Amelia Has Been Forgotten There’s a little hole in Amelia’s life. She doesn’t know it yet, but there is. Amelia is a nice middle-aged woman. She is of about medium height and build, likes to wear large red sombreros and lives in an absolutely stunning garden on an island that doesn’t exist. It really is a shame you can’t see it yourself, because I tell you that a prettier garden wouldn’t even be imaginable. The garden is as long as a football field and twice as wide, rolling over softly curved hills and shallowly carved valleys. It isn’t like most of the gardens you’ll probably see in your life. You know: four-and-a-half feet of petunias, three-and-a-quarter of white roses, four-and-a-half of chrysanthemums, with a few sparse tulips in between, standing as tall and rigid as a soldier on guard. Oh no. Here everything intermingles with the flow as it chooses, and as such there is no particular beginning or end to any type of flower. Every kind of flower in the world is in that garden. There are snowdrops mixed in with the petunias, roses daring to grow next to geraniums, chrysanthemums side by side with the lilacs, and purple cones next to gold finger. There are trees to the far edges of the garden, but they never grow directly inside the garden so as not to block the view, and there are little hawthorne bushes with cloves of Queen Anne’s lace right beside them popping up wherever they wish. All together it is a truly marvelous view if you sit at the very highest of the hills and look down at it, at the bursts of color where one wouldn’t expect them, at the sky, which was always a cerulean blue infused with a gold haze of sunlight, at the leaves swaying in the breeze and the hummingbirds sipping nectar from the roses, and that’s why Amelia sits there as often as she does. Amelia has lived in the garden since the day she was created; she can hardly remember anything else. Some days she does venture into select parts of the town, and occasionally she finds herself in a completely new surrounding, the likes of which has never occurred to her before, but for the most part now, she sits in the garden. Poor Amelia. Once she had ambitions. What was it she was supposed to be? She wonders for the umpteenth time as she watches the lilacs blow in the breeze. Oh. A doctor, she thinks. Yes. She was supposed to have wanted to be a doctor. She had even been in medical school! Lots of wonderful things had happened to her in medical school. She had flirted with a charming emergency room doctor; she had cured a little girl of cancer; she had wept along side a traumatized woman as her abusive father died. Oh, she had done things that were simply fantastic. And there had been so much promise of more! Little clips and scenes with trailers on them, like: “Amelia Makes Her Final Decision” and “Will Amelia Be Able To Survive David’s Illness?” and always ending with “Tune In Tomorrow Night To Find Out.” Amelia smiles at the memory. That was her hey day! But it has been a very long time since then, and tomorrow night still hasn’t come. There have been no new episodes. Sometimes her scenery changes, or a new person is plopped down next to her right there in the garden, and Amelia’s hope soars high in her chest; but inevitably she returns to the garden, alone, forgotten. Amelia claps a hand over her mouth. She cannot believe she has brung herself to say it, and yet there is denying it now. She’s used the F-word, the ones she used laughingly when referring to the others who had sat in the garden before her: Forgotten. Her breath sinks out of her slowly. Her shoulder drop back against the chair. Forgotten. Yes, she thinks dispassionately, she has been forgotten. Forgotten, as the Adventures of Honest the Teddybear had been forgotten years before the idea of Amelia had even been conceived. Forgotten, as the Quest of Jessie Bannon had been forgotten in a single summer. Forgotten, as Merlin and Arthur and Nimue had been forgotten, their books put away. Forgotten, as she had watched happen to Robby, a lonely boy who had lived in the garden in Amelia’s first days. He had shared it with her, for a time. Amelia grabs the chair, a sudden despair coming over her. This she remembered clearly. She remembered how Robby was forgotten. Oh! Dreadful. Worse than any disease she had faced in her hospital days, because there was nothing Robby could do to save himself. When Amelia was first imagined into the garden, Robby had owned it all. Not only had he owned it, but his name was on the lips of every person in the town. Robby had done wonders for the town. Because of him, playgrounds had been built, concerts had been played, and there had been at least six other teenagers his age who had enjoyed a brief stay in the garden. Robby and his friends were seldom in the garden themselves, of course, though it was theirs; they were busy in all sorts of emotional plots and twisted stories. Only