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I’m two years old, wearing blue footie pajamas. I’m staying at my grandmother’s house with my parents. And I’m entertaining them by standing in the potty-training potty and waving my arms around.

I’m five now. My parents are ice skating, motioning me to follow. I don’t have skates on, and the ice is slippery, and I can see flowing water in the distance where the river enters the lake. I know that’s bad and I worry about falling through.

Seven. I’m riding my banana seat bike in the driveway. I don’t ride in the street anymore. Not since a neighbor got hit by the diaper truck after riding straight out of the driveway. It rained recently. I can smell the water on the warm pavement.

The next three years flash past in a blur of school, playing and being tested. Then I’m in school and the kids are all older than me. I feel very small and afraid. All I can think about is going home, and that’s okay because I know all the answers.

Thirteen. I’m sharing pizza with Justin and my parents. There’s a volcano for my present. A song about brick houses. And an explosion of red. Then comes the ticket. One of the pivotal moments of my life. I flash to the trip. Dr. Clark is with me, telling me I’m different, and special. And Mirabelle. The nicest girl I ever knew, who managed to steal my heart and image with the click of a Polaroid camera.

The night of my capture returns in detail. Ninnis attacks. I strike Aimee. The generator. Then the pit.

I pitch forward and vomit.

When the contraction ends, I suck in a bile flavored breath.

Then I’m vomiting again. It feels like my organs are sliding out of my throat, like there will be nothing left of myself when I am done. When I realize that is exactly what is happening, I accept it, and wait.

When I’m done I’m surprised to find only a small puddle beneath my mouth. I have not eaten in some time and the majority of my heaves brought up nothing, except, I think, my soul.

When I stand, I am myself again.

I am Solomon.

I bring my eyes up and meet hers once more.

She can see the change in me. In my eyes. In my body language.

I am Solomon.

Solomon!

“Solomon,” I whisper as though hearing my name for the first time.

She nods. “Solomon.”

When I speak her name, my last bit of toughness breaks. “Aimee?”

She reaches out to me with both arms. I rush to her and bury myself in her embrace, weeping for what I’ve done to her, for the life that I have lived since I last saw her, for thinking—for believing—that the woman who first showed me love was evil. Her arms are strong around me. Her head is pressed on top of mine. And she speaks a sentence that clutches my throat and squeezes, “You are a precious boy.”

I have been reborn.

Into her arms once again.

And despite all I have done, all the pain I have caused her, she has loved me first.

Again.

34

My senses return long enough for me to close the door. I can’t be seen like this. They might kill us both. Or decide to break me again and steal my memories a second time. Were I still alone, I think I might prefer death to losing myself again, but I now have Aimee to consider.

And I brought her here. I brought her here.

With the door closed I sit on the bed and weep silently. Aimee sits next to me and rubs my back. Her affection only makes me cry harder, but I think that’s what I need—to pour the vileness out. The tears are purifying.

Thoughts of my father and how we parted fill my thoughts. “My father,” I say.

Her hand pauses on my back. “Misses you horribly. As does your mother.”

“They believe I’m dead?”

After a pause, she whispers, “Yes. They stayed for a year searching for you.”

I remember seeing them now. Looking through the telescope. They looked so sad. A sob escapes my mouth. I know how heartbroken they must have felt. I’m feeling it now.

“You’ll see them again,” she says confidently, but it’s hard to believe.

It’s ten minutes before I’m able to speak again. “I’m sorry. For taking you.”

“I forgive you,” she says with missing a beat.

“Why?”

“You weren’t yourself.”