The doctors said I had suffered severe physiological trauma. My brain couldn’t handle the memories, and simply suppressed them. I was told what happened when I was older, but I didn’t remember one speck. Nothing. Even first grade. All my memories of first grade have been wiped absolutely clean.

“It’s O.K., you can stop hugging me now,” I wiped my eyes. “Sorry that I woke you up, Kazuma.”

“It’s alright,” he yawned and went out the door, closing it gently.

I lay back in bed, hugging my pillow for comfort.

What if I met someone or did something in first grade that I was supposed to remember?

I want to remember. It’s horrible. You think and think and think, but there isn’t anything but a blank in your head.
I curled up, and silently, softly, I cried myself to sleep.

Again.