away from her, and his hands met over the edge of his seat. He twiddled his fingers like a child caught in a lie.

"I don't know, it doesn't feel like my brain ever shuts off. So it's like I didn't really sleep at all, you know?" Clive looked up at the composed Dr. Lim, he could see the worry on her face that she hid behind a soft smile.

"What about food, eating okay?" she asked, moving promptly through her checklist.

"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner," Clive responds in a kind of false sincerity. The wind whistled outside and he could hear the faint sound of the neighbor's wind chime.

"Good, good. Anything specific troubling you?" Dr. Lim asks, trying to raise his spirits. She cut through each layer with precision and yet with each wall torn down, another formed.

"Nothing that wasn't already," Clive responds. Dr. Lim nods her head and then catches herself, moving forward with their conversation.

"It's normal, you know, to feel restless and unmotivated, especially at your age. Agoraphobia can be overwhelming to deal with," she said, trying to convey a comforting tone. Her body loosened into something a little more welcoming. The breeze from outside caused the blinds to swing back and forth, tapping on the window and adding to Clive's uneasiness.

Clive turned his head back and noticed his father's coat was missing from the coat rack. His eyes veer back toward the kitchen where a cup of untouched orange juice sat on the kitchen table. The plates rested on the rack drying from previous use and one of the mats on the kitchen table was out of position. The bottom of Clive's feet were caked with lint and dust, which he tried to hide by swinging his legs toward the back of the couch.

"So now I'm depressed and agoraphobic?" Clive asked as he shifted his head ever so slightly to the right.

"Maybe, possibly. We can be more than one thing Clive, it's a process. So if you ever decide you wanna talk about it, I'm here," Dr. Lim replied with a hesitant smile. The distance between both seats seemed larger with each question.

"I know," he said, hunching forward on the couch.

"Good. I know this is a difficult topic and I know we've talked about this before, but I wanna go over it one more time. I'm hoping it'll give you some clarity and I'm hoping you'll find something in it that you haven't already. I want you to tell me about the night your mom left," Dr. Lim said, pausing to look at him.

Clive leaned back into his seat from his hunched position. He turned his head to glance through the window to his right. He could almost make out the mailbox from where he was sitting. For a moment he pondered on the color while trying to summon her memory the best that he could.

"She didn't leave," Clive exclaimed, his tone harsh at first, softening as he continued. "She's missing."

Dr. Lim sighed and looked up from her notepad. She met Clive's eyes with a pained expression on her face saying, "Yes, of course."

Clive looked down and then away before beginning, "I never remember it the same way twice. It always kind of changes in my head... like a painting more than a picture, if that makes sense." Clive's tone had softened.

"The mind is funny that way, we're just reconstructing an image from scraps every time we remember it," Dr. Lim explained. Her words traveled from her lips in a way she hoped would bring Clive comfort.

"So it's fiction?" Clive asked in what could almost be a whisper.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"No, not exactly. It's not about the accuracy of the memory, no memory can be a hundred percent accurate. We tend to color our memories and they shift and change with time, the same way we do. How you remember it can tell us more than just the way it happened, it allows us to see the impact. Because that's what memories are, these experiences are pieces of the framework that make us who we are. More importantly, how we see the world."

"Little lies we tell ourselves," Clive replied in a somewhat subdued tone. He couldn't help himself from trying to poke holes.

"Or, and this is a stretch, but it's more like abstract films we stitch together. That we pull from loosely connected images, that we then analyze to find meaning," Dr. Lim responded, as she looked down at her notes, avoiding his pointed look.

"My mom used to take me to this farmer's market on Saturdays, by the square, when I was little. She used to always call me her little helper. She loved how I'd struggle to hold the little bag of produce for her as we made our way around the crowded market. She'd walk me to this little old bench outside the square and she'd remind me that this is where I should go if we ever got separated. I remember it because she'd do it every time before we'd enter the crowd.

The rest is where it gets kind of tricky. Sometimes when I look back, I remember her being in a rush, like she was scared or knew something or someone was coming. Sometimes when I remember it, I'm lost in a crowd, the adults all feel like large trees. They're all mumbling to each other and I can't seem to hear myself through all the noise. I call for her and all the taller bodies that surround me seem not to notice.