sometimes, when Amelia was placed in the town, did Robby come back to the garden, and even then he could go anywhere he wished, while Amelia only had a few feet near the trees to herself. But as Robby got older, he lost more and more of the garden to Amelia, until it was he sitting by the trees, and Amelia jazzing up around the town. Few of Robby’s friends ever came to the garden, and people in the town seemed to have moved on without him; it had already begun. Amelia watched sometimes, at night, while Robby sat by his tree; pale and thin, eyes red from tears, the color of his clothes fading without the faithful touch of his creator to sustain him. He lingered for as long as he could, and once, towards the end, he even went back to town for a brief rebirth; but after that he was confined again to his little tree, the borders of his area creeping slowly in, and the color and life washing slowly from his character, until finally Amelia woke one morning to discover he was gone. Now only three people in the town remember his name, and one of them was his old girlfriend, who has never been the same since he slipped away. Then, of course, Amelia hadn’t cared. And why should she have? She hadn’t thought it could happen to her. One never does. Amelia had been in her hey day, owning the whole garden and living it up with her friends, as she supposes Robby had before her. But now Amelia understands, and it pumps fear into her heart. She shudders. What now will she do? What will happen to her? Even the garden suddenly seems devoid of life. She rises from her chair, hesitant, almost afraid that she will find her boundaries, too, are closing in. But no. She walks, unrestricted, from one end to the next. Her eyes scan over the flowers and the trees and the path that has always led her to the town. It occurs to her that she is being morbid, for her eyes are looking for graves, but then she realizes that she is not being morbid at all, but rather optimistic. She is searching for a sign of remembrance. A sign that even those who are forgotten were still remembered in some way. Her eyes glance, but she sees nothing. The panic builds in her chest. She sees the place which before had always led to town, and hurdles herself towards it, running as fast as she can in her pumps. The sombrero wobbles back and forth on her head as she runs, and inorder to keep it on she must hold it down with her hand. She reaches the place, tries to continue, but finds she cannot. The path—and the town—are no longer there. Amelia slides to the grass in a heap, sobbing. She understands perfectly. The town is not there for her anymore; no longer is she the favored creation. She’s sure it still exists somewhere, but it is different than the town she went to. And in either case, it no longer matters. Amelia has been put away in the back of the imagination, and soon she, too, will slip away. As she is crying, she hears the munch, munch, munch of feet on the grass next to her. She looks up, suspicious and off-guard. The person walking to her is Robby’s old girlfriend. She has come from the opposite direction—probably coming from the town to the garden. She is a small girl; her hair is black and done up, her eyes are big and green, and she wears a regular t-shirt and jeans with a few bracelets. As she steps into the garden, she clasps her hands together in delight, eyes glowing. “Look at this! Look at all these flowers! Ah—paradise! How beautiful!” Amelia pulls herself up, straightens her sombrero, and wipes the tears from her eyes. The girl turns her head, noticing, and turns to Amelia. “I remember you! You’re Amelia, aren’t you? From the hospital. Is this your garden?” “No. Well, not for much longer, anyway.” “No?” The girl frowns. “Why is that?” “I think I am…no, rather I know I am being forgotten.” The girl’s mouth falls open; her eyes are wide and sad and alive. “No!” she gasps. “No, it can’t be. Not you! Not Amelia! It’s absurd. When Robby was being…forgotten…well, you’re everywhere, you know, all over town. Everyone knows about you, Amelia.” “Have you seen me lately, though? I can’t even go into the town anymore. I’ll bet Dr. Conner doesn’t even know who I am anymore.” “Oh, don’t talk like that! How can you even think such a thing?” “Ask him. If he isn’t already gone…Robby’s friends all disappeared two weeks before he vanished. Isn’t that so?” The girls nodded sadly, looking at the ground. A tear slid down her cheek. “And you…what’s your name?” The girl looked up. “Me? Oh…my name’s been changed a couple times. First I was Niniane, then Vivien. Now I’m Lynette. But I myself have never changed.” “Lynette now, huh?” She nods. “Yes.” “And you, Lynette…you haven’t been forgotten?” Lynette shakes her head, spreading her palms wide. “I don’t know. For a long time after Robby was gone, nothing happened to me. I lived in my little house in the town, moped, painted…did you know I paint?” “No. That