{rekindle} | basil + meira | [dee]

“Artois Shop”

My lips form the words as the name “Artois” jogs a foggy fragment of my memory. I remember that name from my childhood, a sunnier part that I have mostly forgotten since we gave the ocean my Mama. A little girl about my age with skin much like Mama’s was running through the house with me, laughter echoing through the narrow halls of my small house. The sound of feet pattering on the wood that I can no longer here echoes through my ears as if I was hearing the sound again. It is a distant memory now, but for some reason, this memory is as clear to me as spoken words had once been a long time ago.

But it cannot be the same name. It is merely a coincidence, a coincidence that my employer instructed me to go to this shop to pick up some fishing supplies. However, more memories hit me as my childhood that I had tried to suppress the last time I saw the ocean lap at Mama’s hands and feet and I remember Papa kissing Mama on the cheek as he told her that he had to pick things up from the shop. Did he ever say the name? I don’t seem to recall, but that memory is connected to this shop, I just knew it. I would hold his hand as my small legs tried to keep up with my Papa’s long strides. They had stopped at this spot, feet together just like my feet are doing right now, and I had looked up at the sign just as I am doing at the moment. But the sign looks different, it’s farther away, and I am not hold Papa’s hand but rather a piece of scratch paper that contains two words.

I look back down to confirm that the name on the shop matches the name on the piece of paper before I let out a sigh and wonder why my memory has been jogged like this. Once I open the door though, I am almost certain that my mind is playing tricks with me and that this shop is not the one from my childhood. I recognize nothing. There is man who is talking through the window and although the back of his head looks vaguely familiar, I cannot see his face and I shake my head, knowing that I must be going crazy to believe that I do know him. After all, I have never been to this store before. There are people shouting, something about soup, and I turn away as I focus on the shelves to find the supplies I need.

My intention of being here is finding some rope; I had run out earlier this week and as much as I hate admitting it, I rely on rope more than most fishermen are supposed to. Papa would always tease me and say my Mama was the same way: had to make sure everything was secure before she committed to something. I have to fight back the tears before I can think any more about my Mama; there would be no point in crying in this store. But as I walk along the shelves, my eyes seem to be glossing over and I can’t make out what is what. A grimace starts on my face before I swallow it down and look around for someone who works here. There is someone at a shelf and it looks like she is putting things on to the shelf. She wouldn’t be doing that if she was a customer, right?

I walk over to her and tap on her shoulder. “Excuse me,” the words sounding faint in my own ears. “Can you help me…out?” I can’t help but furrow my eyebrows as I see her face and wonder if my earlier suspicions are really true. The girl in front of me…is she really the girl that I barely remember from my childhood? Bubbles, I think to myself for some strange reason. I shake my head quickly, hoping that I haven't stared too long, but the thought still lingers in my mind.