There are times when I remember her sitting me on the bench and all she says is that she'll be right back. Of course, she never really comes back. All those details kind of shift and change and it doesn't matter how I lose sight of her. No matter how or what the details are, that day always ends the same. It's me on that bench and I'm crying, bawling my eyes out. I mean I'm five years old, so what else am I gonna do at that point right? I call out for her, I cry and then I call out some more, and every time I remember it... well, you know the rest."

~

She wrestled with her bag, pulling it to her chest as she dug through the inside. Her old blue sedan sat in the driveway. She tried pulling on the door knob a few times before venturing further into her purse. She pulled something out of her bag, and she seemed stuck. Dr. Lim slowly turned her head and looked up from the driveway. She waved at Clive with a gentle smile as he tried to hide carefully behind the curtain of his bedroom.

The muffled sound of her car driving off gave him some respite and yet he continued watching. His eyes locked on to the house across the street, obsessed over the 'For Sale' sign on the front lawn. There's a sound, something fell on the carpet, a thud. Clive jerked his head around as he heard a chuckle behind him.

"How long have you been watching me?" Clive asked in a cutting manner.

"Not long, just a minute or two," Quinn playfully replied as she maneuvered over the bed to make her way to him. They both peered out the window now, taking only small moments to acknowledge one another.

"I let myself in if you were wondering," Quinn announced as she brushed her long dark hair with her hand. Clive always thought her glasses seemed much larger than necessary, but they suited her.

"I wasn't," Clive replied .

Quinn was Clive's closest friend and even though they'd known one another for years, Quinn was still a mystery to him. Her parents owned a shop in town somewhere, but that was as much as he'd ever heard about her family. She was a tease, but underneath all of their flirting, there wasn't even a spark. As far as Clive was concerned she was the closest thing he had to a sister.

"You were in the middle of your session and it didn't seem like either of you noticed me come in, so I've been... you know. Looking through your things, checking your drawers. Just general snooping." Quinn continued, as she observed Clive from behind and waited for his reaction.

"Yeah?" Clive asked, he was unfazed by Quinn's words. Turning his head every so often to peer at the silhouette of trees that made up much of the hill they were on.

"No, but I bought this new book. Seemed like a good time to crack it open. It's called Purple Dinosaur Boxers, riveting stuff. It's all about the dichotomy of boxers versus briefs and the personality types associated. You know, like what kind of man still wears tidy whities? I'm honestly asking, why?"

Clive couldn't help but smirk, "Shut up," even as he continued in his focused stare. Silence followed and Clive turned for a moment.

"Did you listen in?" Clive asked.

"To your session? Oh, god no, that would bore me to death. Trust me, I'm not interested in the retelling of your sob stories," Quinn responded, hiding her awkwardness with a flair of her wrist.

"Right." Clive turned to face Quinn whose smile covered her entire face in a forced manner but still managed to get him to laugh.

"Still stuck on Alice?" Quinn asked, noticing that Clive had been staring at the house across the street.

"Are you jealous?" Clive remarked.

Quinn winced as she replied, "Gross."

"I guess a new family is moving in then?" Quinn turned to look at Clive. His gaze locked on the house across the street, almost as if he didn't even hear what she said. "You know, It's okay if it bothers you that she moved," Quinn responds.

Clive's mind wandered into a memory as he recalled sitting in a chair facing his window one afternoon. A spot he'd often go to draw, where he remembered seeing her for the first time, Alice. Hunched over her sketchpad, sitting on her porch looking for a subject to draw, just as he had. He remembered making eye contact as he crept from his bedroom window and settling on their respective sights for a moment, taking each other in as they both began to draw. He liked to imagine that they both sketched one another that day.

"It can't be helped," Clive replied. "Her dad found a job out of town."

"Yeah, I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that she called you creepy and thought you were stalking her," Quinn jokingly interjected.

Clive pulled the curtain over the window and turned to properly greet his friend as Quinn remarked, "At least that means she was real right?"