sounds like what’s been happening to me too, except I live in the garden.” “Well, yes. So it is your garden?” she asks, tilting her head. Amelia shakes her head. “Well, nevermind that then. Only a month or two ago, all of the sudden, things began to happen to me. Now I’m going back to school all of the sudden…and people are hurting me, or talking to me, or you know, interacting with me, that hasn’t happened since Robby’s passed by.” She shrugs again. “I don’t know what it is.” Amelia says nothing, although it is clear to her what is happening. She studies Lynette again; how animated, how vivid she is! Looking as living as she does, how could there be any doubt? At first Amelia is bitter, jealous. She turns to leave. “Amelia,” cries Lynette, grabbing her arm, “you mustn’t leave me here all alone! I don’t know what’s going on. Why am I here? Why amn’t I back in the town? Where is here, anyway?” Amelia gives her a look, but Lynette looks back pleadingly. “Please,” she begs. “You’re so smart, Amelia, and you’re such a nice lady. You’ve always been so good to me before, when Robby was being forgotten. Can’t you tell me what’s going on?” Amelia sees the innocence in her eyes, and suddenly, she understands. She takes Lynette’s hand and leads her back to the chair. She gestures for her to sit, and then kneels herself on the grass by the chair. She lets out a heavy breath. Somewhere in the garden, a bird is chirping: tweet-tweet-tweet-tweet-chi-rp. She lifts the sombrero from her head and drops it at her side. For some time she only sits in silence. At last, she takes Lynette’s hand between both of hers, and explains: “For a few years, Lynette, Robby owned this garden, and the world was built for him. And you were built with it, weren’t you? You were built to be part of Robby’s world, just like all of his friends. But when he was forgotten, you were the only creation linked to him left standing, because you held the most interest. Right?” Lynette opens her mouth, startled, but no words come out. “Then I came along, and the world was changed for me. Everything as it stands was made for me, and I had my years of fun, and the garden was mine—all to myself, I’ve had it, for far too long. I watched Robby fade away, and now I, too, will fade.” “No!” cries Lynette, covering her face with her hands. But Amelia nods. “Yes. I was angry before, but now I understand. Nothing lasts forever, Lynette—not even us, things of the imagination. We can’t; we don’t get physically old, but mentally we are old, and we lose our appeal and our interest. Sometimes we can be tweaked, changed slightly and reborn: look at you. You’re a spin-off, that’s what you are. Don’t you feel alive? Don’t you feel caught up in something? You’ve got the touch, now, and I expect soon the entire world will change to be built for you.” Lynette begins to weep. “Don’t be sad,” Amelia says soothingly, stroking her back. “Your life will be caught up in wonderful adventures soon, I imagine. Just think of everything you’ll go through! You won’t have time to sit here and dwell on it. But you should know even before you start that one day you will fade away, like Robby, like me. Don’t dread it: there’s nothing to fear. That is simply the way the world was created, the way we were created. There is nothing we can do to fight it.” Lynette peeks out from between her hands, a frightened look in her eyes. “But to go through all that alone? With no one to talk to?…What if I am scared, and there’s no one around…” “I may be fading, Lynette, but I’m not gone yet, and I’ve been around the block a few times. I’ll be here when you need me. I’ll be sitting by those trees over there, I imagine. You go out the way you came in,” she ends jokingly. But Lynette is still serious. “Aren’t you afraid?” she whispers. Amelia shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I know whatever happens, when I’m done being forgotten, I’ll become something else. Who knows? I’m sure you’re recycled into something. I don’t think things can simply stop existing the way they start; just hang in limbo for awhile, then get rearranged and thrown back into the ball game. Wouldn’t you say?” “I…I guess…” Lynette says doubtfully. They sit in silence for a few minutes more. “It really is such a lovely place though,” says Lynette. “Smashing. I don’t think you could imagine a more beautiful garden than this one. It’s provided me with many hours of tranquility, to say the least.” Lynette nods, thinking. Then she turns to Amelia: “What was it like, when you were just starting to grow into the garden? What was it like at the hospital?” She bites her lip guiltily. “That is, I mean…I don’t mean to pry, and if you don’t have time for my questions now I totally understand…” Amelia pats her hand, smiling. “Sure I can talk about it right now. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
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