To Worry

I suppress a laugh as Coral continues to ogle her hands. As if touching my ears has imbued them with magic. I say. “I’m glad you like my ears. But I don’t think they’ve made your hands magical or anything. But your hands are much softer than I thought they’d be.”

“Oh! I know! Because they look rocky! But they're soft! But watch this!” She says excitedly. She claps her hands together. Scrunches her eyes shut like she’s concentrating hard. Before I can ask what she’s doing, her eyes pop open. She holds her hands out to me. Looks at me expectantly. A proud smile on her face.

Unsure what to expect, I take her hands in mine. I’m astonished. Her once soft hands are now hard as stone.

Surprise must be evident on my face because the young girl looks even prouder. I exclaim, “How did you do that?”

Coral hums smugly, and explains, “It’s a special demon trick! I’ve been practicing! I just channel a little mana through my skin and BAM! I don’t even need a cat! Isn’t that amazing!”

I smile. Nod encouragingly. Pretend I understand. But she lost me. Channel? Mana? Cat? Isn’t that a furry little animal? I don’t understand.

Coral’s continued explanation — which does nothing to alleviate my confusion — ends when Marine returns with a hand mirror. She holds the mirror so I can see myself.

“What do you think?” She asks.

I twist and turn my head. Examine my hair in the mirror. It’s been styled into two neat buns that sit on top of my head.

“We match!” Coral chimes happily. And I notice she’s right. She has the same set of buns on her head. Marine too. Though hers are more elegant, styled around her horns. But Coral and I are a perfect pair. Aside from her being a demon and me an elf, our hair color is all that sets us apart. She and Marine’s charcoal black versus my blonde-green. Marine also has a few strands of red. Is red hair for demons like gray hair for humans? I don’t ask. I imagine it would be rude. What color does elf hair turn in old age? I can't remember. Funny how I know for humans but not elves.

I smile. A warm feeling fills my chest. I like the hairdo. Like how we match. Like how it makes Coral happy that we match. I tell them, “I like it. Thank you. And for everything. Thank you.”

Marine smiles at me warmly. Her ember eyes so genuine, friendly, motherly. She says, “You’re welcome. I’m glad to see you're feeling better. If you're feeling up to it, do you want to tell us what happened? Whatever it may be, I’m sure we can help.”

“Me too! I can help too!” Coral offers.

“Right. I’m sure we can help.” Marine revises, giving her daughter a giggle inducing squeeze.

Marine and Coral’s relationship makes me happy. They're so close. Interactions so genuine. It warms my heart. But also leaves makes me sad, yearning, longing. For my own mother? Does Marine remind me of my mother? Is she like Marine? Kind, caring, patient. Even with a stranger. Is that what I long for? My own mother’s embrace? Or do I yearn to hold my important someone? My Cara. I don’t know. I’ve regained not a single memory. So I have no way of knowing. If I never remember my mother, I hope to meet her one day. Maybe Marine is like my own mother, and that’s why I want so badly to trust her. Want to tell her everything. Let her help.

But is that right of me? Marine has a daughter and must have her own problems. Her own life. Coral is just a child, and probably can’t offer much in the way of help. Even if she wants to. I’m a stranger, and no one of importance. I shouldn’t burden them with my issues. With my insignificant problems. With my insignificant self. I don’t have the right.

Marine must sense my inner conflict. She lowers herself to my level, and says, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. How about this instead. What can we do to help?”

Marine and Coral are just like Grat and Shuri. Kind, caring, wonderful. Even toward someone like me. I can’t burden them any longer. I decide it’s time to leave. To get directions and go.

“I got lost. I just need directions.” I say.

“I know where the elf camp is!” Coral offers.

I shake my head. “I need to go to the hospital.”

Marine looks concerned. “Hospital. Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m— fine. I just— just need directions. I'm fine really.” I say. Trying to sound confident and dismissive.

I must do a poor job. Marine looks unconvinced and more concerned. She asks, “If you're fine, then why do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I— I just— It’s nothing—” I stammer. Pathetically. If I could just tell a simple lie, I could get directions and stop being a burden on Marine and Coral. But I can’t. Marine’s eyes full of caring and concern. Corals full of innocence and revere. I can’t bring myself to lie to them. So I just stammer. Like the idiot I am.

Marine ends my humiliating display. She takes my hands. Wraps her deceptively soft, stone like hands around my small, trembling ones. Voice soft and sweet, she says, “I won’t force you to tell me, but I can tell something’s wrong. I get it. We’re demons. You’re an elf. You don’t want to tell us, and that’s fine. We’ll still help you. Whether you tell us or not, we’ll take you to the hospital, and make sure you don’t get lost again. Okay?”

I nod. It’s all I can manage while holding back tears. Why am I always crying! Do I have no self-control! No emotional maturity! Come on me! Get it together! I try. But I can’t. I don’t understand it. Everything feels so brand new. Like something I couldn’t even dream of. Including all my emotions. Especially my emotions! They’re an experience unto themselves.

Marine is so kind, understanding, compelling. She didn’t judge me for breaking down pathetically in her bushes. They’ve both been so good to me. It’s no wonder I can’t hold back. Before I know it, I blurt out, “I lost my memories! I don’t care that you’re demons! You're both so kind and wonderful! And I’m just— nothing. I didn’t want to cause you any more trouble by dumping my insignificant problems on you. I— I’ll just go. I’m sorry for everything.”

I slide from my chair. Go to leave swiftly. I don’t get a single step before Marine embraces me. Gently she holds me. Stops me from fleeing. Sweetly, she says, “It breaks my heart how you hold yourself with such disregard. You mustn’t devalue yourself in that way. You're not nothing. You are important. You are loved. There are people who care about you, and wish you happiness. You can count myself and Coral among them. So please, don’t call yourself nothing, or your problems insignificant. You are valuable, and your problems matter.”

Before I know it, I’m crying again. Just from being told I’m important, loved, valuable? Three words I would never use to describe myself. Such a simple expression send me to tears? Why am I so stupid? Why can’t I control myself? Why— why do I feel so grateful? So glad. So loved.

I whisper, “Thank you.” before Coral shouts, “Me too!” Then jumps on Marine and I, knocking the three of us to the ground.

Coral squeals and giggles with delight. Marine laughs alongside her daughter. I can’t help but smile and laugh, too. Marine and Coral really are wonderful people. Just like Grat and Shuri. I add them to my list of people I’ll never be able to repay for all their kindness.

I stand up. Wipe my tears. Marine sits beside me, playfully poking a wiggly giggly Coral.

“You’ve truly lost your memories? Not all of them, though, right?” She asks.

I nod. Say, “All of them. Serie isn’t even my real name. It’s just a name someone gave me.”

“And when did you lose them?”

I consider. Then guess, “… About a day ago. I think.”

Marine’s face sets in determination. She bolts up with Coral held under one arm. She spins Coral upright, and sets her on her feet.

“We’re going to the hospital. Get ready swift, dear.” Marine tells Coral. She looks delighted, and dashes from the room.

Marine moves swiftly, gathering objects and adorning sun wear. As she does, she says to me, “The faster head injuries are treated, the less likely for long term complications. If it’s only been a day, then proper treatment may bring your memories right back. Except— no, no. You’re an elf, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Coral reappears before I can ask what might be a problem. She, like Marine, is dressed in a thin jacket and hat to block the sun. Except Marine’s hat is tailored with holes for her horns. In a flash, we’re out of the house, and walking down the street.

Fear gnaws at my insides. Hangman is still here somewhere. But I’m calmer than before. I won’t panic this time. Won’t lose control. But when Marine offers to hold my hand, I don’t refuse.